Someone bumped into Tim Anderson rudely, without an apology, causing the pages of the book in his lap to flip. There was no time to search for the chapter he'd been reading. A paper airplane cruised into the back of his head, adeptly sticking like glue to several wisps of his hair.
He twisted in his seat to see which boy had launched the plane. It was Clive Wallace - the meanest boy in school. Clive smirked from his seat in the back of the study hall.
Tim plucked the paper plane out of his hair. There was writing on it. Die, you dreary dog! Tim flinched and closed the book in his lap. Why couldn't the other kids just leave him alone? Tim never got through a day of school without ridicule from someone.
***
After school, Tim boarded the bus. Snickers from his peers were joined by malicious gazes as Tim hunted for a seat. One of Clive's friends offered Tim the space beside him. Tim took it gratefully.
Two minutes had barely gone by when the grinning teenager beside Tim slid across the seat toward Tim, delivering a painful hip-check. Tim's books went sprawling, and he landed on his rear in the aisle. Everyone laughed. Calls of "Loser!" and "What a retard!" sent a creeping blush up Tim's cheeks.
He collected his books awkwardly and stood to pick another seat toward the back, trying to ignore the remarks. Unfortunately, he was now closer to Clive.
Tim had just settled in his seat when he felt a cold liquid spill over his head. Laughter from the others blanched Tim's face this time. He grimaced when he realized that cola was now dripping from his saturated hair onto his lap, dribbling over his beloved copy of "Treasure Island".
He stood, humiliated, and pushed his way past pointed fingers to the front of the bus. "Let me off!" he told the driver, in a no-nonsense tone. "Let me off...now!"
***
Tim didn't know what the other kids expected from him. He just knew that they didn't understand him. Even his parents misunderstood him. He shook his shaggy, brown hair and stared at the beach below.
He wondered why he had to be so different from everyone he knew. His classmates made fun of him because he was awkward and introverted. Even his teachers looked at him as though he was a creature to be pitied. They saw the way the other kids treated him. They saw the fingers pointed in jest, and they heard how the other kids laughed and whispered.
Tim had been dealing with cruel treatment since junior high school. That's when the other kids seemed to notice how different he was from them. Since then, he'd learned to escape their harsh glares by diving into the pages of a book. Books didn't judge him. Books didn't crook fingers at him.
Tim stood, stretching his lean five feet for the last time. He watched as a flock of seagulls flew off, disappearing in the morning fog. Even they don't want to be anywhere near me, he thought sadly.
Seconds later, he was falling. He'd stepped off the cliff that overlooked the beach, and the sand was quickly approaching.
His last thoughts felt triumphant; he felt victorious for the first time in his life! I'll show them.
***
"We are gathered here today, to say goodbye to Tim Anderson," Father Steve announced to the small, mourning crowd. He paused and glanced down at the Bible in his hands, feeling overwhelmed by the thirteen-year-old Tim's death. He'd known Tim well. He'd known that Tim felt misunderstood by his peers, but he'd mistakenly thought that Tim was stronger than he'd appeared.
Father Steve's saddened brown eyes darted to Tim's grieving parents, Dan and Eve Anderson. He silently prayed that they would lean on each other in their time of need.
He continued with his sermon, trying his best to uplift Tim's family and friends with the right words for the somber occasion. Were there any right words, though? According to his beliefs, Tim had sinned when he'd decided to end his life. He knew that Dan and Eve felt the same way. He would try to console them in the coming months, despite what they all believed.
He offered the grievers one last prayer, and then he made the sign of the cross. He closed his Bible and hugged it against his robe, watching as Tim's parents dropped homegrown roses on Tim's casket. He knew that Eve had nurtured those wild roses into growth, just as lovingly as she'd nurtured her son.
The Andersons thanked him for his prayer, and then they sauntered slowly away with the crowd. His prayers were still with them, even as they slid into their car.
***
A week later, Father Steve knocked on the Andersons' wreathed door. The wreath had a welcome plaque positioned in its center, but that sentiment wasn't reflected on Dan's face. Dan's face was harder than Father Steve remembered. Dan's always-ready smile had transformed into the perfect picture of grief and loss.
Behind Dan, Eve motioned for Father Steve to enter. They asked him to join them on the couch, which faced the empty mantel over the fireplace. He remembered seeing a picture of Tim there before. It was gone now; just as absent as the thirteen year old.
The couple seemed lifeless now. Their shoulders seemed permanently slumped from self-blame. Eve's arms were crossed over her chest insecurely, like she wasn't quite sure why Father Steve had bothered to visit. Dan's head hung morosely, like he was expecting Father Steve to finally assign blame for Tim's death.
"You used to have a picture of Tim on the mantel," Father Steve commented, letting the corners of his mouth curve downward with disappointment.
"It kept staring at us," Dan mumbled as an excuse.
"Accusingly?" Father Steve asked with arched brows.
Neither Anderson responded verbally. Eve nodded and shook her head, like there was nothing left to say.
"When he did what he did...it wasn't because you were bad parents," Father Steve said thoughtfully, with his hands clasped in his lap. "Maybe we'll never know what made Tim feel he had to take his own life."
"We didn't even know he was unhappy enough to go this far," Eve responded with a shake of her head. "What does that say about our parenting?"
"If I had a dime to donate for every parent who was oblivious to their kid's thoughts, the church would be constructed out of gold by now," Father Steve retorted, frowning at Eve. "He loved you, and both of you loved him. His picture belongs on the mantel. Though he's gone, he still lives on in your hearts. He lives on in the sky, the wind, and the sun..." Father Steve trailed off, unsure of what else to say.
