Tommy

Characters in stories were heroic, brave, cool, and courageous. I liked reading books, and I liked that I could read about people who’d go on adventures and quests. It was like an escape for me, to leave behind anything I was too scared to face.

I didn’t know how to deal with certain things yet, but books really opened my eyes to worlds where I could see how other people fixed their problems. Outside of books, I tried my best to study others around me, to know what it’d be like to be in their shoes, and feel their struggles.

My dad once said that I was a kind person for thinking like that. Damon told me that I wasn’t only kind, but empathetic.

Empathy, as he told me back then, was when others had the ability to understand someone else’s feelings. It sounded complicated, though when I thought back to books, I kind of understood what he was talking about.

When I saw that these characters in my books were not only heroic, brave, cool, and courageous—I realized that they were more like me than I thought of at first.

I was a child to a single parent, and I led a life where we both struggled to make ends meet. I didn’t have what other kids had. I knew that, and was okay with it.

Reading books, there were people I could identify with. It was nice knowing that there were things like this that could help others out there who wanted someone to relate to. It made me think that books really helped me get into the mind of a character, to understand their problems and hopes and feelings, and in the end see that maybe this was a type of empathy I could practice.

My dad was the one who introduced me to reading, since he loved books. Though, a big part of my love for them came from Damon too.

When I thought of it, I came to know that they both inspired me more than anything else, more than what they’d ever admit. We all gave each other support, even through the difficult times, like a family. Sometimes I wondered if this was empathy as well.

Damon was lying on the sand, arms shielding his face from the setting sun as I climbed to sit atop the lifeguard tower. Hours ago we had come to the beach in Felix’s stuffed car with Theo. I had sat in the backseat with Damon, with the windows down because he got carsick easily.

He was feeling sick now. That was why he was on the sandy floor, breathing in and out slowly, to stop himself from feeling nauseous.

This trip that Theo invited us to sounded fun, but both Damon and I had wanted my dad to come. He couldn’t, because of his work schedule.

Damon was almost close to not coming either, since he was halfway done with his novel. A month went by so fast, I was sad that school would come quickly. But at the same time, I’d be happy to see all of my friends again.

“July is torture. Please let it end.” He said to himself, eyes closed firmly. It was dark enough to look at the sky without the sun blinding you. “Novel midpoint is torture. Please let it end.” He continued, but then changed it, “Actually, I’ll be sad when it ends so—no.”

I looked down at him from my place, holding onto the cold, metal railing so that I wouldn’t fall forward. It was nice outside, warm and with a hint of cool.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been here. Sometimes my dad would come here on the weekends with me, and we’d shop and visit the beach, to get away from the city. Damon also liked coming here, to visit his family and get inspiration.

He opened one eye to look at me concernedly, and then got up gradually on his feet. “It’s dangerous up there.” He outstretched his arms to me. I held onto him firmly as he brought me back down to the sand safely.

I was old enough to get down on my own, but at times I believed he still thought of me as a baby. He wasn’t as tall or as strong as my dad, and yet he protected me like this, without ever complaining.

“I’m fine.” I said, sitting on the floor next to him. “You’ll be okay, too.”

He took a fistful of his bangs, smiling at me weakly, “Yeah, but it’s always like this. You two know it better than anyone.” He finished with an, “I’m sorry.”

Damon apologized a lot, especially when it involved his work.

“Why do you look sad?” I asked.

The lines in his face were growing stiff. I thought that maybe he would cry. “It’s . . . nothing for you to worry about, Tommy.”

I waited.

He stared at me with a defeated grin, like he could read my thoughts.

Tell me what’s wrong, please, Damon.

In time, he told me. “You know when you’re working on a school project, and halfway through you wonder if it’s even good. Will my classmates like it?” He gazed at the sea, at the fading sun, “Will my voice be loud enough to reach the back of the classroom, like the other kids? Is my project worth being heard?”

His shoulders dropped, face hanging low to eye the particles of sand at our feet. My dad was good at helping Damon with his stories. All I could do was let him know what I thought.

