I sink back into school and homework and the crowd for the rest of November. I shut down again. I’m getting pretty good at that. Even Kelsey tries to comfort me, but I shrug it off as no big deal.
Both of us know better.
She seems to understand and gives me space. Guys who are emotional turtles do the same. Harris. Brick. Others.
And speaking of turtles, Newt goes back into his shell. The accident has freaked him out again. Too close and too real and too final.
As each day passes, I find that I miss Dad. That I wish he were here.
Those fairy tales he used to talk about sure sound good right about now.
I can’t even understand this gigantic sky full of sadness and anger. It covers everything.
I just want a little blue to shine through.
I want a little light streaming down on me.
I want some truth to believe in.
When everything seems so hollow and empty, how in the world can I ever hope to feel full? Growing up sure doesn’t seem like the solution, ’cause I have parents and uncles and great aunts and countless others who show me time and time again that age doesn’t equal happiness.
Listen to you.
I know. I hate wallowing around, but there’s nobody else to talk to.
Sighing just isn’t enough anymore. And the answers that I desperately wanted and finally got … well, they sure aren’t enough either.
I need something more.
I need something real.
I need something whole to fill this empty hole.
More than music that drowns out, or silence that ignores, or pain that bleeds.
I find myself wishing Dad hadn’t left, wishing he could be around to share a little more with me.