How do you introduce yourself to a book?

By Melissa Ingoldsby

I still remember those blazing blue eyes; the same eyes that looked upon me with laughter and joy, the eyes of the person I so longed to understand, to hold my passions to as well as to anchor them down. Those eyes, that very stare---locked an unwavering sense of loyalty within me, and set a path for my predictable and stable upbringing, so much so, it strengthened my faith as well as deconstructed it.

I would like to explain things more frugally; my life is linked to a strong faith and also strong passions, passions that I dare not write as of yet, and I am a private person. My name is Benjamin Warren Elbridge, and I think I should introduce myself to this book as I would a person, therefore, if someone would take the slightest interest in knowing me, then at least it would be proper. It sounds silly, to me at least, to introduce myself to a book, but nonetheless, at least refer to me as Ben, since everyone calls me that. My mother would call me Warren, sometimes, to get my attention, but otherwise, I’m Ben.

It was a cool, spring afternoon when I first met him. I was in the third grade; shy, observant and somewhat rambunctious. I wouldn’t usually talk to other children, save for my younger brother, who was a year younger than me, and in second grade at the time. His name is Alex, but I called him Al. He had the most expressive and kind eyes, they were big and brown and full of energy. He resembled our mother, as he had her sandy brown straight hair and her eyes, but unlike my crazy dirty blonde hair that was long and unruly, his was short and proper looking for a boy his age. He was also pretty handsome too, I would say, since as he grew older, girls fell over him with stars in their eyes.

We sort of looked alike, but I had these amber golden eyes I got from my father’s side. My mother would always say that those golden eyes of mine would catch me a lovely woman someday, as it caught our father one. She would smile knowingly, batting her eyelashes comically as she said it.

Al was, despite being a year younger than I, taller than me- much to my frustration, but being as kind as he was, he never teased me about it, despite others that did. My mother always said that we were two peas in a pod, and that nothing could separate us, not even a howling gale. It was my brother in the first place who bought me this book to write in, and initially I laughed at the idea of writing my life and thoughts down, but, truly, I am a practical man and realized to be truly mentally sound, one must vent once in a while and spout out the facts of life that one couldn’t possibly say out loud. I’m going to be honest and say that I am not a writer, and my prowess may be a little offhanded and raw for I usually never take the time to write down anything unless necessary. Possibly I want to experiment to see how these diaries progress, to tell my story, however unremarkable it is, and to maybe share some aspects that has made my life extraordinary, in a certain respect. I just want to be honest.

That one spring afternoon changed everything for me, though. I remember we were outside of the school, Al and I, waiting for our mother to walk us home. We were only two blocks down the road from the school, so mother didn’t need to drive. We didn’t have a car, anyway, but that wasn’t an issue since the place where we lived, Spokane, Washington, had a nice grocer’s store and laundry mat close to where we lived. We had everything we needed close at hand.

We were waiting, when a boy in my class came up to me, and without a word, pushed me to the ground hard.

“Hey, cut it out!” Al started to say, immediately getting in front of me protectively. I gently moved him away from my view of the offender.

Al sighed softly, knowing I wanted to fight back, because I was stubborn. “What in the sam hill is going on here?!” Al shouted at him, and I laughed at my brother’s words in my head. Al never cursed as he just used euphuisms all the time.

Sometimes he would call me a ‘you old so and so’ and ‘you stubborn little crick in the neck!’ if he was sore at me.

The rogue looked at me, and I got my bearings back. I then realized it was John Jamison, a new kid in town that was in my class. He looked at me with an accusing glare, with his short black hair and slightly chubby build, his dark blue eyes slightly puffy from anger.

Then his lips curled, and he looked like he wanted to say something to me, but just threw his book bag down, and huffed.

“Mind your own business, you twit!” He spat out at Al.

Al was about to retort, but I got up and asked quite loudly, “What the hell do ya want!?” I didn’t care how I sounded, I just wanted him to know I wasn’t going to lie down and take it. John was taken aback for just a singular moment, his eyes wide, and then pulled up his fists at me.