I did think that he didn’t have to worry. He was a great writer, and I liked his stories even if no one else did. I’d give him my support, and so would my dad.

Dad . . .

Both he and Damon gave up a lot for the sake of what they loved. Damon had his characters, and my dad had me. More than support—there was sacrifice.

“My dad sacrificed so much for me, and for others.” I looked to Damon. “I want to make sure he’s happy. He deserves it, even though he doesn’t know it.”

Damon stared at me quietly.

“I think you also deserve happiness, Damon.” I smiled. “I don’t think you’ll believe me, but I hope you know that I think you’re an amazing writer. Please don’t give up. Please . . . keep writing stories that will help me.”

His furrowed brow relaxed. Damon had confidence, but it was hidden behind so many worries. He could get through this. 

I must’ve been able to get my point across, because he turned to pinch both of my cheeks, pecking the top of my forehead with a small kiss, “Thank you for being there for us.”

I gave him a grin of my own, “I love you, and my dad. Very much.”

He hugged me, “I love you two, too.”

I loved that they were in my life.

I loved this family of mine.

Charlie

As a teenager, I worked at a skate shop a few blocks from the neighborhood I’d grown up in, not too far away, but still enough to have to take a bus trip. I must’ve had more than a handful of places I was helping out in, not only that one. I had just gotten out of high school, barely, and I was struggling with keeping most of my life together.

In that time, I didn’t have anyone but a few friends and members of my family supporting me. It was and remained the most difficult time in my life. And when I thought back to it, I constantly asked myself how I ever got through it.

Speaking frankly, the person who I loved and depended on had left me behind. Not only me, but also something else important too.

I didn’t want to put any blame on anyone. I wasn’t regretful of what we’d done, even if that particular person had thought so—

In the end, I couldn’t force this responsibility on someone who didn’t want it. And so, I was entrusted with taking care of the outcome of our consequences, alone.

That was when I was sixteen. At the time of this job at the shop though, I was eighteen. The outcome of those consequences was barely turning two, and I was barely able to raise him on my own.

With all of this weight on my shoulders, I’d come to a point where I felt like I wasn’t doing enough, even though I was doing so much. I only realized one day that as a parent, that’s how you constantly feel, and it would never go away.

Am I doing enough?

What more can I do?

I was afraid of making mistakes, when in reality that was what I was allowed to do. Parents weren’t perfect, I wasn’t perfect. I could only try my best for my son, and give him as much as I could so that he could be happy.

All of this had dwelled in my mind as I learned, every day, from others who were in similar positions, and from my own mother who had raised me on her own.

It was a constant routine, of going to the various jobs I held, coming back home to take care of Tommy with my mom and relatives, searching for more jobs, and saving money for everything we needed.

In that time, I hadn’t given much thought to anything else. There was no possible way to do that. It was like that, even when Damon came into our lives.

It was a chaotic period then, since the holidays were about to begin and new recruits were in need of training. The shop wasn’t big, but enough customers came in, so the demand for extra hands was always important.

I remembered how timid Damon was, but also what a fast learner he’d proven himself to be. It was a tough task helping him break out of his shell, but when he did it was like I’d seen a new side of him.

He carried himself with a sort of air, like he was withholding something important that he couldn’t tell anyone. I liked seeing the difference in his personality come out from time to time. His shy, nervous side, as well as his habit of stringing words together and saying them aloud unawarely, and becoming embarrassed by it in the end.

We were, in a way, put together in our workplace because I got along with him better than my other co-workers had. He was eccentric and interesting. I loved talking with him.

We’d become so close, that I wasn’t afraid of telling him what was on my mind, of the things preoccupying me in regards to Tommy. He listened, intently, and eventually he too started to share his own worries. 

The thing I often remember the most was when he met Tommy for the first time. We’d talked about him at work, though Damon had never gotten to meet him officially.

I could recall us clocking out for the day, and then seeing Damon suddenly hide behind a tree, eyeing Tommy from a good distance like he was witnessing something he couldn’t fully comprehend.

