It was a long time ago, longer than I realized today. I'd always been less optimistic than all the other kids, and Mom realized that. It wasn't normal for a ten-year-old to get depressed, but I suppose there's an exception to every rule. Perhaps it's simply in my nature. Perhaps it's because I took after my mom, and she always seemed depressed at any given time. No matter how hard she smiled, or how hard she maintained her posture, she always had this far-off look silently lingering in her eyes. I wanted to know why she felt upset. I wanted to make her better. That's why I wanted to be a doctor or a therapist, but I never made it out of high school.
I remembered coming home one day, only to see my beloved mother slumped over on the table. Her skin had lost its golden glow, and her passionately yellow hair looked almost faded, despite it being perfectly normal this morning. Her eyes weren't deep blue, they were shallow and almost lifeless. A knife lay inches from her hand, and her wrists had three or four slits on them. She heard me walk up, her she did nothing to move. When she finally managed to speak, her voice gave out. I could hear it crack under pressure. She simply gave up and stopped trying to communicate. I stood there frozen, eyes getting wider and wider the more of the situation I took in.
"I'm sorry, Tristan. You shouldn't have had to find out like this," she whispered. Her cheeks burned red, as always. No matter her mood, sitation, or otherwise, her cheeks would light themselves up a rosy red. A tear soon cascaded down her cheek again, glistening in the kitchen's light as it fell. I didn't know what to do, what to say, how to act. I tried to say something, I tried to move. It didn't work. A squeak left my lips, but other than that I remained inaudible. I had so many questions jumping at the same rate of my heart. One in particular kept coming back to me.
Why.
Why.
Why.
She couldn't move at all either, though I couldn't blame her. I stood still there, propping myself up with one arm leaned against our counter, watching her slowly break more and more. All youthfulness drained, all tears cried, and both wrists slit, she finally spoke once more.
"He left us," said she. "He left us, Trissy. He's gone, gone forever. The only one I ever loved, gone forever. Left for some, some slut who claimed she loved him more." I knew. I finally knew.
"He found her at a bar, no less. I told him the liquor would kill him, but I guess I was wrong. It stole him instead. Ten years, wasted away with some coward who runs away from a fight and leaves his wife defenseless, runs to a whore. Runs away as she gets abused and tormented right in front of his eyes, and he ignored it. I lost him, and though I hated him, I loved him. He gave me you, Trissy, my sunshine in a world of rain. In a world of hate, despair, cruelty, and lies, you are my only sunshine."
I puked. I don't know why, but I puked. Perhaps it was the shock. Perhaps it was the overwhelming fact that I was my mother's only source of sunshine. Perhaps it was my father had left my mother for what she described as a 'slut' and a 'whore'. Though this wasn't the first time my no longer innocent ears had heard these words, it still warrented a bit of surprise.
Sunshine, she said. Sunshine, when I only ignored her. Sunshine, when I yelled at her for things that weren't her fault. Sunshine, when I said I hated her. Sunshine, when I cursed her very existence. Sunshine, she called me. Sunshine, she whispered as she looked at me. And at the same time, I loved her. I blessed her existence, silently. I whispered her name when I couldn't carry on. I thought of her, day and day again. It wondered me, it amazed me, it mystified me. Even though I knew she was depressed, she still smiled, laughed, cared, and carried on.
My fists clenched. My own tears trickled slowly down my own rosy cheeks. I squeezed my lips and eyes shut, murmuring and whimpering to myself. My chin tilted up.
You did this. You did this. You did this. You. You. You.
"I swear," I began slowly, "this day, I will never leave you. I will be your hero. I will stay by your side. I will catch the man who beat you. I will find Dad. I will protect you. I will kill whoever hurts you ever again. I will do this, I give my word."
She touched my arm lightly. I blinked rapidly for a bit, then shook my head again.
"I'm sorry I reminded you," she said. I shook my head. I looked down, to see a bowl of flowers, carrots, apples, and- is that grass? -in front of me. I didn't care, not now. I glanced over at my mom and Redheart, who had both already begun eating. Still, even still, my mind drifted to more and more memories.
"I love you," I whispered as she walked by and a tear rolled down my cheek. She couldn't couldn't hear me, not over the busyness of the halls. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of students crammed into one hall. I could still see her, though. The girl who had stolen my heart and subsequently smashed it to pieces without even knowing it.
I doubt she'd even care, though, even if she did hear it. I was just another admirer to her, of course. To her, I was just another person in the world. To me, she was the entire world. My entire world, and she didn't know it. She brushed me off quietly and unknowingly, leaving me to wither away. For once, I had looked up from depression. For once, I hadn't cared about my vow. For once, I let someone inside my heart besides my mother.
Skylar Nimbers, fourth year: the definition of beauty. Sharp, dark eyes, long, brunette hair, and scattered freckles. She was tall and slender, but in no way sickly skinny. She had a pair of thick, black glasses she'd always wear over contacts. Her darkish skin glowed flawlessly, yet she never wore makeup to cover it up. Her best accessory was a smile she always wore, right next to her knitted white beanie. She seemed perfect. I thought I had a chance with her, I said. We have so much in common, I said.
I was dead wrong.
I had my candle in a dark cave, and I lost it one day. I thought I found it, but it turned out it belonged to someone else. I was lost the day I realized this. I needed that candle, and I had that candle with me every day of my life. The darkness slowly closed in on me when I saw him take my candle away. So I cried. I cried my bitter, childish tears alone in my cave.
"You thought she loved you? She barely knew you."
"Look at her, and look at yourself. It's disgusting you thought you had a chance."
"You're an idiot, you can't call it love if she didn't speak to you."
These voices haunted me every night when I lost her. I lost Skylar, I lost my candle. She kept me going. She gave me a reason to live, a reason not to mark myself, a reason to smile. She was my reason, and she slipped through my fingers. I wanted to die, I wanted to kill, I wanted to sleep, I wanted to cry, I wanted to vomit, I wanted scream, I wanted to chase her, I wanted her chase me, I wanted her back, I wanted a chance.
I missed her smile, I missed her laugh, I missed her. I never forgot her, not once. I couldn't smile, I couldn't laugh, not without her. All I could do was sit, crying in the cave without my candle as I watch everyone else with their candles know exactly where they're going with their candles. She meant so much to me. I actually tried to kill myself when I lost her, but a candle rolled up to me again. "Tristan," my candle told me, "don't give up, not yet."
I hadn't realized it, but tears streamed down my face again. I sputtered at myself in disgust. How could I cry, how could I complain? My mother had been through so much more than I could ever handle, more than I could ever imagine. Yet, there I sat, choking over my childishness.
"Tristan," my candle told me once more as she laid a hand on my shoulder, "don't give up, not yet."
I couldn't give up, not if it meant leaving her. I couldn't, I simply couldn't. I couldn't blow out my candle's flame, nor could I drop the candle. Even if this cave I wandered in had no point, no reason, no end, still I would walk. The longer I walked, the closer and tighter I would hold that candle.