When I was 16, I sat behind a boy with the most beautiful emerald coloured eyes in the world. We were placed right in the back left corner and I had gotten used to staring at the back of his head. I told everyone he was shy, but everyone else considered him to be a loner. He barely spoke to anyone and it was as if his tongue had been cut out. A gruesome thought, I know, but that’s how I always described him. On rare occasions, he’d turn around and send me a cheery smile- to this day the memory of his smile brings butterflies to my stomach.
After a month of sitting behind him, I realized that along with his regular textbooks he brought a small book. I constantly kept an eye on him and I soon began to notice his little routine. Every now and then, he’d open his book and messily scribble a few words down. He’d frantically glance to his left and then swiftly shut it. I never got a good look at what he’d write but his handwriting was the most beautiful type of cursive I’d ever seen in my life. I never thought a teenage boy would have better handwriting than me but I digress- he was certainly something else.
I also noticed that he would always check that the book was in his possession. He’d clutch it into his chest and briskly dash away from the classroom. I always wanted to follow him, to see where he would go from 3rd Period... However, I convinced myself that it would be wise to let him go.
Halfway through the year, the boy I had grown fond of had changed. He avoided human contact even further and glared at everyone and everything. The most noticeable change was his eyes. It was as if his eyes had lost all their vibrancy. The emerald eyes I’d come to adore were now dark and unsettled, a mix of brown and green to create a muddy jade. The light had clearly disappeared and I knew something was wrong.
Instead of confronting him, I let it slide.
The boy began to miss class and I grew anxious. I hadn’t even uttered one word to him yet I was concerned. I had never felt that way about anyone prior to him and I honestly didn’t like it.
There was a rumour that spread around the school about him- my classmates say he was taken to a mental hospital for his ‘problems’. I didn’t believe anything they said; I kept myself hopeful that he would proudly strut back into class with the vibrancy back in his beautiful eyes.
We all found out a few weeks later he had committed suicide, just a few days after the rumours were created. The book he constantly wrote in was his suicide note and the words that he scribbled down were etched into his arm with a blade. He escaped into the better half of his existence. I’d never cried so much- the tears never stopped.
His letter mentioned the girl he sat in front of in English during 3rd Period and how beautiful she was to him. He regretted never talking to her and he knew it was too late. He apologised and wrote that he was absolutely captivated by her. The boy admitted he loved her and he never knew that the feelings were mutual.