Tommy and my mom had come to pick me up from work, which was uncommon. He was holding onto my mother, but then reached out to me with small hands so that I could scoop him into an embrace. Compared to now at age twelve, at two he was so tiny. Even then my family said he looked exactly like me when I was a baby.

Damon peeked out from his spot near the tree, and with hesitant steps he made his way to us, greeting Tommy like he would to an adult. And in return, Tommy placed a hand out to him, which Damon took carefully, as if he was holding delicate glass.

That was their introduction, but as they began to see more of each other, I saw that Damon was becoming relaxed about being in the presence of a child. He didn’t have siblings or cousins who were considerably younger like Tommy. It was a slow acquaintance, just like our friendship had been from the start.

In all the hours we spent together as teens, I hadn’t heard him mention that he was a writer, or that he was aspiring to be a published author. He’d done a good job at hiding it. Well, his mom had some suspicions at first, but other than that, no one else really knew of his dreams.

It probably took him much courage to tell me. Honestly, I wasn’t too surprised. When he told me one day in the winter, we were at the register counter, waiting to close up for the night, just the two of us.

He’d been antsy all day, fiddling with his fingers and forgetting his tasks. I figured he would tell me what was on his mind sooner or later, though I never would’ve known how nervous he’d be in doing so.

According to his own words, Damon had never shown anyone his work, and nor had he ever told his family that he wanted to be a published author. Some of us had been aware that he wrote, but it was ultimately up to him to let us know he was serious about it.

His secret was something that made me think back to what I aspired to do. I never had the urge to dream seriously about a passion of mine. I was also aware that I didn’t have to do that. I didn’t need to have a dream in order to be happy.

But as dreamless as I was back then, I began to develop a sort of goal, to be there for the ones I loved.

Another memory in regards to this was a few months after he’d told me of his wishes. His birthday in February had passed, and now he was seventeen. My own birthday was in December, so that made me nineteen.

It was the summer, the middle of it, and it was as hot as it usually was in the center of the city. Not even the wind from the trees above spared us from the heat, nor the fact that the night was starting to arrive.

We were at the back of the store outside, in the empty lot where the employees could park. A single lamp post sat illuminating the dark corners of the street, giving us enough light to see without straining our eyes.

My mom had dropped off Tommy before heading into the department store next door to get something, which meant that we’d have to wait for her to return after a while.

Damon was carrying Tommy, more comfortably now that they knew each other better. The three year-old since June was holding Damon’s face, smiling at him.

“I’m . . . thinking about submitting a piece to a contest.” The writer said quietly.

I was sitting on the metal pipework against the building, watching them both, “A story?”

“A short story.” He hid his face by turning away, until all I could see was Tommy.

I was about to say it sounded like a great idea, but the way he was avoiding eye contact felt as if he didn’t like it at all.

After a while, he said in an even quieter voice, “I don’t know if this sounds odd—no, it will sound odd . . . to people.”

I shrugged, “I don’t mind.”

He looked at me, unsure. I waited for him patiently.

“These characters . . . are like my children.” He spun in place, inciting a small laugh from Tommy. “I’m just—I’m afraid that they’ll get hurt if I put them out there in the world.”

That same worry was what I’d thought of too. I did not know how protective I could be, but it was pretty evident in the way I took care of Tommy.

I got up, so that I could go over to them and take Tommy’s hand, looking at Damon. I was taller than him even then. “The fact that you’re worried about them like this is clear enough that you are more than capable of taking care of them.” I let him know, eyeing the way his brown bangs hung over his brows, on the edge of covering his eyes. He hid behind them. Every so often I wanted to push his hair back, to see all of him. “If something bad happens, you have us to lean on and help you.”

Tommy hugged Damon, digging his small face on the writer’s neck sleepily. I was happy with how much he’d come to love him.

Damon revealed a very small smile, small enough that I could’ve missed it if I wasn’t standing so close. “Thank you, Charlie . . .” He rubbed Tommy’s back gently. “And thank you, Tommy.”

Silently, I looked at them, thinking that this was a memory I needed to save.

And I had saved it, secretly. A memory of someone who I wanted to be friends with always. A memory where I spent time, happily . . .

With the people that I loved.