"It's all going to be okay. As long as we have each-other"

“It’s been five years since you left… The hardest day of my life. The day that changed me… The day that I thought it was over. I vividly remember that cold day. How the wind slapped me in the face as I ran down those steps. I remember the hospital smell. I remember the sound of the sirens coming to save me. I remember your sterile breath that had the stench of liquor all over it. I remember the way your dimples covered your face every time you smiled. I loved watching you blink and read and write and look and be. I loved you. And you hurt me. I needed you and you left me. And I let you hurt me. I have tried to forget the way your bright eyes twinkled whoever you looked in my direction…. I wanted you because you brought me the most happiness. But I should’ve known that the largest quantity of happiness can also bring someone so much fear, guilt, pain, and flat-out sadness. And I had to learn that sometimes you just have to accept the fact that some people only enter your life as temporary happiness. You don’t deserve this letter or explanation. But I do. I'm writing this so I can move on. -April May. 

“Did you send it?”

“Yes,” I said and jumped back on my bed. 

“Are you okay,” she asked.

I looked back down at my scar. I felt a big lump start to form in my throat. I shook my head up and down. 

“Yeah,” I began. “I’m good.” 

She looked at me and smiled. “Listen, April May if you need anything I'm right next door. I’m glad you're okay. I am.” I chuckled and said,” Thank you, Rose.. goodbye.” She then closed my door and made her way out. 

I grabbed my notebook, shoved it inside my backpack, and headed down the spiral stairway outside the complex. The apartment building was extremely old. The door was off of its hinges and our sinks were full of rust. There was no elevator in the building, so we had no choice but to take the stairs. I heard nothing but my hollow footsteps make their way down to the windy city. The smell of warm pretzels and the aroma of the deep dish brought a slight smile to my face. The icy wind was enough to make me run up those 12 flights of stairs again, but I didn’t. I grabbed my bike from the rack and began to head towards the East Coast or the rich side of Chicago. I put my headphones on and cried out my sorrows with Times. I saw a man dressed in a suit with a long coat and gloves on a phone call. His face was extremely red and he was yelling at the person on the other line. I then watched a family take pictures near the art institute. They seemed so happy and the thought of that made me frown. As I passed the Riverwalk I saw tourists bundled up in scarves and beanies, laughing uncontrollably. Then I saw a few tents with homeless people fighting for their lives to survive. The sound of the L-train and the scrambling of people brought a feeling of overwhelms to my stomach. It's been officially 3 years since I moved to this city and I don’t regret a single part of it. I've fallen in love with Chicago, I have. For one, it taught me how to be alone and lonely. After what felt like an eternity, I made it to THE HILL. Everyone from the west side knows what THE HILL is. In high school, all the late-night parties and festivals always happen alongside this mountain that overlooks the whole city. Every day I go up here and just sit. And think. I sit on the bench and take out my notebook. I begin drawing my scenery… The city lights, the people I see from down below, the buildings, the water… I take it all in, as I let my ink pen side across the white sheet of paper. The sound of boots walking through snow becomes near. I turn my head to see a boy about my age or so come over. He has a camera hanging from his neck. I smile and he and he smiles back at me. He has a black turtleneck and a car heart coat on. His black boots make him seem a lot taller than he is. His green eyes are vibrant but soft in a way. I turn down my music as his presence makes me feel uncomfortable. “Are you getting some good shots,” I ask. He pulls his camera down from his right eye and sits down a few feet away from me. “I mean the camera can’t capture the beauty I'm seeing, but yeah. I want to be able to see those herds of people down there,” he said and pointed towards the frozen River. His voice was like butter melting in a pan. It was so satisfying. “What brings you out here?” He asked me. I continued to draw and without making eye contact said,” Same reason your out I guess.” The sounds that erupted from his camera made the silence seem less awkward and more real. “I’m Zaid by the way,” he said. I smiled at him. “April,” I replied. “Most people call me April May.” HE chuckled and put his camera down. “Is April May your real name?” He asked. “Yes, I just told you it was,” I stated sarcastically. He scooted in closer to me which made my legs shake even worse than before. “Your parents must like those months,” he laughingly said. I shook my head, no. “They didn’t name me. I named myself. I was adopted,” I admitted. I closed my notebook and stuffed it inside my bag. 

“Do you like your parents who didn’t name you?”

“They're fine,” I lied not wanting to sound like a charity case. 

“Just fine?” He asked. 

I scrunched my nose. “Your very noisy, you know.” 

