Take a Breath and Hold On Tight

There were so many pages and I hadn’t any idea as to where I should even start. But I figured, after staring at the thick spiraled notebook for a good ten minutes, I should start on the first page. That would be the sensible thing to do, right? But even as I found myself opening the notebook, my hands shook fiercely and I was afraid to read the words that were left in a deep blue ink on the white paper.

His words, his thoughts, his fears, his beliefs and his memories; all but words simply now written on a page. The tears were hoarding in my eyes already, but I would not let them fall; for they were of no use. Crying was not going to make Levy come back. Crying would not instill a breath of air in his lifeless body. So, I would not cry. There was simply no point.

It was my first night in Tempe, Arizona, and the wretched hot summer air was suffocating me as I sat near the window of what was now my room. I felt strange, because this place – Tempe – was a strange place to me. My mom and dad had sent me here to spend the summer with my Aunt Annie, Uncle Glenn and my cousin Elizabeth. I hadn’t seen any of them since the funeral, almost ten months ago and to be quite honest, I did not want to come here at all. I was perfectly content with spending my summer at home – back in Houston, Texas. I was perfectly fine with spending my time out in my backyard, lounging in my hammock and sticking my face in one of the many books that my soon to be senior English teacher had recommended to me.

I would have been fine. However, my parents were not all right with that idea. They’re convinced that Levy’s death has left me depressed and socially disabled. I really don’t know if I can argue with their theory, but it didn’t make me happy to know that I was coming here – a little over 1,193 miles away from the only place I have ever known.

I sighed and stared out of the window, looking out at the mountains far off in the distance, though they were rather hard to see in the darkness. I guess a change of scenery would be a nice breather. I’m not entirely sure if I’m ready to spend three months of my life in a new town, but it wasn’t like I could back out now.

My gaze fell upon the notebook once more and I attempted to steady my hands, as they shook the paper, making it hard to read. There, in small, chicken-scratched writing, was the first entry; sprawled out in the middle of the page.

September 9th, 2008
I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of writing in a journal. But, I figure if nothing else, I will be able to get these niggling thoughts out of my mind, where I’ve been holding onto them for forever. I can’t say them out loud; at least, not to my family or my friends. I’m too ashamed. I know that they would never look at me the same. Never would I just be Levy Isaiah Colburn. I would be ‘the gay one’; the one who put shame upon his family. But that’s just it: I AM GAY. I can’t change it.

I slammed the notebook shut and laid it on my lap. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on my trembling bottom lip. Oh, God, Levy . . . why couldn’t you just tell me? Things would have been so much easier . . . for you. For me. For all of us.

I stood up and placed the notebook in one of the dresser drawers and laid down on my bed. Tomorrow my cousin was coming home and my aunt and uncle assured me that she had plenty of plans prepared for her and I. I let out one last yawn before closing my eyes. I’d deal with Elizabeth and the rest of the world come tomorrow.