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I shall not live in vain |
| Written by amanda | |
| Thursday, 08 May 2008 | |
I lugged my pile of books up the twisting stairs and down the dark hallways until I reached the entrance to the library. It was the old library, built sometime in the early nineteen hundreds and called the Walters Libary. It was named after a Walters, who was a legacy of the school. At that moment, I had no concern for the heritage of the library. I was too wrapped up in my latest thesis and needed to finish my twenty page paper as soon as possible. I always took refuge in the library whenever I had a major paper. The chatting of the students and all the drama was too distracting to me, so I came here instead. I walked toward the end of the library towards my favorite spot. I liked this spot best because of the giant window that allowed the sun to pour in and dance upon the table and book shelves. It also was hidden from the rest of the library by two shelves that contained some of the best literature ever written. There was everything from Salinger and Fitzgerald to Wilde and Shakespeare. It was like a hidden treasure, all of the great books of the library out of order and instead they were in a special place. I put my books on the table and then ran my fingers along the dusty spines of the books. I scanned over the titles of the books, The Catcher in the Rye, The Outsiders, And Then There Were None, Great Expectations, all of which I had read until I saw the last book on the end. This one didn’t have a title on it. I curiously opened the blank green covered. The pages had been blank at one time, but now someone had written in it and used it as a journal. I sat down with the book and forgot about my thesis; this was far more interesting to me. I opened up to the first page and read the following passage:
September 8, 2007 Is it unusual for a guy to start a journal? Hell ya, so I’m not really sure why I am, it’s not like I’m gay or anything. It was like this book found me, the way that it stuck out on the shelf and how I just so happened to pick it up. It’s a frickin’ miracle that I’m in this library in the first place and if you told me two years ago that I would be writing journal in a library, I would’ve called you a fruitcake. F.Y.I. I am now calling this an autobiography, just because it sounds more masculine than a journal or a diary. So now you’re wondering why I’m in this library, right? Well it just so happens that I kind of own this library. Well not really, but it has the same name as me since my great-grandfather paid for it. So apparently there was this picture that the school wanted to put up of my great-grandfather and I had to come here for some fake ceremony and help put the picture on the wall. It was all the usual crap and afterward I decided to take myself on a tour of the library. I somehow found myself in this corner, writing in this book. Go figure. I hope that I don’t come across as a major jerk. You’re probably thinking to yourself how easy my life must be cause I come from money and how I’m stuck up and everything. You probably think that everyone loves me and wants to be my friend because I’m rich. Well you’re wrong. I bet you don’t know what it’s like to be taunted by other kids at your school just because you live next door to a major league baseball player or because the girl across the street is dating a rock star’s son. “Rich kids, Rich kids. What you gonna do? Tell your daddy to hire a body guard to beat me up? Then I’ll sue you.” That’s why we all hung out together, all us neighborhood kids. It was kinda weird because we didn’t care if you were like ten and we were fifteen and you wanted to tag along. I remember those days, playing capture the flag in the backyard. Everything was perfect there, the grass was the perfect shade of green and perfect for lying in and gazing at the stars. It was a paradise, a getaway from the messed up world we lived in; it was a place we called home. And then I got shipped off to this piece of crap. It’s like they took all the fakest people in the world and just decided to put them in this huge cement city. Everything’s fake, even the grass. The football field is the one place where I feel remotely at home, even if it’s fake. Being on that turf, it breaks me and heals me at the same time. Here I go getting all sentimental on you again. I might as well stop now before I get all mushy and start to sound like Leonardo Decapreo. Does anyone even know who he is anymore? He was the first mushy guy that I could think of. All the Titanic and Romeo and Juliet crap. Alright I’ve got practice now anyways. Peace out.
