@legacywagonfanzine my work:)
calming method, to help distract. The pencil in Normal’s trembling hand never met the paper, for the whole hour he was in the bland room.
The office was surrounded by other buildings, some that towered over the rest. There was a diner next to the office. Normal didn’t know why it was formatted that way, but he supposed it always had been. On the car ride home he played white noise. Everything past the thin glass windows was blurred as he drove. As he drove further, the buildings began to thin out. It was mostly farms, and buildings far off. The oranges and pinks began to bleed into the ceaseless hills, the sun sinking down into them.
It was dark when Normal got home. The keys jingled in his hands as he fumbled with them, trying to open the door. It took him a minute to get it right.
He finally did, swinging the door open. The living room was softly lit, just one light having been turned on. The living room was small, and slightly cluttered with unpacked furniture. There was a couch, and a small TV. The kitchen was completely unpacked, but still messy. There was a small window, one that sat right above the stove. It had a clear view of the dark sky, one that had started showing stars.
Normal tossed the keys onto the counter, and took off his shoes carefully. He hung up his coat, and walked on the cold tile. The silence rang in his ears, echoing through his mind. There was a small pad of sticky notes sitting on the counter, near where his keys had landed. He stared at it, glaring slightly.
It took normal a few minutes to find a pencil, as there was always a drought of them in that apartment, but he found one. Normal pulled the sticky notes to him, staring at them for a moment. He had to at least try.
Normal pressed the pencil against the paper, writing the first thing he could remember:
‘The stars are barely visible over the city lights. You’re leaning sitting on the stairs next to me and you’re craning your neck up. It's prom night and the school is lit up and alive behind us. Even then it feels quiet. Even then it’s just us. I can’t see your scars in the dark. I hope you can't see mine. We can pretend it didn’t happen, that we’re just teens. We can pretend we both wanted to be here and that highschool was just highschool and not a battle.
“The stars are really pretty,”
Your voice is the best thing I've ever heard. I can’t write metaphors or similes because none of them would mean anything to your voice. I'm looking at you and you’re looking up. I can see the stars in your eyes even though they’re dull. Your chest doesn’t move because you’re not breathing. You don’t have a heartbeat anymore; it can only sit in your chest. Your body was sewn back together like a gutted rabbit, the insides only mimicking what they should be. Does it matter? You’re still here. The stars are still here.
“Do you think we can run away?”
The memory is getting blurrier. I can still hear your voice.
“Where would we go?” I ask you but I know I'd go anywhere you did.’
Normal paused, looking back up at the man before him. The doctor’s expression was blank, to the point Normal was sure he was asleep.
“Is that it?” He asked, already having put the pencil down. The therapist shook his head.
“Can you keep going?” He asked. Normal paused, looking at the man who seemed to loom over him. He shook his head, though his fingers still rested on the pencil. He paused, and despite having said no, he wrote.
The night sky was so big. It was such a stupid statement, but it was all he could think. There were so many stars and neither of us were talking. It was so so stupid and when I said it you laughed. We were just sitting on the roof of your house and we were just looking out. The sky was going forever. It’s quiet and I’m sitting on the floor of your room and the moon’s light is all we have. You're lying next to me. You could have slept on your bed but you didn't. You reach for my hand and you speak for the first time tonight.
I didn’t say anything. I never did. I loved you. I love you. I always will. Please never doubt that for a second. I can’t tell you that or tell you all the reasons you deserve to be alive or tell you how many mornings I woke up for you. I can’t tell you because I don’t know how. There were no words that could describe the sunrise or biting into an apple or holding your hand or laying on your bedroom floor with you.
i kinda wrote it in parts, so there’s more but like. Not all of it needs to be read to make sense:)
