Gray Days

Chapter 27A: The Last Colorful Day

27A

Zoey.

It's one of those nights again, when I can't fall asleep. I know it's not anything big. I just miss Grandpa, and in my head I am recalling all the good times I had with him and Grandma. They are remembered, and will never be forgotten.

Life is not the opposite of death. Death is the state after living a life. I have another epiphany: As long as there are those who remember the something a person had become, we wouldn't entirely become nothing. Our body succumbs back to the dirt where it's from, but we will roam free, around the world, becoming every single, existent thing in this wretched, colorful universe to fully understand that we have not only become something, but that we are everything. The definition of death had never been so beautiful.

I have been telling myself to sleep since ten o'clock last night, and five hours later, I am still awake.

I get up to the sound of knocking, on my window. Drawing the curtains to the side, Rut's head peeks above the windowsill while featuring a pair of lively yet baggy eyes and his wide, signature smile.

"Let me in," he mouths through the glass, pointing to the lock. Once I pull the pane up, he crawls inside, bringing in the snow on his boots, and wipes the sprinkles of snow that has gathered on his hat. "It's snowing again."

"You can't just climb through my window at dawn, Rut." Balling his hat inside his jacket pocket, he doesn't listen to me, leaves a kiss on my cheek, then throws the jacket on my chair, strides across the room, and hops on my bed as if he's in his room. Standing by the edge of the bed, I watch him, then glances to the snow on my floor, and back to him. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere. I'm sorry to disturb your sleep. It's just that I can't sleep and I thought, 'Hey, there's Zoey. She'll probably get all cranky but I'm sure she won't kick me down her window.' So I'm here."

"That's two of us."

"Don't tell me you're thinking of following Sylvester?" He's serious when he turns to me, only easing down when I shake my head and give him a reassuring smile. "Please don't."

Standing up to close the window, I kick my slippers off and climb into bed beside him. We neither carry on with the conversation, instead, we watch the ceiling, the sound of our breathing filling us up, drowning us in a monochromatic silence. Even Rut is listening to it. I turn to him. "What's wrong?"

The traces left on the ceiling makes me remember the stars that were once there, and seeing Rut silent, makes me miss his carefree energy. I roll over to his side, lay my arm around his torso, and listen to the beat of his heart.

A couple of minutes later, he stirs and lays a hand back under his head as he looks at the ceiling. Then, he sighs.  "I've been having these dreams lately. They're memories from when I was a kid. I don't know what to do with them.

"Is that why you're here? You just had one of those dreams?"

"Kind of," he hisses. "I have a thing for people killing themselves. You can imagine what I felt when I found out about Sylvester, and when I read your notebook. That was dark."

"I'm sorry." It's all I can say. I can't help it if I'm like this.

"Don't be like my dad, Zoey. I'm not going to be like him."

"You're not going to be like him," I say,  "You're going to be who you are. You're not your dad. He's not you."

He smiles and holds me closer to him. "I found where he was buried. I also found our old house."