Two other boys joined in with John just then, the only two kids it seemed that liked him in my opinion.

“You stole it! I know you did!” He looked at the boy to his right, “Gregory told me you did!”

The boy nodded his head at his friend, “I saw him do it.” He said lowly.

“Do what? Steal what? Are you guys completely brain dead?” I almost yelled, trying to maintain my anger, because I knew mother would be coming for us very soon.

John’s eyes narrowed. “You stole my new yo-yo. I got it for my birthday, and it even had my name engraved on it, and you took it! Give it back now, or we will all have to beat it out of you!”

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it; the whole situation was funny to me. “I would never take such a worthless item; it looked to me like an inferior wooden model, and like it doesn’t work very well. Your friend, Frank,” I pointed to the other kid on John’s left, “Looked like he had his eyes on it. I saw him looking at it quite a bit, as well as Gregory’s nice velvet sack of marbles he brought to school today.” I said calmly. “Frank probably forced Gregory to say he saw me do it.”

At the end of my spiel, all three boys were dumbfounded. They didn’t expect me to turn the other cheek so quickly.

But John still kept his fists up, “It is not inferior, and it works very well, yo-you… you are completely wrong!” He was fuming now, and both of his friends took a step away from him smartly.

Frank looked stunned, his hands in his pockets, but then he smiled. “You think you are so on the ball about us, why don’t you let us search you, then, huh?”

Al stepped in. “He doesn’t have to do anything, and my brother is always right about people like you!”

John rolled his eyes. “You little pipsqueak, get away from here, and leave us be!” He waved him off.

“Listen, you can say whatever about me, but do not insult my little brother, you got it?!” I got in John’s face then, and I was getting pretty worked up.

“You don’t even look like the older brother, Ben; you’re so short compared to him anyway. Might as well just go after him than you, since you can’t even handle yourself!” He snarled at me, not moving away from me an inch. “You’re the pipsqueak, not him!” He laughed.

That was when I really got upset. I know I am just a year older than Al, but this really set me off. He was about to hit me, but I blocked it just barely, I set up to punch him straight away when all of a sudden, I was gently pushed backwards, and all I saw were two dark blue eyes staring at me. He wasn’t in my class, but he seemed familiar, like I saw his face in the school halls once or twice. He was a little taller than Al, with clean cut black hair, a face that was almost serene with those blue eyes. I still remember that look he gave me, so focused and calm. It gave me a chill up my spine.

I gasped at those intensely blue eyes, and Al’s hand grasped unto my arm, pulling me toward him. He kept staring at me. The guy had a lot of gall coming in between us.

“Stop it John! You are being ridiculous. I think your friend has your yo-yo after all, I saw him pickpocket it during recess.” The strange boy said to him, and he smiled at me. “It looks like you need to choose your friends more carefully, brother.”

John’s face became red and my heart rate quickened in the realization that they were brothers, and he was sticking up for me. They were both in the same grade, so it must be that they were…

Frank looked flustered. “Okay!” He shot up his hands. “I have it, damn it!” He tossed the yo-yo hastily to John, and started to run off. “I was going to trade it for some money for my pop, sue me!”

John looked extremely confused about the whole situation, and looked at me for a few moments with haste and anger, maybe thinking that I had planned the whole thing, and then started to run after Frank, clutching his yo-yo tightly.

“Boys! Boys… what is going on?” Mother came up to us, a worried look in her eyes.

“Nothing, mom, we were all just talking.” Al said, picking up my bag and coaxing me over to him.

I was gritting my teeth, but I walked over to my family, and just before we all left, the boy nodded over to me and smiled. I honestly could not take my eyes off of the guy. And the fact that he smiled at me! I don’t know if I was angry at him or if I was trying to figure out his angle. I didn’t even know his name, but he had saved me from looking like a jerk in front of my mother. In a way, I was grateful for him intervening.

