Our Time in California

Dear Diary

Fuck everything

We moved again. I remember when my mom had just given me the news months ago. Dad had been reassigned so we were moving, come the end of the school year and we would be gone. So, you might think, why write about it now, if you got the news months ago. Well to be honest, I am writing about it now because my therapist told me to, so here it goes.

It was just another move, to wherever dad was stationed next, no big deal. I make it a habit to avoid tethering myself to a place because I don’t want to be heartbroken when we move. So, I maintain my distance from everyone, and all is well, or at least that was what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to remain unattached for the four years we were going to spend in California, then when dad got a new assignment, we would move and I would repeat my system of detachment in the new school, and al would be well.

A few months ago, when I got home from school, tired, my brain muddled by fog that never seemed to leave. My mom had greeted me at the door, which was already unusual, normally she just leaves me alone, but she had that look on her face, that sort of tension before she delivers bad news.

“Honey.” She started, “I have some news from your father.” I could already guess what it was going to be, we were packing up and moving again. “We are moving again.” Yup. “To Maine, at the end of the school year.” Maine, a little cold and rainy but I could cope with that, at least it wasn’t Florida again, although I am going to miss the warmth of California.

“Ok mom, sounds good.” I said, then brushed past her to make it to my room. I didn’t care that we were moving, not really. Because I had a system, and I was sticking to it. I had learned a while back, after the fifth move, that I get too attached too fast and that after we move, I am too broken. So right then and there, at ten years old, I had decided I wouldn’t get attached again until I knew we were settled down for good.

           For the last four years spent in California I had maintained my boundary, no one in. This had resulted in a rather gloomy high

school experience, but I didn’t really care. Now towards the end of my junior year, we were going to move again, great. Thinking about it, I couldn’t decide what the worst part about this move was going to be, trying to transfer over my credits into the new school, or the possibility of a teacher asking me to stand up and share something I liked about myself, on the first day. In truth, I only hated that question because I didn’t like anything about myself.

           Two days later, on Saturday, I had gotten bored of staring at the same four walls of my room, so I headed down the stairs and out into the springtime air, heading towards the beach. It was a good distance from my apartment complex, but I didn’t mind the walk, my mom says it's good for me to exercise.

           It was a weekend, and a hot day, so the beach was packed with kids splashing in the water, hot girls sunbathing, and shirtless dads. I briskly passed the crowd and worked my way down the strip of beach until eventually I found a shady spot near a large rock that was relatively devoid of people. Sitting down, I took out my drawing pad and began to sketch a picturesque tuft of grass.

           Halfway through my drawing I heard someone sit down in the sand near me. Propping myself up on my elbows to look behind me, I saw a young kid, about my age, sitting in the cool sand watching the waves.

           “Hey” I said, feeling awkward.

           “Oh, hey.” He responded, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, this is just my favorite rock, it's really the only place on the beach I

like to be, so-” He trailed off.

           “Oh, my bad, I can move if-”

           “No, no, no, please. Continue drawing. I just like watching the waves, don’t mind me.” He spoke.

           I felt awkward, but I was really liking the sketch I was doing so I elected to remain, despite the proximity, and finish my drawing. A few minutes later, when I was just about done, he piped up again speaking towards my back.

           “Can I see your drawing?” He spoke. I was a little surprised at first, no one really asked to see my drawings.

           “Sure, I guess, it’s not very good, it is really just a sketch if I had more time-” He cut me off by snatching the sand covered pad of paper from my grasp. I was silent as he studied the picture, occasionally glancing at the reference piece of grass. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he turned to me.

           “This is incredible.” Was all he said, staring at me, looking directly into my eyes. it was so uncomfortable but there was something about his gaze that enchanted me, compelling me to meet his eyes with mine. Looking back, it was not only the way he looked at me, how he saw me, how I could see him printing my face into his memory, but also his eyes themselves. His eyes were the color of the sea, light blue with flecks of green, the sunlight played across their vibrant surface making his eyes dance with color,

moving like a gentle sea breeze.

           “I think I know you.” His statement broke me out of my captivation. “Yeah, I do. I mean, I have seen you around school, but you were the guy who won that drawing contest a while back, right?” He glanced back down at the paper. “I recognize the style.”

