The Best Part of 'Believe' Is The 'Lie'

It didn’t take as long as I thought it would for me to fall in love with you. I’m disappointed in myself, almost. I always told myself that it would never happen to me; that my walls were fortified concrete around my over-senstitive heart. I never cared much for the emotion of love, but perhaps that’s because I never knew what it was before. Dear old Mom and Dad sure as hell never gave me a clue as to what it is, what it means, or how it feels to be unconditionally loved.

And I was fine with that, for a long time. There was no need for love in my life. I didn’t need friends and the drama that come with them. I didn’t want affection—that would only confuse me, and I hate confusion. It means I’m not in control of the situation. But then, I saw you. You, with your unkempt, charcoal black hair; with your mischievous green eyes that promised trouble. It happened to be a Tuesday morning on the blacktop at school when you approached me. I was sitting on the old green bleachers, watching nothing in particular when you disrupted me by sitting directly in front of me, blocking my gaze.

“My name is Zackary,” You told me with that stupid grin you always wore on your face. I didn’t realize then that I’d fall in love with that grin, along with everything else about you. It was always on your face, even right up until that last day in April. Then, when I didn’t reply, you continued. “If it takes too long to say that, you can call me Zacky. Everyone else does. What’s your name?”

I never should have replied. Even then, I realized that you had begun what no one else had ever tried to even do. You had started causing little chinks in the armor I’d come to believe was invincible. You’d started tearing down my wall one small bit at a time. And, much to my insecurity, I found that I didn’t mind. I almost found myself wishing you could dig your way underneath my frozen exterior and find the person beneath the coldness—find me, the real me. Looking back, though, I was afraid of you. Not because you were a man, and because you could hurt me—there was never any thought in my mind that you’d hurt me. I was afraid, rather, because I knew that by allowing myself to become friends with you, my entire life would change. And I didn’t think I was ready for that.

But I did reply. “Alice,” I told you cautiously, as though saying even one word would melt what had taken years to freeze. You smiled, and just walked away. You left a book sitting on the bleachers, and I called out your name, trying to get you to turn back and grab the book. But you didn’t. You ignored me, much like I’d pretended to ignore you. I realized that you were playing a game with the book. It would give you an excuse to see me again; to try to break down my defenses.

It took you three weeks to come back. It was the same way we met the first time, just a different day and a different month. The first thing you said was ”Sorry for taking so long.” As though I had been waiting for you impatiently. I didn’t want to admit it, but you were right. I had indeed been waiting for you.

I didn’t reply with words; I’m sure you must have thought that I was a mute or something, with how few words I’d ever spoken. I pulled the book out of my shoulder bag, assuming that was the only reason you came back to see me. After all, it had taken you three weeks to find me again. I thought you didn’t want to see me. I was wrong, and looking back, I realize that. As I handed you the book, you spoke. Your words surprised me.

”So Alice, have you found your Wonderland yet?”

I was stunned. With only eight words, you completely shattered the wall; broke down all the defenses I’d been so sure were unbreakable. I didn’t know what to say, so like always, I said nothing at all. You grabbed my hand tightly in yours, and I felt the calluses. I didn’t know then that you loved playing guitar; that you were in a band, and had dreams to make it big someday. I wish you’d gotten to complete those dreams. If anyone was worthy of being famous, it was you.

”I’ll help you find it, if you’ll let me.” You whispered to me. I should have said no. I should have told you that I was fine; that I didn’t want your help. But I didn’t, because I did. Once again, I said nothing.

It was at that moment that a teacher saw us. She yelled at you, but like all the other teachers at Huntington Beach High School, she ignored me. They didn’t even know my name; it didn’t matter if I was ditching. But you were another story. You wouldn’t ignore me; you refused to leave me alone. And I was okay with that.

I saw you every day after that for a few weeks, except on the weekends when there wasn’t any school. With each of the days that we spent on those bleachers on the blacktop, I let my walls down more and more, and actually replied to some of your questions. Not all of them; certainly not the pressing ones that you’d throw in. You wanted to know if I had siblings, I’d ignore you. You wanted to know about my parents, and I told you I wouldn’t answer you. And you didn’t push it. You respected my boundaries, and I respected you for that. On the fifteenth day that we spent together, you held my hand in yours for the entire time we sat on the cold wood. I didn’t stop you. You had become the sunlight shining through the darkness that had enveloped me for so long.

I waited for you the next day for over an hour before I gave up. You weren’t there, and you wouldn’t show up. As I started walking to the library to find a new book, someone called out my name. I turned around, halfway expecting to see you. I didn’t. It was Miss Uhle, the school’s Senior class advisor. I didn’t know what she wanted, because I never talked to her before. I was a Junior; you were the senior. Then she spoke.

”Are you Alice?” She asked, a small envelope in her hand. I nodded, and immediately, her expression changed to one of sympathy. I didn’t know why she was looking at me like that; as though someone had died.

”This is for you. It’s from Zackary Baker.” She spoke quietly, handing me the envelope. Then her eyes met mine, and she continued. ”You’ve been given permission by the principal and your parents to take the rest of the school day off, as well as tomorrow and however long you need. “

I didn’t know what she was talking about. I didn’t know what was wrong. No one had told me anything, but that was to be expected. I never talked to anyone but you; why would they feel the need to say anything to me? I assumed something had happened to one of my siblings, or perhaps one of my parents. That didn’t really bother me; I’ve never been close to them.

I let Miss Uhle lead me first to my locker so I could deposit my books, and then to the office to sign me out. The whole office became quiet when I walked in, and I couldn’t figure out why; what was wrong? Had one of my parents or siblings died? If only that were the case, I wouldn’t be this depressed.