This is actually the first real event I remember in my early years, and the reason it is so significant, I don’t know. I just remember it very well, and like most things, since I have a pretty good photographic memory, I either want to keep it to myself, or I want to share it to all.

I found out that he and John were fraternal twins, and his name was Noah (I asked my friend Josh who knew one of Noah’s friends), a very popular guy that had many friends despite just moving into town less than a month ago. I felt embarrassed he came in between my first fight, and that he knew my offender so personally, so I became even more of a recluse, and tried to be invisible to him. He was the first person, other than Al, to stick up for me.

I have never said this to anyone, dare I even write it down, but his dark eyes intrigued me, and the way he always looked so peaceful and commanding, it was as though he was misplaced in this world of phonies and bastards, he lived here, but his spirit was somewhere else, somewhere better.

When I was in fourth grade, we met again.

We were in the school auditorium and our stuffed shirt principal Johan Fitz was giving us a speech on morality and on us keeping unified together as a nation, it was November 1st, 1955 and I was ten years old. We were on the verge of going to war with Vietnam, and I think our principal was the most Communist hating bastard that ever lived. He told us to be aware of the menace that threatened our values, and our freedom. I wasn’t listening too closely, since I was, at that moment, trying to get some assignment done before it was over. Momentarily I wondered if my father might enlist to fight. He was always a big supporter of the United States army, as his father and grandfather served in the army. He also despised Communism of any form.

“Hey, I was wondering if you have a pencil I could borrow?” A whispering voice from behind me asked, tapping me lightly on the shoulder.

I turned around slightly and said, “Sure.”

I reached in my bag and took out a pencil as requested and handed it to him, and when I turned all the way around to see who it was, I saw it was Noah, and he gave me a smile.

“Thanks.” He said. “By the way, I’m Noah.”

“Welcome.” I muttered, nodding at him, not bothering to say my name, he already knew it from his brother, no doubt.

Something about him gave me the heebie-jeebies, with his dark blue gaze and exceedingly intelligent, calm voice. He was different than other kids, more mature, definitely more interesting than his brother John, and much more popular. At the moment I wasn’t too worried about being embarrassed or anything, I just wanted to finish my essay. It was an opinion essay: What is the greatest invention of humankind? I had one friend, Josh, say it was toilet paper, (I told him he might as well say modern plumbing then). My book was saying things like, modern plumbing, ha-ha, the printing press, immunizations and antibiotics, transistors, the steam engine, and a few more. I thought it really depended on your point of view, which benefited us in the most widespread and useful way. I picked antiseptics because I have always, in a certain fashion, been interested in medical history and how it has shaped society into what is today. Joseph Lister has my respect and admiration for discovering these safer medical practices, such as washing hands with antimicrobial soap and using sterile gloves during surgery, and sterilizing surgical equipment with carbolic acid, and so on. It seemed to me we take the medical world and all its wonders for granted. And because we knew when we went to the doctor, instinctively, that we were usually going to get better, not worse because a nurse didn’t clean and prep for a surgery properly, or the head of surgery wasn’t wearing a bloodstained apron from a previous surgery while you waited for them to do yours (they actually did that, it was a sign of experience), I thanked Mr. Lister for that.

“Hey, what are you writing?” Noah asked me suddenly. As he handed me the pencil I let him use, I saw he was sitting next to me now.

My heart thudded in my chest and I jumped slightly; I was so lost in thought I didn’t see him come up to sit next to me.

“Uh, Oh. I am writing an essay.” I muttered softly, I got really tensed up then, mostly because I didn’t expect him to be there, talking to me.

He smiled at me again, “Our principal is some actor, isn’t he?” He commented, pointing at Mr. Fitz with a smile.

“Yeah.” I started, smiling. “He’s just a panic and a half the way he blows up about the Reds.” My words just came out naturally and sarcastic, but it felt odd that I was so friendly with him just at the start.

