Exhausted from the endless hours from the night before, I struggled both to stay awake, and not to loose my mind. My mind wandered back to that fateful day that would change everything.I remember so much--too much.
I remembered how she had never seemed so beautiful to me before—I didn’t know what it was that day. She wasn’t exactly a gorgeous, glamorous person. In a way, she was very plain looking. You had to get to know her. Once she gave you the chance to explore her depths, to learn about who she really was—she suddenly became this rare, exotic beauty.
I had watched her closely. She hugged everyone goodbye, fighting with letting them go and holding onto them at the same time. She could hardly hold herself together, that poor girl. I hated leaving her. I was almost afraid what would happen to her when I left—I had reason to be.
She smiled at me, her weak, innocent, frightened smile that I was so familiar with. It reminded me of the last time I had left her—and lost the child she used to be forever. Her eyes were watery and pleading, begging for me to stay. I shook my head at her. Not because I was ashamed of her, but because I myself had no idea how in the world I could make myself say goodbye to her.
Without even so much as thinking about how much harder it would make it, I put my arms around her. She was shaking so much that I was sure she was crying. She wasn’t even breathing anymore. Without saying a single word, I slipped a note into her hand, turned away, and walked along into my tour bus. There wasn’t even a point in saying goodbye. I feared that, if I said that, she would take away the chance of me ever seeing her again.
Dear Abby-
This is my sucky attempt at ever being sentimental in any way except through music.
I guess I’m not supposed to cry about anything. That’s, like, a rule or something—I’m not a man if I cry. Screw that now. It’s weird how never crying makes you seem stronger. I don’t know. I guess I’m not writing to talk to you about crying. Well, in a way, maybe I am, but I’m not sure. You know me.
I’m going to worry about you. You know why—you know so much, don’t you? I’m praying, right now, even before I leave you for awhile, that you won’t do anything stupid. As selfish as this is, I need the chance to see you again. You really are my best friend, and you have been for years. I can’t sit back and let you die, knowing that I couldn’t do anything more to help you. I want to be there for you. I want to be there to see you graduate high school, read the fresh-off-the-press pages of your first published book, and see what you look like when you grow up. Just little things. I don’t want to feel like I’ve failed you. In a way, I already do. I’m just scared as hell that you won’t be around next time I come looking for you. I’ve been looking inside for five years…I feel like I still am. Keep going. You’re an amazing person—and I do mean that. You know I do. Stay strong, Abby. Just remember that I’m not leaving you…and that you will never be alone. --Zac
I could only pray that she would read it. I needed her just to live for me--but I couldn't ask her that to her face. I was scared to death of hurting her more. I knew that I was driving her deeper into her own personal hell as it was. She wasn't alright. I felt like that was my fault--if I hadn't returned to remind her of anything, she would be okay.
