It was 30 October 1941 and the star in the sky was lonely.
It was dark this night, darker than usual. A train was making a purring stop in
front of the Pennsylvania platform.
And a man, a young one, but with an old soul, stood there in
solemn silence. He carried a briefcase and wore a disheveled cerulean trench
coat. Though he appeared in perfect calmness, really he was distressed and had
occurred over time a diminutive amount of anxiousness, which he was not all-too
familiar with. Those were not his problems, though, for his problems were the
ones that were obtained from others. He was selfless, humble, gracious, and
merciful. Nonetheless, he was altruistic.
When the train came to a finalizing halt, the conductor
beckoned all the passengers on board. They were traveling to Toronto, Canada,
and specifically speaking the young man was heading there on a line for unusual
business. He was not traveling for his own patients but for his own mother.
As he strode through the aisle, his eyes became hazy, but
they regained focus when they laid to rest on a piece of parchment paper. It
was placed on the window sill of that prescribed compartment. The scribbles
which laid on it were unruly and the ink was blotched. Since the man was from
such an inquisitive character he had a natural tendency to be curious. So with
an all-too naturalness kind of manner, he sat next to the unread document. He
did not touch it, nor did he glance at it once more, but sat in a protective
disposition as if he was its guard.
He sat there for several elongated moments. However, this
young man was as human as any other person was. He temptation to read it
grabbed onto him and clung to him, till, he picked up the piece of parchment
paper. Once his strong hands bared onto it, he slowly unfastened the velvet
seal that enclosed it. He knew in a moment’s time that this was something that
would bring great and unnecessary burden to an already heavy-hearted man.
Dear Nobody, Anybody, and to Whom it May Concern,
There is beauty in the most sorrowful of places. There
is life in the most painful circumstances. There is light in the darkest of
times. There is laughter hidden beneath the tears. There is joy within the
sadness. There is hidden anger within the smile. There is sickness behind the
face of health. There is stress underneath rejuvenation.
I try to change. But I can’t. I just am not of able
strength. There is something holding on to me. Something that is not letting me
go. There is someone in my head and it is not me.
I try so hard to live by this small, yet, powerfully
merciful word, joy. Simple enough, isn’t it? No, actually not at all. I tell
myself in repetition each and every single morning to be this joyful, whimsical,
and eccentric human being. I tell myself to smile. I tell myself to portray
this false image that I am not.
Instead, I frown. Instead, my anger hides my true
charisma. Instead, my tears cover my face like a blanket and leave my eyes with
red and swollen blotches.
People think of me as this depressed, serious,
reserved, frustrated, and lonely girl. I try to believe that I am not any of
those things, yet, I would just be holding onto false fixations of myself. And
I know that I may be of corrupt mind, but I am not of dishonest or dishonorable
character.
I remind myself that I am not lonely. I am just alone,
for the moment. I have never heard a grander of worse lie than that. I guess I
may be of dishonest and dishonorable character… after all.
I suppose there is no point to any of this. None. So
why? Just why? I try so hard. I never seem to be enough. I never seem to get
past the border of my fraudulent behavior. I never seem to be the person that I
genuinely want to be.
I suppose we don’t always get what we want.
Love Always and to the End of Time,
A.B.
Within
the closed-in compartment the man was in, his airways seemed to have collapsed
in on him. The compartment seemed to grow smaller and more concealed. His air
had completely caved in on him. This was not due to any kind of unhealthy state
that could have obtained. He was simply a downcast man.
Since, he was medically trained, he
knew what this letter preordained. He had studied the behaviors of such people
and every time he met someone like such, he though of his mother. The only
thing that made this worse was that he had discovered something that prevailed
from the ink lines and a message had been to written, to him. Yet, he was
unable to do anything.
After breathing in a heavy breath,
he came back to his deceptive senses. This was it for him. He was disheartened
and unequipped for any kind of situation like such to be tossed into his
vicinity. He took one last breath, opened the window, and let the letter flow
from his fingertips and he let it soar through the wind. The train continued to
purr on further and it could not be stopped…
It was the next day 31 October 1941.
He had arrived in the premature morning. The sun had not even come out to say
hello. This overdue visit was upon him and his apprehension grew as his
weariness seasoned along with it.
He stood still like a stone which
was fixated into place. Not even the wind could make him move. However, like
the good man he was, he knew that it would be even more solemn if he remained
in the compartment. So he rose from his seat and walked towards the edge of the
train. There she was, waiting on the platform. It took him a moment, but he
eventually received the strength to put his right foot over his left and
proceeded towards the person he loved and cared for the most.
“Hello, Mother,” he said, in a voice
which was coarsely above a whisper.
“Hello, Ben. May I ask you
something?” She asked with a lisp.
“Of course.”
“What is my name?”
“Amelia Benetine.”
