Victor

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His eyes were the perfect shade of green. Each time he walked into a room, it was like magic. The lights would suddenly be bright and not one person would be groggy, even if it was seven in the morning in math class. Victor was perfect in every way. The smile, personality, and most importantly, his gorgeous green eyes.


I was the one that woke up the most, I guess. He sat right next to me in the same wooden desk with the yellow chair. It was the only one and easily spotted out of all the dark blue chairs. Everyone knew to never sit there because they couldn't pull off the yellow. It was like the sun. Victor was the sun and the chair was perfect for him. I remember one morning he said hello to me and I melted. His voice was as perfect as you could imagine. A bit childish, but strong and confident. The way he stood up to get a pencil or worksheet or to turn something in made everyone breathe at the same time. Or, at least, that's how I felt.


We talked a lot in class. It was funny because the teacher would tell everyone else to be quiet, but we got lucky. I personally think that she loved his voice as much as the rest of us. Or, at least, me. Sometimes he would talk to me in the halls, asking how I was and the casual "what's up?" which made me feel a little important. Almost like he showed interest.


I was stupid, though. I would ramble and stumble over words and mix phrases up and I would even correct myself mid-sentence. He would usually laugh or just nod, smiling.


Our last conversation was about homework that was due that morning. Neither of us had done it and we came up with a lame excuse. I think I said that I never got it and he said the same. The teacher bought it. She said that it must not have gotten to that side of the classroom. We got lucky, considering that we were the only ones on the left side. A week had passed and we did the usual things like talking and smiling and laughing...


Then Monday morning I walked into the classroom, the bell having rung and the bright yellow seat was empty. I guessed that Victor was sick and felt a little lonely, shrugging it off. Tuesday came after and I thought the same, and then Wednesday came, then Thursday, Friday, the weekend, Monday, Tuesday, and so on.


The yellow seat was empty for two weeks straight and everyone in the class questioned it. Victor had perfect attendance. This was so unusual for him to be absent for so long. He was a good student and wouldn't miss so much school without contacting any of us.


That was the thing though... he couldn't contact any of us. He was physically unable. He was six feet under the surface of our feet.


I found out on the third week on Tuesday. He was apparently depressed and no one could tell. The yellow seat disguised it so well and so did his perfect smile and eyes and voice. I remember not being able to hold myself together and today I still can't. It's difficult to think about.


My mother let me stay home Wednesday, knowing how upset I was. She also felt guilty of not telling me when she had known from the beginning. His mother was in her book club and so was her best friend and the friend told my mother. I didn't tell anyone. The students in my school all found out on their own time and I could barely speak, anyway.


One night I was going to bed. I was exhausted and hadn't slept for a few days. Even though I didn't know him well, it hurt me so much. I knew we had this connection and I wanted it to grow but... God.


When I got under my sheets and laid my head down, I heard something. My name, maybe. It could have even been made out to be a soft cry. I sat up again, looking around in the dark as if I would have been able to make an image out. Nothing came in sight and I was alone and it was probably the wind or my tired mind playing tricks on me. My name was heard again. I knew it. It was my name. Someone was talking to me.


I said nothing and then felt something cold around me. I closed my eyes and held my breath and there it was, the voice of Victor calling my name. He was rubbing my back to try and comfort me. I felt his hand. He was telling me that he was sorry and that he didn't want to end our growing friendship, but he couldn't handle it anymore. He told me that he regrets it and wishes he stayed with me. He said that he was afraid and didn't know any other way out and whenever he tried to tell someone, they would push him away.


I told him that he should have came to me and he said that he didn't want to bring that into my life. I opened my eyes and saw him smiling at me. I started to cry again. He told me that he would be there for me and that we could still be friends. Not much else could have been said. He was fading out and I could hear my parent's bed squeak and someone getting up and walking up the stairs to come to my room. Victor said that I would never see him again, but that he was around and that if I ever needed someone to talk to, he was there and listening.





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xana said...
Apr. 4, 2016 at 5:32 pm
I came here to read a poem written by my friend Victor, who died this year. And I found this short story, which is so close in any ways to my reality, that I cry
 
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