Disequilibrium

Part 2: Sophomore Year - Scene 11

Two days later

Dear Holden,

I know you said you understand, but even that won't stop me from feeling like an ass, so I'll apologise for writing late anyway. I'm sorry.

I've got so much more to tell you but I've got to go out in a few, so I just want to get this to you before I forget. My buddies and I went to this art show a couple of days ago, and I saw this amazing piece that reminded me a lot of you since your last letter. It's called Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by Bruegel. You should really look at it when you have the time. Stop reading now if you haven't.

Have you? I can't wait, so even if you haven't I'll talk about it anyway. I just found it so odd that nobody in the painting even noticed the poor bastard drowning. The farmer's still farming, the shepherd has his back to him, and some old guy is right next to the water, but he doesn't look like he'll be helping the kid anytime soon.

And that damn ship—do you see the ship? Didn't the crew see the poor guy falling from the sky? Hadn't they wondered what the hell was going on? If he's okay? I mean, they're still sailing like nothing happened. It's sad. He's drowning and they're still sailing.

And look at the colours, Holden. The goddamn colours. They're so bright when something bad is happening. Can you dig that? Man, I'm in love with it. I really am.

I won't explain why it reminds me of you since explaining too much tends to ruin things. I'll just let you look at it and think. Just think. You don't even have to tell me what you thought of it; you can keep it to yourself if you want. Just think about it, okay? Can you promise me that? There's a poem about it, too. I'm sure you know it. Not the one by William Carlos Williams, but the other one. I can't remember the name for the life of me, but I'm sure you know it. I'm sure.

I still miss you, you know. Don't think I don't. I don't care if that makes you uncomfortable or whatever (and I won't analyze why you didn't say you missed me back in your last letter because I've sworn not to let it bother me much). Until you make a rule against it, I'll keep saying it.

Anyway, hope to hear from you. So I know you're still alive and all. Yeah.

Cas.

P.S. I don't know an Anila, but she's pretty and she likes you? Will you tell her about...your situation? Because I don't think it's nice to lead a pretty girl on. But I'm glad you've got someone's attention. I'm glad you're not alone. Take care of yourself, bud.

I search up the painting on the old laptop right when I'm done reading. It takes a while to get it up, but once I do, I can't breathe. I don't know why. The air around me gets shallow the more I stare at the damn thing; the colours are beautiful, the meaning behind it is great, but I still hate it. I really do.

I don't know if it's the farmer or the ship or that poor kid drowning, but all of a sudden, I feel like crying. Why the hell did he have to show me that, anyway? We could've gotten along fine without it. We could've.

I get enough strength to push the screen of the laptop down and shove the machine off of me, my breath still shallow. Guiding my way back to the table, I try to think of something to say back to him. Anything. But I can't. It's still stuck in my head.

It reminds me of you.

I put the last letter back in the envelope and place it carefully beside my blank sheet of paper, picking up my pen. It reminds me of you. I start off with a 'dear Casper,' but I can't get anything out after that. My eyes are tearing up. It reminds me of you.

I really can't think of what to say, so I crumple the piece of paper. I throw it out. I sit on the couch and watch some TV, pretending I haven't heard from him since the first letter.

But even as I watch cartoon characters make corny jokes, I suddenly remember the poem he's talking about. I don't want to, but I remember it.

How everything turns away quite leisurely from the disaster;

The ploughman have heard the splash, the forsaken cry;

But for him it was not an important failure;

The sun shone as it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green water,

And the expensive delicate ship that must have seen something amazing, a boy falling,

Out of the sky,

Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

And finally, I start crying.

Poem is Musée des Beaux Arts by W.H Auden.