           I was stunned. Thinking about it, I did recognize him from school. He had always struck me as the popular guy type, who wasn’t interested in some quiet kid’s art, or sitting in the shade at the beach, admiring the waves.

           He handed back my sketchbook before saying. “I’m

Alexander by the way, but everyone calls me Alex.”

           “Jackson, nobody calls me Jack.” I suddenly snapped back to reality noticing that I was sitting uncomfortably close to some

stranger in the damp, clumpy sand. Casually I shifted away from him and stood up. “Thanks for the compliment, nobody has ever really wanted to see my art, but I think I am going to take a walk.” I said, turning away. There was the sound of shifting sand as he bounced up next to me.

           “Let's walk then. Cause I want to know all about your art.” I guess I wasn’t going to get rid of him yet, which surprisingly, was

fine by me. “First of all, why don’t people like to look at your art?” He looked down at me as we walked, him being taller than me and all.

           “Well, I guess it is less of other people wanting to see it and more me not wanting to show them.” I admitted. 

           “Okay.” He spoke. “Why don’t you want to show them?”

           “Who are you, my therapist?” I joked.

           “Yup, I am now. So, answer the question.”

           “Fine. I guess it is because of two reasons. One, I don’t like it when others don’t like my art, and two, showing people my art starts conversations just like this one, and I don’t like conversations.” Even as I said it, I was surprised by my own honesty. He was silent for a minute, the sounds of people playing in the sand filling the void between us.

           “So why did you show me your art just now?” He

finally asked. In truth, I was still asking myself that question.

           “I don’t know. Maybe it was something about your

boldness, strangers don’t really ask strangers to see their art.”

           “I am known for my boldness.” He joked. “Fine, if this conversation makes you uncomfortable, we will stop. But I am not leaving. Cause to be honest, that wasn’t my favorite rock.” He paused, then looked at me with his eyes made of sea water, “You just looked lonely.”

           We walked for the rest of the day, talking about little things. We took off our shoes so we could feel the warmth of the sand under our feet. We laughed as a child fell into the water, pushed by her friend. I cannot remember everything we talked about that day, but I remember that for some reason, I really enjoyed talking to him.

           Every day for the next week, once I got home from school I would dash down to the beach, sketchbook tucked under my arm. After I found the rock again, I would draw something, then later in the day Alex would arrive and I would show him my sketches.

           This was a blatant violation of my number one rule, don’t get attached. But I did it, nevertheless. Surprisingly, I also enjoyed it, I enjoyed him. Alex was funny and kind and genuinely interested in

me and what I had to say, which was a completely new feeling.

           One night, I cried myself to sleep thinking about him. I am still not sure why I was crying but when I thought about him and all we had been talking about, I felt the tears well up in my eyes. It had been so long since I had cried and feeling the surge of water waiting behind the dams of my eyelids, I let it go, all the water, every emotion, pouring down my face. I felt so happy.

           One day, we had been walking along the beach when Alex had gotten hungry, so we decided to walk up to the burger place near the beach and in between bites he asked, “So tell me about your family some more.”

           “Well first off, I have an older sister and an older brother, but both are off in college. We were close as kids though. My mom works from home and my dad is military.”

           “So, you guys are constantly moving around?” He asked.

           “Yeah, we have moved a bunch of times, following my dad around the country, wherever he is stationed.” I thought for a second before continuing. “It's because of the moves. Why I am so quiet and distant from people at school I mean. We have moved so many times, and every time I had left friends behind, I was heartbroken. I have tried keeping in touch with people long distance, but I never works out and it just hurts too much. So, I stopped making friends all together.” I had never admitted that to anyone.

           “That is sad Jackson. But I get it; I get really attached to people too.” He took another bite of his burger. Then he stated, “My mom is ex-military, and my dad has never been in the picture. Both my sisters are like, super old so it has always just been my mom and I.”

           “Alex.” I spoke. He looked at me, and I had to tell him. “We move again in June, right after the end of the school year. We are headed to Maine.”

           “Oh.” Was all he said at first, then. “Well then, I guess we had better make the most of our time now.”

