Make Me Stay

In the fourth grade, I started changing and just for all, in the pledge of allegiance to and justice for most, because let’s face it: the world is anything but just for all.

Before fourth grade, I used to believe in things like the pledge of allegiance, school, a perfect world, and Santa. But I now know that none of those things are real. They don’t make me feel anything. Lately, a lot of things haven’t made me feel anything.

I used to imagine high school as this place of great discovery. So many people say it’s the place to find your true friends and finally get over all the bad crap that happened in middle school. But the truth is: high school is just the same story but with a different setting. There’s no plot change, no miraculous character development, no climax. It’s just an epilogue to a story on repeat.

I honestly don’t know how I got here. My life started off pretty normal to tell the truth. I grew up with older two brothers and a little sister. My little sister is one of my favorite people in the world.

I don’t use the past tense when I talk about her. I choose to believe that she is still here like she’s on a long vacation with friends or hanging out with my girlfriend.

Hailee is my other favorite person in the world. She was the first person to acknowledge my existence in high school. Before I met her, I was just known as the weird guy with a sketch book. But she didn’t just acknowledge my existence, she had a way of making people feel genuinely wanted. I don’t talk about her in the past tense either.

It’s because there’s now the choice of tense that I have a reason to stand in front of a group home for depressed teens.

“Are you sure about this?” My mom asked.

I looked up at the pink, two story house before me. Lights were strung around the doorway and a my happy place sign was hanging on the doorknob. Snow was patched over a welcome mat.

“Yeah,” I reassured her. “I’ll be okay.”

That must have been good enough for her because she simply gave me a hug and waved at me as she got in her car. And with that, she was gone.

I know that this is the right decision. She won’t have to worry if I’ll do something impulsive. She’s already lost one child. I’m not going to let her lose another---even if I did have to drive half way across the country for this.

I finally mustered up the courage to knock on the door. I waited with my hands in my pockets as I heard steps.

“Guys! He’s here!” A girl said as the door swung open. She took one look at me and turned back toward the inside of the house and shouted, “And he’s cute!”

“Hey?” I said.

“July, you’re scaring him,” another voice said. A taller girl walked up and stood in the doorframe. “I’m Kayla, and the crazy girl standing next to me is July.”

“Nice to meet both of you,” I said, nodding. I felt the weight of my backpack on my shoulders as I looked closer at the girls before me. Kayla had pasty skin and blonde hair while July had dark skin and wavy, black hair. They were complete opposites, and if I had to guess, their relationship probably wasn’t too different.

Kayla led the way back into the house while July followed on crutches. I hadn’t even noticed them at first. I was starting to think that I was either a good person for not noticing right away, or maybe I was just that oblivious.

“Oh good,” a woman said as we entered the family room. “You’re here. Please, take a seat. July and Kayla, go finish your homework.” She motioned to the couch as Kayla left, followed by July hobbling on crutches.

I sat there listening to the woman introduce herself as Amanda. She went on to describing the rules of this place, but I couldn’t listen. I was too focused on the red marker sitting on the coffee table in front of me. I blinked, and I was back there all over again.

I was sitting on by the window of the art room sketching in my notebook. I really wanted to do something with eyes. They told the truth much more than words. You can change what you say, but you can’t change what’s inside of you.

“Hey, Carson.” She was leaning up against the door frame with a sweet smile on her face. Her auburn hair looked almost blonde in the sunlight.

“You remembered my name this time,” I said, smiling.

“Of course I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re worth remembering.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Yeah, they are.” She walked over by me and sat next to me. “But we only remember the ones that make us feel something.”

I shut my book and looked up at her. She had the most beautiful smile. It was real. “Since when do you start making friends with loners?”

She took the book from my hand. “You’re not a loner, Carson. People just don’t notice when a genuine person comes along.” She fingered through the pages of drawings until she stopped on the one of my sister Izzy sticking her tongue out, trying to drink rain. “These are beautiful. What’s your inspiration?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “I guess I just want to create something that tells a story.”

She handed the book back to me. “Well, they’re really good. Maybe some time you can show me how.”

“Yeah, maybe some time.”

Hailee got up and walked toward the doorway. Before she left, she turned around and said, “See you around?”

I nodded. “Yeah, see you around.”

She left the room, her wavy hair bouncing off her back. This was the first time I truly felt seen in high school. For the first time, I wasn’t just the boy with the sketch book. I was someone more than just my abilities.

I never got the chance to show her how. And I really wish I had, because then maybe I would have a drawing or something to remember her by. I only have a picture to rely on that. But I’m not afraid of forgetting what she looks like, I’m afraid of forgetting the details that pictures don’t capture.

“Do you understand that, Carson?” Amanda’s voice almost made me flinch.

“What?”

Amanda sighed. “You’re required to go to school and we have group therapy every day. You also have to go to counseling every week. Those are the terms. Do you understand?”

I nodded, and she got up. “Your room is the last one on the right,” she said, pointing down the narrow hallway in the distance. “Your mom shipped your clothes here last week, but if you need more we can always get some.”