He smiled and rubbed his fingers through his curly brown hair. “I’m just curious. Would you mind if I took a picture of you?” 

I smiled. “I guess.”

He stood up and touched my shoulder. I felt a sharp resistance but was obligated to do so. I heard the beep come from the camera and stood up to look at the masterpiece he had taken. “Wow,” I said. “I like seeing the world through this better.” He turned the camera off. 

“Really? I think it's so much rawer just looking at it with our two eyes.”

“I mean of course,” I agreed. “But it's more simple looking through a natural perspective.”

“Simples not good. Simples like art with no color.”

“You don’t need color to see black and white. You can interrupt it how you want to interpret it. If I think it's sad and depressing then that’s what I see it as…. “

“Zaid, what school do you go to?” I asked.

“I go to East high,” he said. 

I knew about East high. Rachel goes to all the parties there I thought.

“They throw good parties, I've heard.”

He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I've only been to two of them. They're okay. I mean if you quality boos and drugs as a good party then I guess it is.”

“I go to the public chi HS.”

He shook his head. 

“Have you ever been to a party,” he asked. 

“No,” I laughed. “I'm not a typical high schooler. No one knows who I am, but I know who everyone else is”

He smiled. “You should go.”

“Where?”

“To a party. With me.”

I felt my cheeks turn red. “I thought you just said you don’t like to go to parties. And I don’t like to go. So why should we?"

“Well I don’t know,” he smirked. “I just maybe think you’d, we have fun.”

“I don’t drink,” I said.

“Listen,” he said. “I do drink and I do smoke weed, but not a ton. And I'm a senior and I should do senior things.” 

“You're a senior?” I exclaimed. 

“Yeah. Aren’t you?”

“Tonight. 8 pm. Meet here,” he said.

It was already starting to get dark and my stomach ached. I wanted to say yes, a trillion times yes, but at the same time I thought about Holden Coffer and the letter and how that couldn’t happen again. No, I thought to myself. Just don’t drink or smoke or do anything out of your comfort zone. You can go to a party. I mean how bad could it be? 

“Ok,” I stated trying to sound unenthusiastic. 

“April May,” he said putting out his gloved hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” 

I grabbed his hand very elegantly. 

“What’s your last name,” I whispered. 

“Jameson,” he replied. 

He screamed back,” TELL YOUR PARENTS THAT YOU’LL BE HOME BY MIDNIGHT.” 

I grabbed my bike and raced down the hill. I laughed and the cold began to feel like a summer day. I told myself over and over again that he was different…. He wasn’t Holden Coffer, he was Zaid Jameson. Once I got home I saw my father laying on the couch. The smell of weed filled the apartment building. I flipped on the light as my smile faded. Glossy, red eyes……bloody nose…..black eye… A yellow piece of paper lay on his stomach. I picked it up…. “Not again,” I moaned. “Dad!” I yelled shaking him. He moaned and groaned. “What the hell is this?” I said holding up the paper. “I thought you got a new job!” He smiled and rubbed his eyes. I shook my head. “I—I did. Don't Worr-worry.” I grinded my teeth, trying to hold my tears in. I threw the paper in his face and reached into his sweatshirt pocket. “I’m leaving,” I then said. He stood up, handing it onto the wall. “Where?” I opened the creek door feeling the gust of cold wind run up my back. “A party,” I said slamming the door in his face. I ran down the first flight of stairs waiting for the door to open again. Waiting for my father to say “come back here, I love you.” But that didn’t happen. That never happened…… I grabbed my phone and tried Rose. I even knocked on her door. No answer. I then walked over to the South side. I was numb inside and out from the cold and tired. I wasn’t physically tired, just mentally. It was seven o’clock. Fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds left to go. So I stopped by Sals. If you live in Chicago you know Sals. I opened the door hearing that bell that always goes off when someone walks in. It felt like home. “Hey, April!” Sal goes. “How do you do?” I smiled and shook my head as he prepared my usual. “How’s the shop doing?” He looked and me and smirked. “Better than ever. “How's your Daddy?”

“Not good,” I said. 

“Hey Sal,” I said not wanting him to leave. “Where’s the cheapest place in CHI where I can live?” 

He laughed. “April MAY de aint no way you living alone up here near the South side.” 

I smiled, playing it off. 

 “I gotta get out.” 

He looked at me, his smile fading. 