Several moments passed quietly. Then Dan nodded and stood. He left the room but returned after just a few minutes, with a picture of Tim in hand. He was about to replace the silver-framed photo on the mantel, when it accidentally slipped from his hand. The glass over Tim's photo shattered when the picture hit the wood floor.
Father Steve rushed to help Dan collect the glass shards. Eve hovered near them, wringing her hands worriedly. Dan left to dispose of the broken glass while Father Steve bent to pick up Tim's picture and the silver frame. He moved to give them to Eve but a page of handwriting stayed his hand. The objects trembled in his grip. It felt like a cold finger had just trailed down his spine. He shivered.
He unfolded the piece of paper, clearly marked by Tim's scrawled handwriting. He tried to catch his breath; it had unknowingly left him when he realized the writing was Tim's. He peered down at the paper, nodding after he read Tim's words.
Dan returned from throwing out the broken glass. "What's that?" he asked Father Steve, pointing at the page in the priest's shaking hands.
"Looks like Tim left something behind," Father Steve said, handing Dan the letter.
Dan hesitated before taking the paper. He seemed nervous, like the page contained information that he was better off not knowing. Finally, he read his son's words aloud:
Remember the Sun by Tim Anderson
Time stands still as I watch my last sunset
Wind dries my tears...as the seagulls trumpet
Being misunderstood, I can't shoulder
Not when laughs rip my heart and glares smolder
Mom and Dad, there's nothing you could have done,
To ease the burning from a callous sun
I know my death hurts you; I understand
A fire spread, which you must suspect you fanned
But you were the water that doused the flame;
Sleep at night, knowing you are not to blame
I was lonely, no matter a crowd's size
I was detached, despite your loving ties
Even the seagulls flee from who I am
Disappearing soul; closed off like a clam
My last step on earth will bring only joy
So...do not weep for your sad, little boy
I long for happiness - inside and out
So tuck away any tears with your doubt
Recall the times I was happy and fun
I'm now in the sky, the wind, and the sun
I love you both and hope you don't forget...
I chose for this to be my last sunset
Your son/sun...Tim
Eve had shed her first tear as soon as Dan started to read Tim's poem. Dan's voice faltered emotionally several times during the reading. Both Andersons were crying freely now, hugging each other desperately as if they were each other's lifeline.
Father Steve remained solemn throughout, praying that Tim's last words would help the Andersons cope with their son's death. He thought Tim would have outgrown his feelings of isolation, had he only been strong enough. But who was he to judge? Who was he to decide how strong people should be? Life is a mystery; the people who live it were also a mystery. Each person is unique and complex in ways only God could fathom with certainty.
"My prayers are with you," Father Steve told the grieving couple. "I think I better go now, so you can have some privacy." He nodded anxiously, like he needed to convince himself that leaving was the right thing to do. "Do either of you have any thoughts to share with me before I go?"
Dan looked up from Tim's letter. His permanent expression of solace was transforming into a mask of peace, right before Father Steve's eyes. "How did this letter get behind Tim's picture?" Dan wondered aloud, his voice cracking once more.
Father Steve had been wondering the same thing. "Maybe he put it there before he left for...his final destination," Father Steve guessed aloud.
"It sounds like he wrote it that day at the beach," Eve commented, wearing an expression of disbelief. "You don't think..."
"I'm not sure what my stand is on ghosts," Father Steve said quickly, knowing that Eve was wondering if Tim had placed the letter behind his picture...after death. "I'd guess he put it there before."
"And I just happened to drop it?" Dan asked skeptically, frowning at Father Steve.
"A coincidence," Father Steve responded with a nod. "Life is full of them."
"Tim said what you said," Eve pointed out in a whisper. "He said he was a part of the sky, the wind, and the sun. Just like you said. Like he overheard you and wrote the poem after you said that, knowing how Dan and I felt."
The lights flickered just as Eve finished her sentence. Father Steve glanced around the living room, feeling the same shiver he'd felt earlier. "I don't pretend to know everything," he told the Andersons. "Stranger things have happened."
"Thank you, Father Steve," Dan said softly, extending his hand. "We wouldn't have found Tim's poem if you hadn't come by."
"Don't thank me," Father Steve replied, shaking his graying head of hair. "Thank Tim for leaving the letter." Then he smiled at the Andersons and turned to leave.
"Father Steve?" Dan smiled at Father Steve when he turned around. "I feel like a weight has been lifted."
"It's a nice day," Father Steve commented with a smirk. "I hear the beach is a great place to go on a sunny day." He opened the door, and then he finished, "There's a blue sky over it, the wind is like a caress, and the sun...well, the sun never stops shining."
Father Steve closed the door behind him. He couldn't help but glance up at the sky. He smiled, knowing that the Andersons would be alright. Their loss would never be far from their minds, but the sun has a way of blinding people momentarily. Maybe when they squeezed their eyes shut to block out the glare, Tim's face would be smiling back amidst all that orange-red fire behind their lids.
For now on, Father Steve vowed to remember the sun as a part of everyone he'd ever known and lost. Every breeze would be the hand stroke of a passed loved-one. And the sky...the sky was where invisible eyes peered down on him reassuringly. And those veiled eyes watched, waited, and welcomed.
The End
Copyright 2007 - Sheila Roy
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