October 26, 2007 Hello again my invisible friend reading my autobiography. I hope you’re enjoying it, I am quite a Shakespeare. That would be sarcasm, and I just broke one of the very important laws of writing which Shakespeare also broke in a Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. If you’re as smart as me, then maybe you’ll figure it out. I hate it here. Seriously, I mean you’re expected to be perfect, infallible. I missed a pass today in practice and the coach started yelling at me. “Walters, what the hell were you doing?! If you can’t step it up you’re outta the game!” And my slipping grades, that’s another problem. I’ve gotta keep like at least a 2.5 in all my classes or else I get the boot. It’s even worse ‘cause I’m a Walters. I’m expected to be wicked smart and get a nice business job and become the next Bill Gates. I don’t even get to choose what I want to be. Like maybe I want to be a fisherman or an electrician. My parents would flip if I ever told them I wanted to be a fisherman and if I did ever become one they’d probably disown me. I swear sometimes I think that the only reason that I want to stay in this prison is because of Amy. I don’t know, I just think that she’s one of the decent people left in this place. She like not fake like all the others are. I just don’t know what I’d do without her. èèè After reading the second passage, I glanced at my watch and noticed that five minutes had gone by. I really wanted to read the rest of the journal, but the thesis was looming over my head. I decided to start my thesis and just finish reading the rest of the story when I was back at my dorm. I attempted to get a good start on my paper, but I couldn’t concentrate. Something about that journal made me want to read more. I packed up all my papers and headed for the dorm room. I smuggled the book out of the library. I was quite curious about this kid’s life. I knew of him, well everybody knew of him. His name was Gavin Walters. Gavin was the perfect kid; everybody wanted his life. He bore an eerie resemblance to James Dean and came from one of the richest families at the school. Every single girl wanted to date him and every boy wanted to be his best friend. I came to my room and opened up the journal and read the last entry: December 16, 2007 Please don’t make me live this life anymore. I can’t take it. Everything that I’ve built up is crumbling beneath my hands and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. What is the meaning of this life? My life has no shape or meaning and everything that I’ve worked for is gone. I’m out of football for the season and maybe forever, due to an injury from some jerk. I’m going to get on probation and possibly kicked out because I’m failing three of my classes. And Amy decided to break up with me ‘cause I’ve been too distant. I thought that she understood all of this pressure, but I guess I was wrong. I was slowing falling apart, piece by piece. I didn’t even notice until everything came crashing in my face. And now it’s too late. I’ve tried the best I could to keep myself together, but I just fell apart. It’s over now, everything’s gone. I can’t stand being fake and pretending to be someone that I’m not. After tonight it’s all going to be over. Tonight I am going to jump out of that window in the corner of the library because it is the one corner of the universe where I have control over my life. Goodbye, my dear friend. I shall be leaving you tonight and going to a place where I will finally be happy. èèè “Wait a minute,” I began to think to myself, “I haven’t heard anything about Gavin Wallace attempting to commit suicide.” I quickly went back to the last entry and glanced at the date. It was titled December 16, 2007 and it was December 16, 2007. I wondered if he had written the entry earlier in the day. I thought about the probability of me picking up his journal on the day he would commit suicide and even though I thought that it was highly unlikely, I ran down to the closed library. The main entrance to the library was closed but I knew a side door in the back that I could sneak in. I walked to the secret corner. At first, I didn’t see anybody there but then I saw a figure crouched on the windowsill. He was hidden in the shadows and I faintly whispered, “Gavin?” “Who are you?” he asked me. “I’m just a student, you’ve probably never heard of me. I came across you’re journal today,” I told him. “No one was suppose to read that till like fifty years from now. You probably think that I’m all like wimpy now, don’t you?” “No, I don’t. You don’t have to do this. It doesn’t matter if you’re not perfect and stuff,” I said. “You don’t understand. Nobody understands. I just don’t understand the meaning of life. Like what am I meant to live for?” “I’m searching for the same thing. Please just don’t do this to yourself. Please just have a cup of coffee with me and we can talk it over.” “My life is falling apart and you want me to have a cup of coffee?” he asked me. “No, I just want you to think things over. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem,” I replied. “Everyone gets things thrown at them that shake them up, but they only make us stronger. We all make mistakes and make poor decisions that have bad consequences. Please, just don’t make this mistake. Just a cup of coffee, that’s all that I’m asking for,” I began to cry by the last part. Gavin just sat there for a few seconds thinking. The tears began to roll down my cheeks as he stood up. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee and something to eat. Eating always makes everything better,” Gavin said. I felt relief. I couldn’t believe that he did it, he walked away. I thought that we may never know the meaning of life, but we just got to live on. As we were walking out, I noticed a book of poetry on the table that had been left opened. It was opened to a page of a poem by Emily Dickinson. It read: “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain. If I can ease one life of the aching, Or cool one pain, Or keep one fainting robin unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.” It was here where I had realized that I had just discovered the true meaning of life; it had been right in front of me that whole time. Copyright 2008 amanda |
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