A Helping Hand

When I walked into the mysterious building, my eyes only saw black. The room was flooded with tears. Unknown people walked up to me and cried. When I ambled over to a room where people had gathered, I entered the crowd to see my father sleeping. I was 8 years young and still not able to understand that he was gone, and was not coming back. Once I came of age to realize that my father had passed away I put aside the man inside me and I drowned in my sorrows and in my pain. I promise things will get better. Just keep pushing on, one day at a time. That's what everyone told me. Those two sentences were my backup, my go-to, when everything hit the fan those sentences was there to save me. Now that I have matured I realize there is no one here to save me. Not my parent, not a couple pitiful sentences, not even myself.

“Beep., Beep., Beep.,” I woke up with a wet nose in my face. “What are you doing?!” I shouted. I heard a few scampers and a merciful bark. I turned on my dimmed light to see my dog, Gus. I wandered toward my dresser hoping that eventually I would just stop and sink into the ground. I walked down the creaky steps into the kitchen. “You're late.” my Mother said coldly as I got downstairs. “I know,” I responded.

Mother was never the same after the car accident with my father. He was out with my sister when he slid on black ice. His car hit a telephone pole which ended up in the windshield, hitting him, and barely skimming my sister. “One day the school is going to find out that it isn't me that is getting you there late.” “Bye,” I mumbled and headed out the door. I knew that she had a point but I was too tired to say so.

The school was consistent with the crappy morning I had, which set the standard for the rest of my day. To most kids, Friday is a blessing, but for me, it just means more time with mother. I was walking with a book in hand toward the door to leave the school when I heard a voice coming from the library. It was too muffled to figure out what it was saying so I stepped closer and closer to- “Who’s there!?” shouted a woman dressed in a long flower petaled dress. “Ah!” I yelled, “Sorry, you just, scared me.” “Oh, it’s ok! Come on in.” I walked into a giant room with books of all shapes and sizes. People of all ethnicities and backgrounds. The smell of old paper fumes filled my nose. “So you’re here to stay after school?”

“Umm.” My head raced. What do I do? Should I stay? Why does she look like she is 5 coffees too far? “Yes? *ahem* Yes I am here for the after school. Thing.”

“Awesome! We always love to see new people.” She handed a pink slip to me and said, “Make sure you fill this out and return it to me when you leave. We’re open from 2:35 to 5.” I walked farther in to see people of all shapes and color. I couldn’t believe the size of the place. I stayed for a while then left with 5 books under my belt.

For more than a week, without knowing, Rosa helped me escape my loneliness through the use of books. I spent hundreds of hours there, reading books of high adventure. This somehow eased my pain.

On Thursday afternoon they had a book club for all of the nutmegs and I met a kid named Alex. He was a well-kept kid, extremely organized and not shy at all. The first day he came up to me and just started talking. Finally, I had to interrupt him and say, “Hi my name is-.” Before I could even finish he said, “My name is Alex what's yours?!”

“My name is Peter. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too! See you! Bye!” He strolled off and started bothering the librarian until I saw them hug. Hmm? I thought to myself. What is he.. Ok then. I walked away that day not knowing that Alex had Aspergers. Aspergers is a spectrum of psychological conditions that are characterized by abnormalities of social interaction and communication (I learned that in one of the books I read). For the next week, Alex and I started to get to know each other and started to talk more, in and out of school. Unfortunately, not everyone is so kind.

Ronnie was a 9th grader who caught me and Alex talking in the hall and just had to point it out to everyone. “Hey everyone, look at Peter, he’s talking to retard boy!” I just stood there in awe, wondering how people can be so evil. I felt depleted, crushed, and dehumanized. I did only what I could do, I ran. I ran away from Alex, Ronnie, and myself. I ran so hard, out of the school and into the woods. Dipping in and out of trees, getting hit by branches, realizing that all I have been doing my whole life was running. I have been running from my problems, from my family, from my friends, from my life. At that moment I knew something had to change. I was so used to struggling that I couldn’t imagine a life in which every day was easy. I couldn’t grasp the idea that other people’s happiness could be true. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. Because maybe, I didn’t want to burden other people with my problems, I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I tried to act normal, I tried to be like everyone else, but it didn’t work.

My solution you might be wondering? I found happiness in writing this story, to hopefully change the way people handle situations with depression. I can now say that I can get better, I can keep pushing on. One day at a time. These sentences were my go-to. When everything hit the fan, these sentences was there to save me. Now that I have matured I realize there is someone there to save me. Maybe not my parent. It might not even be a sentence. It was only when people found strength in me, and I had strength in myself, then I found hope.

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