Magdalen Islands, Canada

May 2012

Lynn Vandestine

He picked up the pen again.

Though he hesitated to write, because it wasn't easy. It wasn't easy for him to reveal his expression clearly, knowing he wouldn't be forgiven.

Knowing he didn't deserve forgiveness.

Knowing he had hurt her terribly.

And also knowing it was his last living hour.

Life. Hurt. Pain.

And....love.

Aren't they all similar? he thought. He had been alive for twenty-one years, so at least he could tell he lived. He could tell that he'd seen things, how things could be beautiful and how things could be twisted, turning into ugly.

He wrote a little more.

"Can you imagine what am I gonna do? There's is a tiny boat waiting for me in the sea, alone. I'll lie down. I'll look up at the dark sky, at the shining stars. I'll not look back.

The boat will be moving.

I will be moving.

And I know, I believe, you'll appear before I close my eyes. I know you will.

Farewell,

Lynn."

He thought for a while about writing a post script. A token of their memories.

"PS : I give you all the places I owned."

He sighed and dropped the pen. The more he would write, the more it would hurt. He entered the letter in a white envelope, thinking about his younger brother, who was given his special places, too. He hoped, they would be friends.

He opened the door and called out, "Samuel!"

A middle aged muscular man with a long beard and a weird hat on his head, emerged in front of him.

"Yes, boss." The hat guy said.

He held out the envelope and said in a strong voice, "Make sure it is sent. Here's is the address and put enough air tickets."

"Yes, boss. Got it," the hat guy took it.

"Inform my dear stepdad three hours later. Tell him that I am gone. And don't go to my room. Police will find out everything they need to know in the table. But don't tell them about the letter, okay?"

"Okay, boss." The hat guy nodded.

He stepped front and opened the gate.

"Boss...." Samuel hesitated.

"I am not your boss." He laughed. "Apparently a bastard can't be the boss of our ancestral company, can he?" He moved forward again, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, Samuel?" he turned, as if he'd remembered something to say.

The hat guy looked up. "Yes...boss?"

"Thank you. Thank you for your service to me."

Samuel blinked, tears emerging in the corner of his eyes, unable to speak something. Who knew that a murderer like him could cry.

He walked out from the beach house, feeling the gentle, cold wind in his skin. He looked down at the sand and took a deep breath.

The weather seems nice, he thought.

And he laughed. Maybe so many weird things appear in mind when someone is going to do something dangerous. Something is wrong, but it seems right to them.

He reached to the little country boat. He pulled out the box from his pocket and opened it. He swallowed some pills, he needed them. His mind, his brain, his conscious, weren't working anymore.

He'd had enough.

He cut the rope around the stick, loosening the boat and pushed it.

"I hear the sound of waves crash

I stare at the shining stars,

You look at me from the end of the sea

I can't ignore the gaze of yours,

It's pulling me like a magnet

So I lie down on the sea,

I move, move and move

Waves, wind whisper in my ears,

They say, 'Silly boy, you can't reach the end.'

But I will reach you, love."

He laid down, because it was time.

It was time for him to say farewell to the world. At least, he thought that.

He looked around for the last time.

Perhaps one day she'll find out what's written in the other page of the letter.

~

San Francisco, USA

August 2016

Samlin Greenham

I am sitting in front of the window in my room, gazing at the sky. Clouds are moving, so slowly, beautifully. After a while, I turns my stare from them, something in my head telling that my mother is coming.

You know, I was right.

My mother bursts into the room, her whole face is red. Should I tell her that she looks like spilling color? Or tomato?

"You can't behave with him like that, Sam! Do you have any idea how much he cares about you?" she yells calmly.

Trust me, my mother is an amazing woman. She exactly knows how to control her temper, which I don't. I just try to.

"I know, Mom. I just don't like him," I say normally. "I don't like the way how he always sticks with me. I don't like the way how he treats me as I am made of glass. I don't like the way how he wastes his time spending with me."

"Jake doesn't stick with you."

Jake is my friend. I'm not really sure about that though. Can men and women just be friends?

"Kinda true. "I shrug.

My mother sits at the edge of my bed, rubbing her forehead. "Can't you be a little more nice to Jake? He's your friend, for two years! Why are you ditching him right now? He is nice, Sam. He likes you," she tells me patiently, the anger fading.

I catch the sentence. Oh God, it's my chance to make her angry. Real angry.

"That's the point, Mom." I say matter-of-factly. "Jake does like me in a way he shouldn't. All he wants is my panties."

My mother flinches. "Language, Sam!"

I wave my hand. "I'm just telling you the truth. It's true."

She stands up, giving me a glare and finally leaves the room. Without another word.

I release a long breath, sinking in my favorite chair. It's a normal wooden chair, but something is very comfortable about it. I painted the chair when I was ten, playfully. It feels like me. Hard, angry, alone, covered with many colors.

I grab my school bag and pull out a book, about which I have to write an essay.

Tess of the d'urbervilles.

Great.

I at first start to write the flaws of the characters. I read this book a few times before. It's not that bad.

TESS

1. She's soft, weak, shy, insecure. Though it's not her fault that her parents are assholes.

2. She could fight with Alec.

3. She could....

God, now I start to feel pissed at Mrs. Sordino for giving this essay. I know she'll give me huge F, if I write my true feelings about Tess, Angel and Alec.

I can't focus right now.

At that moment, my phone beeps.

A text from Jake. I groan.

Jake: "Hey, are you mad at me? I'm sorry, if you are, Sam."

I'm hesitating. Should I tell him sorry too for yelling at him earlier?

Me: "I guess I'm sorry, too."

I tap the 'send' option and switch off the phone. My apology is finished. Then I glance at the clock, trying not to think about him.