I thought if he ever approached me again, I would be too nervous and unsettled by his cool demeanor to say anything. It felt like I was talking to Al, even, he didn’t make me feel less than him like some kids did.

Noah got a kick out of my speech, I supposed, because he started to laugh hysterically at that point. It made me think he was making fun of me, at first.

He was about to say something to me again, but someone shushed us and he tried to calm down. I started to laugh a little too, mostly because he was laughing, and his laughter was somewhat infectious. I actually found myself looking more at his features, which I usually didn’t do with anyone, but he had the most particular eyes, deep blue, very lively eyes that had a certain quality of kindness to them, a depth of understanding not a lot of people had. He had a strong face, low eyebrows that were shapely and showed off his eyes, his skin was cream colored with a hint of a light tan, a robust chin, and his smile was very playful, almost childlike and he had just enough laugh lines to let you know he wasn’t always so serious looking.

His hair was always very attractive, I had to admit. His hair had these long black, layered bangs that had a wavy look, even though the rest of his hair was pretty straight and well kept. It was a little longer than past his ears, but my hair was longer and was all over the place. It wasn’t as nearly as nice as his, but I was happy with my looks. I could see why people were drawn to him, he had that masculine common-sense about him and an able-bodied physicality that made the girls so attracted to him, but also the glow of a strong emotional well-being that was beyond most people, an inner depth I saw that others found appealing.

“What…” He started to say, and then laughed again. “What…what does a ‘panic and a half’ mean? Do you always use that kind of lingo?”

I looked down at my essay, and then at him. “It’s an old slang term I heard my father say once. It just means something that is very funny. I like the term because he really is panicky plus a half.”

“He does seem a little panicky up there, huh?” He remarked, and I nodded with a grin. He was still sniggering a little, and then he sighed. “You’re funny, you know that?” He said matter-of-factly.

“Not everyone would say so.” I told him lightly, “Sometimes I just say what is on my mind without a single thought.”

“You are brave, then.” He said playfully. I smiled strangely at my paper; he really wanted to chew the fat with me it seemed. “Some people never say what is on their mind.”

I didn’t know why, but it felt natural for him to be beside me. I didn’t have a lot of friends, just a few people I called my friends, but other than picking them to be my partner in science class, or my reading buddy, or someone to eat lunch with, my only real friend was Al, and he had all my affection and trust, other than my mother.

I kept to finishing my essay, not trying to be too friendly.

“Hey, uh, Ben is it?”

I nodded.

He looked down. “Ben, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for my brother. He can act like such a baby, just immature.”

“I could’ve handled him.” I said obstinately, shoving my face into my essay.

“I never said you couldn’t. Listen, I don’t want to cause any problems between us, but John is always trying to get into a fight, and I had to stop…”

I understood helping out your brother so I let it go. “It’s okay, I mean, I was glad I didn’t get into it too heavy because my mom was there two seconds after.” I sighed, “Oh, I’m sorry, I- I get a little heated sometimes and don’t really think.” I stuttered my apology, fumbling with my pencil as he smiled at me softly. “Your brother insulted Al and I just lost my self control.”

“Al is your younger brother?”

“Yeah, he’s in third grade now.” I changed the subject. “I usually try not to get angry at others, to try and understand them. Usually, though,” I laughed, “The understanding comes after the argument or fight, but I could see that your brother was obviously confused and his friend had cheated him, so I have already let it go in my own way.”

He seemed happy to hear what I had to say and he continued talking. “I usually don’t get involved with my brother’s antics, but he was fighting the wrong guy. His friends are always on the wrong side of the bench.” His eyes traveled toward the principal as he explained. “Just wanted to apologize for him. I know it was a little less than a year ago, but I wasn’t sure if you were mad at me for getting in the middle or not, and I didn’t want to seem pushy about it.”

“No, it’s cool. I understand.” I offered a smile to show him I wasn’t upset. And I wasn’t. He was perfectly understandable and not at fault. “When it comes to my personality, I am fast to anger, but I forgive easily.” He looked at me curiously.