 “April. My doors always open"

Once I made it to the East Side I waited for Zaid. It was 7:59 on the dot. I looked behind me but didn’t hear him. I waited two minutes. Still nothing. My heart began to race… 8:02 soon turned into 8:08. At 8:11 then turned into 8:15. The sky was darkening. So was my heart. “I don’t know why the hell I thought he would be different,” I thought to myself. I jammed my hands in my pocket and started to walk home. “No wonder I don’t believe in G-D,” I thought. “Or the universe.” I hated the world. Not because of a boy, but because I could never be stupid enough to do that. But I hated the way everything was. I hated how lonely I was. I hated how angry and tired how anxious I was. I hated how I never stopped thinking. But I was too afraid of what it would be like if I wasn’t thinking at all. “Hey stranger,” I heard. I turned around. There he was. Dressed in a white puffer coat and a collared shirt. I smirked. “Where are you going?” He questioned. I turned towards him but kept walking. “It’s 8:20 Zaid… You said you would be here at eight. I didn’t take you for the aloof type.” He ran to me. “Hey. I'm so sorry. Really. It's just. I'm here now. Look please let me make it up to you. Let's go. Please have some fun.” I turned towards him. “Why did you invite me anyway. Did you break up with someone? Why me?” I asked. “Why me?” He looked me in the eyes. “I saw something in you April May. Something that’s in me too. This is like an incredibly horrible yet so beautiful thing that makes us hate and love our life all at the same time. I am a worrier. I am a thinker. I am not beautiful or easy or simple. I am complex. And- I saw you all alone. Like me. Complex like me. And I wanted to feel good about myself. Have fun before college.”

I smiled. “I understand.” He pulled me into him and hugged me. “Is this weird?” He asked. I was extremely uncomfortable and pulled away. “Not really,” I whispered. But he insisted to go looking around.

Once we made it to the front doorstep I could already smell weed and hear the words of Drakes's new album blast. Butterflies were going through my stomach. I looked at Zaid. He looked at me. We walked into think dark room. Colorful lights were discoing throughout the whole house. Acholol sprayed from people's mouths. People were making out and playing beer pong. We found a seat in the corner. “Wait here,” Zaid screamed over the music. He came back with two red cups. “What’s that?” I screamed. 

“Just some beer.” I smiled. Smelled the cup and took a sip. “What?” He said. “You’ve never had beer?” I laughed as the music winded down. “I didn’t say that. I just-. I haven’t had it in a long time.” He took another sip and then grabbed mine out of my hand. He chugged it. “Oh no,” I thought. Not Holden Coffer. 

“Do you drink a lot,” I asked, worrisome. “No,” he stated. “My parents are like always gone and whatever. Mostly my mom. So like sometimes I and my father's bar will have dinner together,” he laughed. I shook my head. “It's not serious or anything. Just like a beer. ITs helps with my creativity I think. My photographs… It just kinda enhances my Beauty but also my ugliness.” I shook my head as he stood up. He grabbed my hand.

“Wanna go upstairs?” 

I smiled and put my hand on top of his. We walked up a flight of stairs. He ran up each flight, pulling me to him. The noise settled down. “Are we allowed to be here,” I asked. He laughed. I questioned him. “You're a worrier too,” he said almost relieved. “I guess,” I added trying to look into his eyes. “What’s your favorite book,” I asked. He looked me in the eyes and lay down on the top of the stairs. “The last time we said goodbye is up there. Probably To Kill A Mockingbird still. Unmatched.” I smiled. After all, I agreed but made it out to seem like he was crazy. “You're telling me that The Catcher and the Ryes are not up there? How about the Jay Gatsby? How about They Both Die At The End?”

“Not really. There kinda cliché. Like I don’t know. It's just I feel some type of envy when someone is speaking about Holden Coalfield. It's like not all depressed/anti-social and systematic people are that weird and acholohiicly driven and different at the point that they become another species. We have to be the stereotypes. We have to be okay when we're not. That’s our world. Holden’s world isn’t real. It's a fantasy. Where the only thing that matters is ducks in a freaking frozen lake. Like we have to make money, we have to go to school. We have to be human whether we like it or not.” I laughed. “So, that was deep.” He laughed, unconsciously. The noise settled down. It looked like we were the only two individuals up here. “You know the quote “In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost,” I said. “Of course,” he then stated. “The Divine Comedy right?” I shook my head. “You ever feel like you are the only one in the universe and all the twists and turns and tears and laughs are all fake? It’s as if you are living in a dream. Because all we ready have is now, the present. But I have been trying to figure out why I feel the way I do. Why I’m lost in the woods? But it’s irrelevant. All of it. Because you have to keep going. We have to be okay when we're not Holden because everyone's journey is different. But at the end of the day, no one cares.”