An unspoken farewell

“That’s ‘that’ kid...”

“The problem one?”

“Is there any other?”

“The one with the single father...”

“I heard the mother died of stress...”

“I heard the child was adopted...”

“Poor dear, she must have not been able to handle it…”

“Children like that shouldn’t be allowed to come to school, it’s a bad influence...”

“Loser!”

“You’re always so depressing...”

“I would be too if I was the reason my mom died, hah!”

“Maybe you should’ve died instead...”

Idiots! Fuckers! I hate them! hate them hate them hate hate hate hate hate

I open my eyes, the ceiling is dimly lit, I guess that it’s probably sometime in the afternoon.

‘I thought I’d get a break if I went to sleep, looks like I was wrong.’

Ugh...

I get up off the bed, take a few steps and sit down at my desk, an old white notebook, grayed from use, is staring back at me, ready for me to scribble my rage into its already pitch black pages. I reach for something to write with, a glimmer catches my eye, a key on top of a small black notebook is watching me.

“He asked me to give you these if anything ever happened to him...”

I remember why I tried to go to sleep. I still can’t believe it. I look at the door, any minute now he’d come in like nothing ever happened. That same annoyingly dumb grin on his face.

“Hey there bud, you wanna go somewhere? Like maybe the supermarket?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Got off early and just got back. So waddaya say?”

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll be quick.”

“Leave me alone old man!”

“Oh, maybe I came in at a bad time. Sorry, I’ll leave you alone then. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

‘Why do I keep thinking about him? Why do I even care? And what’s this even supposed to mean?’ I pick up the small black notebook, questioning why it’s blank, and why one page has been torn out. ‘Is this supposed to be some kind of joke? First he dies, now he’s making fun of me?’

Argh!

I slam the notebook onto the desk. Maybe a cup of cold water will help. I leave the room and walk down the stairs. The sounds of my footsteps echo through the empty house. I turn around the corner and enter the kitchen. The cold stove looks at me blankly.

“Hey there sleepy head!”

“What are you even doing? Why do I smell bacon?”

“I’m making breakfast, see?”

“It’s like five in the afternoon.”

“I know, but did you know? Breakfast, literally means ‘to break a fast’, as in when you eat after having not eaten for a long period of time, like when you’re sleeping. That means that no matter what time of day it is, if you eat after waking up from a long nap, it’s still breakfast time!”

“That’s dumb.”

“Haha. So, you want one egg or two?”

‘Great, now I’m hungry.’ I open the fridge. Aside from some bottles of water, and some expired condiments, it’s all but empty. I take a bottle of water and start chugging it.

Ack! *Cough, cough*

‘Should’ve drank slowly.’ Recovering from choking, I grab a can of soup from the cupboard, put it in a bowl, and shove it into the microwave. ‘Why did you have to go all of a sudden? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t it have been someone else? You know I can’t even cook, let alone take care of a house.’ Ding! I take out my bowl of soup and start drinking it, staring at the dining table. ‘Not that you were much better’

“Eugh, this soup tastes terrible.”

“I tried following the recipe, but couldn’t make heads or tails of most of it.”

“If you’re this bad at it, why even try?”

“Well, I thought it’d be nice to have her cooking once in a while. Anyhoo, do you think you’ll be able to go to school tomorrow?”

“Why do I even have to go? I hate it there.”

“You at least have to go often enough that you can graduate.”

“Why do you even care?”

‘I don’t want anymore’ I leave half the bowl of soup on the counter and head back upstairs. ‘I’ll go back to sleep’ I return to my room, and lay down on my bed.

*Deep sigh*

I close my eyes, and slowly begin to sink into the depths of sleep.

“Hey there kiddo, another nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m here to listen if you wanna talk about it.”

“...what are you even doing in here?”

“Oh right, I came to give you this, I saw you were sleeping and was wondering if I should just leave it in your closet.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a safety box.”

“What’s it for?”

“Just in case, if anything ever happens.”

*Gasp*

‘That box!’ I scramble from my bed to my closet, rummaging through the mess. ‘Found it!’ A grey metal safety box, a keyhole in the middle, waiting for its missing piece. I take it to my desk, pick up the key next to the notebook sprawled open on the side. I insert the key and try turning it. Click! The box unlocks. I open the box, inside is a stack of mismatched bills, a penny, and a note. I pick up the note, it looks just like the pages in the small notebook.

Hey there bud, if you’re reading this, then something’s probably happened to me and I’m probably not gonna be able to come back. There’s a lot of things I wanna say, but I don’t wanna bore you with an entire novel. So I’ll just say this, I don’t know exactly what’s going on in your head, or what you’re going through, never have, though I’ve always wished I did. Whatever it is though, I hope you can figure it out soon, but don’t worry if you can’t, take your time. It’s a shame that I won’t be there to see you when you do, and I’m really sorry to leave you to face it alone like this, but it’ll be okay, I’m sure you’ll be able to work it out, I believe in you. And I don’t wanna be the one dragging you down, so don’t worry about me, just focus on yourself. In this box, there’s twenty-thousand dollars, it’s all I could scrounge together. I’m sorry I couldn’t leave more for you, but don’t worry about the bills, I’ve got those covered for a while. Use the money as you need to, and remember, take all the time you need.

I love you, Dad.

P.S. I love you too

P.P.S. The penny is for your thoughts on what to use the money for.

P.P.P.S. Your mother’s recipe book is next to my bed, you can try it out if you think you can handle it.

*Sniff*

‘Heh, those were lame jokes’ I meaninglessly paw at the tears streaming down my face. ‘Don’t worry about me, just focus on yourself? That’s what I should be saying to you. That’s all you did. You only thought about me. Even now you’re still trying so hard to take care of me, too hard.’ I break down crying. An eternity passes. After I run out of tears to cry, I get up and reach for the notebook. I pick up the small black notebook, still missing one of its pages.

“So that’s what you meant with this”

I take the torn out page and reunite it with its fellows. I hold the notebook with both my hands.

I’m sorry....

...Dad…

...I love you too

A few weeks later. A clock shows the time, twelve minutes past seven. A youth stands in front of a mirror, checking themselves for any wardrobe malfunctions. They look at their watch.

“Oh no, it’s this late already?”

They stumble to put their shoes on and rush out of the room, hand in their chest pocket, feeling the small black notebook safely tucked within. Left in the room, a battered, once white notebook resigns itself as it sinks further into the trash bin, and on the table a computer screen, left on in the hurry, shows two tabs;

How to write a university application

Part-time restaurant jobs near me