           That evening we were on the beach, the sun hanging low in the sky casting the sand in an amber light. Long shadows stretched away from the orange sun. The light illuminated half of Alex’s face, he looked beautiful. We were sitting there wrapped in a peaceful, comfortable silence, looking out at the shifting sea. My mind drifted to thoughts of nothing, nothing but happiness, when Alex reached out his finger and gently touch my hand. I looked over to see him smiling at me, his sea-colored eyes now flecked with golden light.

           “You look so beautiful Jackson.” He spoke in such a genuine and charming way; his voice made my heart quake. Slowly, too slowly, he leaned into me, constantly glancing between my mouth and my eyes. Smiling, I closed my eyes and the distance between us as our lips connected. The sensation was beautiful and indescribable. But in that moment the world fell away and all that was left behind was us, for an eternity.

           Unfortunately, that eternity was not to last. The remaining months of the school year passed by in a blur. I shared everyday with Alex, seeing movies, sneaking out of class. The school year ended and with it, our time in California, and my time with Alex. By the end of it, Alex had looked thin and worn. I had felt thin and worn. It all happened so fast. I could barely say goodbye before we had packed up and were on a plane destined for Maine.

           I had protested. I had fought so hard to stay, to be with Alex. But my parents wouldn’t listen, and so we went anyways. The next few months were hard. I had no energy, I couldn’t get up from bed, I had no appetite and the summer weather in Maine was not nearly as nice as California’s. All I could think about was Alex, about his eyes, the way they looked when he smiled. The way they looked at me, like I was unique, like I was perfect. I miss those eyes. So much.

           We tried long distance. We would call every night and I would wait in anticipation all day for a text from him. At first, I thought it could work, that we would be fine. Until I received a text I had not expected. It read, “Jackson. I have a secret. I am sorry for keeping it from you, I just didn’t want to hurt you. I knew our time was limited so I didn’t want to place anything else upon you, to weigh you down. But I just got the confirmation, and I have to tell you, so you can be prepared. Jackson. . . I am dying.” Those words cut through me like a bullet. They pierced my heart and tore through me, leaving nothing behind.

           Turns out that Alex had been living with cancer for a while. He was so good at hiding his symptoms. But it had finally caught up with him, his battle was finally lost. I told my mom, and she flew me back to California to see him. When we arrived, he was already in the hospital, I could hardly recognize the man that lay before me.

           He was thin and gaunt, that golden light of his had left him. His skin hung on his bones like tissue paper. The only piece of Alex that seemed to remain was the sparkle in his eyes. The doctor had told me that he only had a few weeks left, so I stayed with him the whole time. I showed him every drawing I had made while we were apart, and he stared at them with all the same love he had looked upon my first drawing with.

           As the weeks went by, I watched as he seemed to crumble before me. But he never stopped being him. We would still laugh and joke, hug, and kiss. I slept next to him on the hospital bed, and we would watch people together through the window. We had liked to do that, watch people, and make up stories about them. Alex was always the best at that, creating fun stories, spinning exciting tales about ordinary people. He saw everyone that way, everyone was extraordinary to him. I wish I could see the world through his eyes. His brilliant eyes.

           The morning finally came, and I woke up to nurses moving me away from him. There was this terrible monotonous sound. Doctors rushed into the room, crowding around Alex. People were saying things. There was this terrible monotonous noise, like a single, melancholic note, its sadness hung in the air. My mother wrapped me in her arms, and I cried into her shoulder. I cried and I cried, and I couldn’t stop. The noise filled my head and all I was, was that single sad note. Then it ceased, and everything stopped.

           Alex was pronounced dead at 6:43 a.m. August 19^th, 2019. The next week my mom flew us back to Maine. I remained in my barren room for days. I barely came out, not a single ray of sun was allowed in my room, and the darkness was comforting. It wrapped around me like a blanket, and it consumed me. For all I knew the world had ended and left me behind, alone, to suffer.

           My mom made me see a therapist. He suggested I write this. This stupid diary entry. He told me it would help me to rationalize everything I was feeling, I wish that writing down what had happened could take it away from me, the memories, the sadness. I am still cursing myself for breaking my rule. I had one rule, no friends, no connections, nothing to lose. I had broken it and lost everything.

           But now, looking back. I don’t regret it. The pain lingers, but Alex was special. He had made me feel so happy, he made me inspired. He made me real. He had given me a piece of himself and in doing so had made me whole. I will never forget him, and I will forever be whole.