But...okay. Let me tell some major things about him.

Jake Alexander Sordino. It's kind of ancient name, Alexander (I think so). And his favorite author is Alexander Dumas. He often does some freaky things,(except hanging out with me), learning and speaking French was one of them. He even created a group about discussing Dumas's writings and tried to show how much he loved Black Tulip, how much he loved Count of Monte Cristo, how much he loved Dumas. Last year, some gay guys in school asked me, if Jake was gay, too. I told them to go ask themselves.

But he's not.

I hope he likes Em, my best friend.

Now I'm imagining the day we first met. It was embarrassing and awful, of course.

I was in ninth grade. My first day at high school. I was walking to the first class, Mathematics, with my best friend Emilia. I wasn't nervous and somehow comfortable because of her. We were laughing about something and then, that event happened.

Jake was leaving the room and we bumped into each other. Emilia was a feet behind from me. I had immediately knocked at the door and stared at my white shirt in disbelief.

Jake was holding a coffee cup, but it was empty then. I just didn't get it. Who the hell in this planet drank coffee in their classroom on the first day at high school? The coffee was obviously black.

God, I wanted to punch him. I wanted to punch him so bad that my hand was shaking. But I didn't. I just stared at him for a few moments, vibrating with anger.

He stared back at me, then without a word he removed his own shirt. He had broad shoulders, his body full of muscles. I thought for a moment he must be some kind of bodybuilder or boxer or something, so punching him was maybe a bad idea.

Some stupid guys and girls were giggling around me. Assholes!

"Are you blind, Mr. Bodybuilder?" I  somehow managed to speak.

Jake handed me the shirt, staring with his big, blue eyes. He shook his head no and then he left the hallway.

Well, he said he wasn't. But who could tell.

"Oh my God!" Emilia exclaimed. "Sam, was it love at first sight? He just stared at you for five minutes!"

I entered into the washroom, unbuttoning my shirt. "No. But it was obviously hate at first sight for me." Then I firmly closed the door behind me, feeling irritated.

My first day at high school sucked. At second period I met Mrs. Sordino, Jake's mother and our literature teacher. I was sure as hell that she didn't like me. In that class, he was present too, wearing a football jersey. He sat beside me and immediately started talking. I had thought he couldn't talk, just could stare. For a reason, I couldn't be mad at him. He gave me his shirt and he apologized. From then our 'friendship' started.

Anyone can ask me why I don't like him. But that's not true. I like him. I really do.I just don't like him in a romantic way. There is no doubt he is handsome. Many girls have crush on him. Even a girl who was six years younger than him, once sent him love letters for a whole year.

Jake plays cello. He plays basketball as a shooting guard. He's respectful to his parents. He has his own library consists of five thousand books. He's hot. He can speak in six different languages. In my word, he's a freak. But others think, he's perfect.

And he's not for me.

He deserves better.

He really does.

"Sam? Are you awake?" my mother's voice comes behind of the door. "What are you doing at two o'clock in the morning?"

I turn the light off as quickly as possible. I finally came back from my imagination. I pull the cover over my body and I have only three hours for my sleep. I don't want her to know that I am still awake. I don't want to upset her right now. As my Dad isn't here, my Mom is both.     

After three hours, you'll see my daily life.

But don't expect anything magical. Okay?

~

I suddenly open my eyes.

My hand grabs the clock and shuts it. It's six o'clock in the morning. And it's my time for running.

I pick up phone and call Emilia. She lives half a mile away from our home and sometimes she runs with me. But I can tell that she doesn't like it much.

"Hello, Em?" I say.

"Hmm," her muffled voice comes through. "What, Sam?"

"Do you have any idea what time it is?  Today is Tuesday!" I am teasing her.

"Oh, shit!" she curses. "Today is our math test, right? Oh my God, am I so late?" I can hear she's brushing her teeth, splashing water.

We two are quick.

"It's six ten. You have five minutes to be ready. You have to run with me. I'm coming. Bye, Em!" I hang up the phone without giving her a chance to reply.

She's cool and funny, you know. We've been friends since our elementary school. Her mother, Julianne Brown, is my mother's friend. So it was kind of obvious that Emilia would be my good friend, too.

I wear my Brooks running shoes, then pull my hair in a loose ponytail and walk to the kitchen. My mother is already there, making breakfast.

"Morning, Mom." I say and grab a bottle of orange juice from the fridge.

"Morning, honey." She gives me a smile.

I smile back, because it's a good sign. She's not mad at me for last night.

"You're up early today," I am watching her. She places a plate of toasts in front of me, on the table.

"Maybe I'm going to run with you," she grins, then sits on a chair.

"REALLY? No way!" I laugh. "Well, you can run with me, you know. You're not that old."

My mother smiled a little, shaking her head. "I have an early shift, sweetie. That's why I am up early," she smooths her perfect brown hair. "Anyway, how's your school going?"

"It's going." I shrug, taking another bite of toast. "Fights, detentions, hallway kissing, exams, stupid pranks, blah blah."

"What about you? Are you fighting? Or are you seeing someone?" she raises an eyebrow.

There we go again.

"No, Mom. I am single as hell." I put the orange juice bottle down.

Well, there's not one hell. Seven.

"Okay." She replies and doesn't push farther, watching me.

"I am going. Em is waiting for me." I stand up, grabbing my keys.

"Have a good day, Sam." My mother gives me a hug.

"Goodbye, Mom!" I yell when I head out. I can't say, "You have a good day too, Mom!"

Because she works too hard. She worries. For her only daughter. For us.

It hurts me sometimes.

And I miss my Dad. I don't want  to miss him, but it has been three months that he's missing. You can't think straight and live your life normally, when it happens.

And I also miss the person who left me three years ago, without a word.

Just left me a letter.