“Also, I wanted to say that you are very observant. How you knew his friend took the yo-yo. You notice details pretty well.” Noah said after a moment.

I looked at him suddenly, and when our eyes locked, it was like déjà-vu. I don’t know why, but I laughed a little. I laugh sometimes when I’m nervous, and his face started to get red, maybe in anger, but it seemed like embarrassment.

“Is my compliment funny to you?” Noah asked. I looked around me, and though this whole time we were keeping our voices down to a low whisper, the fact that we or I kept laughing gave us away, and other students were eyeing us annoyed, and some teachers as well.

“Uh…um, no. I am just a little nervous.” I blurted out. His eyebrow raised, and he eyed me strangely.

“Why?”

“Oh… I just need to finish my essay. Sorry.” I felt extremely embarrassed at that point, because every time when I became nervous or unfamiliar in certain social situations, I usually blurted out exactly how I felt. Thankfully, I pulled myself together to evade the question.

I didn’t really like compliments; they were unnecessary and also a little phony sometimes. I could tell he was being honest, but it still felt weird.

“Okay, well, thanks for letting me borrow your pencil. Talk to you later, Ben.” He said gently, and moved to his original spot in the auditorium.

“You too.” I wanted to say his name, too, since he confirmed my name, but I was too shy to say it.

After that, I saw Noah a lot around the school, and he would wave at me, but usually he would be around a large group of people. I say people and not friends for a reason. Despite how kind he was, especially to his brother and strangers, he seemed, as I might have noted before, detached. He was himself, but he seemed a little superficial with all of them. In my casual observance, I saw him very light hearted and not too serious with other kids, he was always chatting and almost never away from people. But I never felt like he was detached with me.

One day when school was out (I was still in fourth grade) and Al was staying a little after to talk to a teacher, I went over to this nice park that was across the street from the school. I always loved that park. It had a lot of swings (which was my favorite part of a park/playground), and it had a good selection of places to sit and read. Noah saw me, and walked over and said hi. Other than our one small conversation in the auditorium, I think this was the first real conversation we had together, it also was the day my father almost was lost to us.

“Hello. What are you doing here?” He said almost whimsically, he smiled as I looked up from my book. I was sitting on the grass.

I showed him silently what I was reading. He was quite serene looking and quiet when he wasn’t around other people.

“Good book.” He said simply.

I felt a little awkward for a moment with him just standing there, and then I asked him a question. “Where is your brother?”

He laughed softly. “He is running around somewhere with our dog, Rex. I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Al is with a teacher to ask about a project or something. I’m waiting for him so we can walk home, since my mother is busy with dinner.”

He sat down, not next to me, but across from me toward a small tree.

“What interests you?” His soft voice cut through the stillness of the day like a knife through butter.

“What?” I was little shocked he had just come out and asked that.

“I’m sorry. Ever since I first met you, well, saw you, I…” He started and paused for a moment. “You never seem to like anybody, that’s all. I want to know more about you, and all my friends don’t have a lot to say on you.”

“I am not a subject to be studied about,” I said half jokingly. “Though there is one easy to read chapter on why I hate being called shorter than my younger brother.”

He paused for a moment and chuckled, a sound that was hearty and soft. It made me smile too.

“You asked your friends about me?” I asked suddenly.

He got quiet all of sudden, and it looked like he was almost… blushing? “No…I mean, I didn’t bring it up, they did, and I asked who you hung out with around here. That was a while ago.”

I dropped the subject, as it made feel a little like a topic of ridicule, though it seemed like Noah wasn’t the one who was ridiculing me.

“How do you like it here, in this town? The people?” I asked him finally.

“I like people, they like me. I feel sometimes I am playing the part of the likeable guy, though, it is hard to distinguish if I am actually connecting with people or if they like me for the way I am acting at that certain point.” He said clearly, his eyes gazing at me imploringly. “Washington is a cool state to live in, and Spokane is nice enough. When Dad said we were going to live in an area called ‘Peaceful Valley’ I was a little curious.” He laughed shortly. I suddenly realized he lived in the same neighborhood as mine. Damn, that was almost a little too close for comfort.