I started toward the hallway. Fast forward thirty seconds, and I was sitting on the bed of my new room. My room was painted blue; it had a dresser by the closet, and a nightstand by the bed. I grabbed my sketch book and pencil out of my backpack. I reopened it to my latest drawing of Izzy hugging our dog. I was filling in the lines when I heard a knock on the door.

July stood in the doorway, holding a book with a leather cover. “This is yours.” She tossed it to me and I caught it. “You have to write in your journal at least once a week. Amanda’s weird like that. But don’t worry, no one reads them.”

I held the journal up in acknowledgement. “Thanks, July.”

“Sure,” she said as she walked in a little closer on her crutches. “So what’s your story?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” she replied. “Everyone has a reason why they’re here. What’s yours?”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “You really wanna know? It’s kinda depressing.”

July adjusted the crutches under her arms. “I live for brutal honesty. Lay it on me.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “My sister and girlfriend died in a car crash.”

July’s eyes widened as she blinked. “Well damn,” she said, taking a seat next to me on the bed. “That’s a real conversation stopper right there.”

I closed my sketch book and set it aside. “Yeah, well, you asked. So what’s yours?”

“I got into a car accident, lost my ability to dance, my boyfriend dumped me, my parents disowned me, and my acceptance to Julliard was withdrawn.”

“Well damn,” I deadpanned. “That’s a real conversation stopper.”

“Yeah, well, you asked.”

We both just raised our eyebrows at each other and July burst out laughing. Then I started laughing. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the world was giving more to me than it was taking away. Or maybe it was just July.

“Your ex is an idiot,” I said, breaking our laughing fit. I don’t know why I said that, but for some reason I did. Maybe it was because she was my first friend in months, or maybe because she gave me my first laugh since their deaths.

July’s smile faded as she smoothed over the edges of my journal. “Then why do I miss him?” she looked up into my eyes.

“Honestly?” I said, and she nodded at me. “Because our hearts are always attracted to people without them.”

July’s smiled as she stood up using her crutches. “You, my friend, should write a book. You’re awfully poetic for...wait, what year are you?”

“I’m a junior.”

“Ew,” July said, walking toward the door. “Junior year sucks. But I’m serious about you writing the book. You should title it ‘How to Not Fall For the Jerk’.”

“I’m pretty sure you should be the author of that one considering your experience.”

July smirked back at me, she stood back in the doorway. “Cute and sassy. Pretty sure that’s the first step to jerk ville. Anyway, night.”

“Night,” I said, but she was already gone.

I sighed as my new journal stared me down. Alright, let’s just get this over with. I picked it up and grabbed a pen from my backpack. I uncapped it and began to write.

Dear Somebody,

If you’re reading this, it means one of two things. 1. I gave it to you because I trust you with this or 2. You found this and you’re invading my privacy.

See, this is why I never keep journals. I’ve never liked the idea of my soul poured out into a book that can easily be lost, stolen, or found.

I can’t stop seeing her. Hailee. I can’t close my eyes without seeing her smile. She is so beautiful, and she feels so real---like I can reach out and feel the warmth of her skin, and see the glass in her eyes. I miss her.

But on the bright side, I met a friend today. I know, me the unpopular kid in high school whose best friend in high school is his sister, has made a friend. It’s truly a miracle, I know. I like her. She’s kind, warm, and funny. God, she’s funny. I found out that she has a pretty rough past. But why anyone would dump her...I have no idea. She says she misses him. But she has no idea what’s like to miss someone that’s only alive in your memory.

I think I’ll like it here. I have my own room; it’s bigger than my old one. But I already miss home. Illinois is a lot different than North Carolina. It’s cold. It’s cold as all hell. I’m pretty sure I almost froze walking from the car to the doorstep. I’ll never know how anyone lives through this every year. The ground is hard and the cold wind hurts your eyes.

Well, I’m tired and I really don’t know what else to say. I’m probably screwing this journal up already and it’s only the first entry.

-C.R.

I set the journal on my bed stand and threw my backpack on the floor. I managed to change into sweats and a t-shirt before getting under the covers. I was swearing under my breath the entire time until they got warm. It’s too damn cold here.

I shut off the light and lay there looking up at the ceiling. I think of when things were normal. I think of all the days I took normality for granted. I would give anything to go back. I feel so empty and I need to talk. I grabbed my phone from the night stand and started dialing Izzy’s number. But knowing that she won’t answer stops me from pressing the call button.

And then I remember what depression feels like. For me, it feels like sitting in an empty bathtub and shivering to keep warm. It’s remembering that I don’t care how uncomfortable I am because I want more of it. I want something to give me so much pain that I forget how I really feel when I’m alone.

To forget that I can feel like this; when you don’t want to live but you don’t want to die either. That is my reality. I hope that one day I’ll forget about Hailee and Izzy. I told July that our hearts always love the ones without them, but I was wrong. Hailee and Izzy were the ones that gave me a heart. And I wish they hadn’t because having heart means feeling the bad too.

But still, life goes on with liberty and justice for most.