I got home twenty-five minutes later, and my mother was sitting in her Lexus in the front driveway, tapping her perfectly-manicured red fingernails on the steering wheel impatiently. That’s Mother for you; always impatient, always being held up by one of us. Usually, it’s me holding her up. At least, that’s what she says. I got in, putting my book bag in the back of the car, and buckled my seatbelt.

We drove in silence for several minutes, until my mother turned her head sharply in my direction. “When were you planning on telling your father and I that you have a boyfriend, Alice? And especially a boy like this one.”

I didn’t reply to her. You weren’t my boyfriend; at least, you weren’t then. I took the opportunity to open the envelope, and pulled out a small scratch of paper. I read it silently to myself, not wanting my mother to hear what it had to say. It was in your scratchy handwriting;

Dear Alice,

Please come to the Hoag Medical Center. Room 342. I need to see you.

Love, Zacky

That was all it said, and it was terribly confusing to me. I still have the paper, and the envelope. It was then that I felt the small, icy fingers of fear clenching around my throbbing heart; something was wrong. Mother said nothing as she pulled up in the Emergency Room parking lot; she must have known something, because she dropped me off at the right hospital. She looked at me, as emotionless as ever, and spoke.

”Call your father to pick you up, or take the bus home when you’ve finished your business here. I have a hair appointment this afternoon.”

I rolled my eyes. It was always something with her. I got out of the car, and walked up to the waiting room, spotting a nurse at the desk. When I asked for the room you’d told me, she gave me a sympathetic look.

”That’s in the Intensive Care Unit,” She told me. She then went on to say, ”I know the boy in that room well. He comes here every so often, but I’ve never seen a young woman visit him. It’s right up the elevator, three stories, and then take a left. At the end of that hall, you’ll reach another wing, and turn right. The nurses there will direct you where to go from there, dear.”

I did as she said, wondering what she’d meant. You’d been to the hospital so often before that the nurse knew you well? When had you been here before? Why hadn’t you ever said anything to me? What was wrong? All these questions, and more, were floating around my head as I reached the third floor. I took a left, like the nurse had told me. From there, a nurse brought me to your room.

When I opened the hospital door, you were looking in that direction, as though you’d been waiting for me for once. I guess you had been, hadn’t you? I’m so sorry I didn’t show up sooner. I would have—

You looked rough, lying in that hospital bed. I walked over to you slowly, not afraid of getting sick myself, but rather taking in your appearance. Your once soft and unkempt black hair was now matted against your skull in sweaty clumps, not a bit of life in it. Your eyes looked as though you hadn’t slept in days, or maybe even longer; though, they lit up when you saw me. But it was your complexion that startled me most, Zacky.

You looked like living death.

You had gotten at least two shades paler since the day before, and you just looked weak, as though you couldn’t even hold your head up. You blinked, and I saw tears forming in your eyes as I walked over to the side of the bed and took your hand in mine. I couldn’t stop the words before they spilled out of my mouth.

”What’s wrong, Zacky? Why are you here? What happened? Are you--“

“They don’t know what’s wrong with me, Al,” You told me, blinking slowly. You squeezed my hand as tightly as they could. ”I don’t know why I’m here, and I don’t know what happened.”

That’s when the first tears I ever felt began forming in my eyes. Isn’t it ironic how, only a few months after I’d met you, I was crying for you but yet I couldn’t bring myself to cry at my own grandparents’ funerals?

”B-but you’ll get better, right? Tell me you’re going to get better, Zacky. Please.” I begged you, not wanting to hear the news that you would be dying. I knew I couldn’t handle that. That smirk found its place on your face again, and you forced a chuckle.

“I won’t leave you, Alice. I promise. Just believe, okay? That’s all you need to do, and I’ll get through this.We’ll get through this.

I sat in your room with you that night for another six and a half hours, until visiting hours were over. I met your Mom and Dad that day; they were just the opposite of my parents, and I found myself liking them almost as much as I loved you. I also met your little sister and your bandmates. They were all too nice to me; they all accepted me much too easily. They were like you; they were accepting. It didn’t matter to them that they’d never so much as seen me before; they all knew that you were important to me, and that I was to you, too, and that was all that mattered to them. That’s all that it took for them to accept me.

I had to go home that night, but I didn’t leave until I made you promise that you would still be there the next morning at six o’clock, when visiting hours resumed. You smiled, and nodded.

”Just believe.” You repeated again. And I did. If you could believe that you were going to pull through, I could too. That night was our first and only kiss. I said goodnight and goodbye to you, and you said goodbye as well. I also told you three words I’d never said to anyone before in my life. I meant them with my whole heart.

”I love you, Zacky.” I told you as I walked out of the room, unable to take my eyes off of you. You grinned, your face lighting up.

”I love you too, Alice.” You told me as I walked away.

It was the last time I saw you alive. You died that night at 4:22 AM, in a drug-induced sleep. I was told by your mother that you died with a smile on your face; that the last thing you did was to give her a list of the people most important to him, and what he wanted to be said to them and given to them. I was on that list, and you said:

Alice—I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. I hope that in our brief time as friends (and more?) that you’ve learned to love as much as I have, and that you won’t hate me for this. If He’ll let me, I’m still going to help you find your Wonderland, Alice. Just hold on, okay?

You wanted me to have a small notebook, with just a few pages that were filled out. You’d written the lyrics for a song. I didn’t know why you wanted me to have it, but I’ll treasure it forever.

I’ll never hate you for leaving me. I couldn’t hate someone like you; especially after everything you did for me. Because of you, I learned what love is, and what it feels like. I learned to stand up for myself, and moved away from my parents. I learned how to open myself to others, and to live life with no regrets.

Because of you, I’m the me I’ve always wanted to be. I can believe, but as we all know,

The best part of believing is the lie that’s a part of it.