“I have lived here all my life; you will come to like it.” I told him, nodding. “Everyone is acting to a certain extent. Not a single person in this world isn’t influenced by another being, or idea, or belief. We want others to like us, so we try to emulate that idea to a physical form.” I said as I hid my face in my book, George Orwell’s 1984 (one of my favorite books).

He was quiet for a long time. Then he sighed, looking at the sky. “I don’t think that everyone acts, but I do see what you mean.” I don’t know why, but when he said that, he looked at me and it made me think he was referring to my character. “I am not a serious person a lot of the time, I feel so happy when I find someone interesting, or something interesting, that I think my mind goes on auto pilot and I just do whatever I can to get close to them, to understand, to appreciate.”

“I think, Noah, that you over think things. Just do what makes you happy; as long as what makes you happy isn’t becoming a serial killer, I think we will be okay.” I put the book down, saving my place, and I looked up at the sky. It was starting to get dark out.

Noah laughed again, a sound that made my heart flutter, and it made me want to make him laugh again. His laughter was very contagious, I think because it was so honest and rich sounding as well as playful, and it was nice to hear it.

I asked him outright, feeling brave, “What makes you happy?”

He looked at me curiously. “Reading. I always read about different philosophies, Plato, Aristotle, and books about the individual mind. My mom was a firm believer in the right of every person to be free and able to be who they are, and to always be genuine with themselves and others.”

“That seems like a universal truth.” I commented. “Everyone should be free to be happy and who they are.”

“Well, in Existentialism, it’s not only about being genuine to who you are. It is also about responsibility, we are not only responsible for who we are, but what we are to others, and what meaning we give to life. In that respect, the only meaning that we give to life is the one we cling to. Whether it is religion, music, art, politics, whatever the idea may be.”

“So,” I shook my head, “please correct me if I’m wrong, but are you saying that life only has meaning if we believe it does?” The thought sounded dreadful in my mind.

“Well, yes.” He sighed. “I have come to believe that the world is amoral, for instance in nature and in natural disasters. A hurricane does not hit and kill hundreds of people because of any reasoning or morality; it hits them because that is the way of nature as it is unpredictable and without judgment.” He went on with a slight pause. “I think that whatever happens to a person, whether it is a flood, a death in the family, or even your neighbor getting hit by a car, there is no further meaning to it all than the incident itself. It is only in human nature to give the predicament meaning, maybe even to reassure yourself that life’s carelessness and cruelty has a sense of order and systematic devices, even in the face of its own absurdity.”

“What, then, does the value of friendships and other people hold for you?” I asked him suddenly. “If the world holds no meaning?”

He laughed softly, and then looked me in the eye. I felt a trickle of apprehension and something like a sort of contentment through his gaze, “The value of friendship and love, to me, is immeasurable. I also, through my reading, have my feelings and regard for others. I feel like the true meaning of my life is to help others, to understand them, to enjoy life with them, and to appreciate other people’s troubles and pains.”

I wanted to ask him if he believed in God, but I held my tongue, thinking he might say no. My face felt twisted as I thought about life without God, without Christ. It made me feel incredibly depressed, though the topic of conversation surprised me, in a good way. In all my years, even with my own father, had I ever had such a serious talk about personal beliefs with another human being. No other child our age, or even close to our age, seemed to have such a high level of understanding of life, or such an excellent vocabulary or a way of eloquence that Noah had when he spoke. I think I sort of fell into a great interest with his mind right then and there.

“So would it be safe to say you don’t believe in karma? That what you do in this life affects the course of your future, or of other people’s future?” I was trying to see what he really believed in, because what he was describing to me, was against everything I have been taught. My mother believed that everything had a reason, and that God had a plan for us all. My father told us that people were God’s greatest creation, and He loved us very much, and therefore gave us freewill and the power of understanding that.

“No, I don’t believe in karma. That is exactly my point, if you do a bad deed or a good deed, it is only going to affect who you are as a person, and the people that become involved through whatever means, but there is no external force or power that judges us and punishes or behavior, however good or bad.” He looked at me solemnly. “I don’t want to say there isn’t a God out there, because the fact is it is as possible as anything is, but in the life we are living now, I don’t think we have justice carried out in a such a way that could be construed as that we get punished later on in life for things we do now.”

“What do you think about forgiveness? In the bible, or otherwise?” I asked him.

He looked at me again quietly for a minute, and then spoke.

“Forgiveness, for me, is difficult. I find that I tend to hold onto grief heavily, but I try to find a middle ground with that person. I find that, in the bible, it tells us to tolerate others, to forgive them and to understand those who tempt you, but to not be tempted into evil.” He frowned slightly. “I think that forgiveness is about as tricky as the heart is. If you are hurt deeply by another, it is easy to say, ‘I will forgive them’… in your actions and words, you can feign it, but in your heart, it is harder to pretend. If you give evil actions room for tolerance and no action to stop it, and you keep forgiving it, it will grow until it turns innocence into prey and love into hatred.

“You have told me that you are fast to anger, but you also forgive quickly as well.” He stated, “That you try to understand others, even if they have wronged you. It is a very noble thing to do, to say, but I wonder, if someone were to hurt your brother or someone else in your family, so deeply it left them forever scarred, would you forgive them?”

I stopped to think for a moment, and I was almost at a loss of words. No one had ever asked me something like that.

“I would be hurt deeply by it all. I think, honestly at that point, I would shut down and pray, I would be furious, yes, for what they had done, but I…” I paused. My fingers were digging into my book. “I believe that if others have wronged us, we should pity them, and not let the sadness and frustration overtake us. That can led to much worse things. We are all sinners, but if we let God help us to see how immaterial grudges and hatred is, we can see ourselves with love, and others with love as well.”

“You’re a very strong person then, to not let it overtake you. Even though I feel in my heart now that I would forgive and try to move on with my loved ones, I know that we are all flawed and cannot possibly understand the unpredictability and unwavering amorality of life. Tragedy can strike anyone at anytime, and in the end, it happens to everyone in varying degrees, so we might as well not give it meaning. Then when it strikes us, even personally, we can move on.”

“The way you led up to that conclusion sounds to me like an excuse. If we don’t give it all meaning than what are we living for? If we don’t push forward and do the right thing for a greater purpose, then we might as well all be bad people without a sense of truth for what is right,” I said with a slight frustration, it made me very sad to think that we all suffer and die for not a single reason other than that was how life is.

“Well, I will agree with you on one thing. Morality is needed in this world. Otherwise we would all be led into chaos and unending violence, and not just physical violence either.” He looked at me solemnly, and then smiled lightly, “Ben, you asked me a very simple question about who I am, and I went on and on about my beliefs, which, in fact, usually do not make me happy. Though I do love to read. Sorry about that.” He said almost shyly, his face turning slightly red. “What about you?”

“Don’t mention it, you’re okay. And actually, I enjoyed it.” I smiled, and yet in my mind, I still wanted to try and figure him out. “I like swings, balloons and classical music. And, on occasion, a large stack of blueberry pancakes and eggs.”

He gave a wry smile. “You are too much. Is breakfast your favorite meal?” He asked me. Before I could answer, Al came out of the school suddenly and I said goodbye, and I said it was good to talk with him. He looked disappointed to see me go.

“Don’t be a stranger, Ben!” He shouted at me as I left with Al. He was a little curious about what I had talked about with Noah, and I told him the whole conversation, but not what I felt about it. I wasn’t sure why Noah could simultaneously make my nerves so jumbled and also at ease. I needed more social experience, I told myself.

“I like him, though, Al. He is different, somehow, not so passionate or angry with his manner like others.” I said to him as we walked home.

“I’ve always gotten an eerie feeling from that Noah, though. Ever since he got in between you and that tough guy,” He mused, “He has an otherworldly look about him.”

I jumped up. “I know! It is true, it’s like he’s so popular and handsome, and everyone wants to be around him to chew the fat, but he seems in another… I don’t know… planet?”

Al laughed at me. “You think he’s handsome?”

I growled at him. “Of course not, I was kidding.” I coughed suddenly, my breath feeling a little weak, and Al patted my back. “An expression,” I amended.

“Don’t choke now, Ben.” He teased.

I gave him an angry glare.

I was about to joke with him about something else, when all of a sudden, Al started to look at the sky with a strange, fearful look in his eye, and when I looked up, there were huge plumes of black smoke ahead of us, miles away, near some buildings and a nearby, small forest.

I started to cough again, and saw now why I was not breathing very well. I had sensitive lungs too, so that didn’t help.

The problem with our wonderful weather, which was usually dry and warm, sometimes too warm, was the fact that there was not a whiff of humidity. When there were forest fires, it would sometimes lasts for hours, days, and the smell would reach us everywhere. And on a side note, we had the worst ice storms and winters, so we never got relief from either extremity.

“Oh, great.” I said, muttering obscenities under my breath, “At least we are almost home.”

“I hope no one has gotten hurt.” Said Al softly.

I nodded. “Me too.”

We finally reached our little white bungalow of a house. We had a very wide front porch that all of us placed our shoes on before we came in, as my mother could never stand the thought of stinky shoes inside of her clean home. I loved our small little castle; it was a bright white on the outside with wide windows and only one floor. It was very charming, and mother sometimes called it, ‘The Doll-house’ because it seemed like it with its small fixtures and overall build. In our neighborhood, Peaceful Valley, there were a lot of homes/bungalows that were similar to ours in regards to the structure and the layout, but I loved ours the best. It had a certain charm, in my opinion.

Al and I placed our shoes on the front porch and I started to knock.

“It’s already open.” Al noticed.

I had an apprehensive feeling settle in my chest, and it made my stomach feel queasy.

I opened it and mother came rushing toward us, her eyes as wild as a cat’s as her arms came flinging around me.

“Mom?” Al implored gently.

“I was in the kitchen when someone knocked on our door, about twenty minutes ago. It was a police officer. He had come because on the employee roster list, your father was one of a couple that were unaccounted for, so he came to tell me the Davenport had a minor fire and that they were trying to find him.” She explained hastily, her sentences terse and stressed. The Davenport Hotel was where my father worked, just about six or seven minutes away from where we lived.

My eyes widened in the realization that the fire we had just seen was where my father was. I was worried since my father and I had the same kind of sensitive lungs. We didn’t have asthma or anything; we were just born that way I suppose.

“There was an evacuation of the entire hotel, and a couple of homes and small businesses that were in harm’s way. They haven’t found your father yet.” She almost cried, and I held unto her tightly.

“I’m sure he will be found alright.” I said strongly, and I looked at my mother’s lovely face, with her big brown eyes and I kissed her hair slightly.

She smiled, let go of me, and sat down on the large blue couch we had in the living room.

“Ben, you are the rock of this family, if it weren’t for your father.” She sighed, and laid back. I could tell her shoulders were still tensed up.

“What was the extent of the damage?” Al asked her.

“Oh, all I know is that a couple of cooks in the main kitchen had started a bad grease fire and it spread to a couple of rooms. Luckily, all of the guests were evacuated out before it got worse.” She laughed in frustration. “It’s funny; your father told me this morning he might be home early for once.”

Suddenly, I thought I should go and see what the damage was. It was getting pretty dark out, but I felt compelled to see it.

“Mother, I will be right back.” I said abruptly, and headed out the door.

“No!” My mother cried, and I heard Al say, ‘Ben’s smart and he’s not going to kill himself’.