Luke Snyder didn't know exactly what had made him pick up a pen and start writing again. It had been years since he had even sat down and tried. He'd had the urge now and again, but for a long time, something else had always demanded his attention, his effort. Even the sheer ability to carry a creative thought, process it and put it down on paper had been beaten down, piece by piece, by years of family drama, rejection and loss. As his self esteem deteriorated and the irrational guilt complex grew, he had, almost subconsciously, started to expect failing, being scolded, judged and rejected. It was a never ending cycle where the prospect of failing had become so very likely, he barely even dared to try.
So three months ago, on that fateful day when everything he had hoped and wished for was ripped out of his hands along with the person he wanted to experience all those things with, he would have never expected that particular moment to push him forward. That that moment would ultimately make him write, reach a part of himself he thought had been lost long ago.
It had taken quite some time, though, for him to even be able to get out of bed in the morning without feeling raw, empty, sick to his stomach. The all too familiar, gut wrenching, choking guilt had taken its hold on him yet again, and he spent far too much time agonizing over how his actions had led to this. But all it really took to snap him out of that chain of thought was Reid – remembering all too well how that straight forward, sometimes even painfully honest man, had little patience for nonsense. How he had wasted no time dishing out misplaced blame for anything. How he would cock his eyebrows, and, in an incredulous voice, call Luke an idiot for even thinking it, with a hint of impatience shining through. And the fact that Reid had had no problem telling people off for mistakes they had made, things they shouldn't have done, consequences that were, in fact, their responsibility, somehow made that realization more meaningful than any tearful reassurances family and friends had given Luke that it wasn't his fault. Reid was honest, and Luke had always been able to trust him to be honest.
So one night, working late at the foundation, and on some level, subconsciously avoiding going home, being faced with care and concern that he feared would make his seemingly calm, centered state of mind crumble, he tentatively scribbled down a few words on a notebook in front of him. He didn't really know what had made him do it, what had made him, after so many years, pick up a pen and express his feelings in words. Perhaps it was the thought of Lily digging through some boxes in the attic at the farm a few nights before, gathering some of his old stories, and sharing them with Holden. Luke had overheard their quiet conversation in their bedroom, joined in the heart ache over their son's loss and the sadness that his life seemingly had turned into a cold vacuum. They took slight comfort in the happy, ambitious kid he had been, loving life, and family, and adventure, only to despair at the human shadow he had been reduced to. Hearing the familiar words he himself had written recited to him through a closed door, a part of him had begun to remember the joy that had come out of putting them on paper in the first place.
And as he kept writing, timidly at first, on some level asking himself if he could, if he wanted to write the words that he thought would unleash the over whelming grief even further, it became easier, word for word. The pain did rush in, the tears threatened to fall, but it was good. With every letter, he managed to express the chaotic emotions, making them seem clearer than they ever had before. It was as if he was re-molding a part of himself, viewing the entity of the heartache in an entirely different manner, a complete manner. The bits and pieces of himself that he hadn't been able to puzzle together and move forward with suddenly came together and created a complex canvas where every contradictory emotion, anger, sadness, denial, realization, self-blame, Reid-blame, stoic calm, never ending tears, no longer confused him, where they actually made sense. He could recognize a silver lining, however bleak, and while he saw with devastating clarity what his life had been reduced to, he saw something else, too. He saw a light at the end of the tunnel, flickering as it was. He saw how much he did have left, how much he could do, how much he could grow, and experience, and – maybe, just maybe – love. Some day.
Sitting across his parents in the living room, Luke watched as their eyes flickered over the hand written pages he had given them, Lily's fingers curling into the papers, as a humble silence filled the room. Their stricken faces betrayed every emotion running through them at that very moment, gratitude, pride, awe, and deep movement at being trusted with words that described what their son was thinking and feeling in a more devastating manner than anything he had been able to put into words ever since Reid's death. The heart ache for him was there, too, but Lily and Holden could recognize what a step forward this was. Their son, the writer, whose ink had dried up long ago, had found comfort in this passion yet again, and used it to channel the grief that he couldn't seem to process any other way.
After placing the pages on the coffee table in front of her, Lily remained quiet, taking a few moments to compose herself, find the words to say. When she looked up at her son, the corners of her mouth were quivering slightly, but her eyes reflected both relief and happiness. Before she even allowed herself to speak, she got up and moved across the table to sit down next to him on the couch, pulling him into a tight hug. And for the first time since Reid had died, Luke found the touch comforting. He leaned into the embrace, eyes closed, and truly came to realize that while the pain, the mourning, would be there for a long, long time, he had turned a corner. He had found his way back from the deepest depths of despair and could slowly, slowly, start to envision a future that was not simply grim, bleak, unbearable since he was not a part of it.
From there, things happened rather quickly – at least that's what it felt like to him. It took months for him to even start to piece himself back together, and many times, the over powering grief made him revert, cover up in his apartment, hide away from the world. But he always got back on his feet, and he did it on his own accord, not as a result of his family's gentle prodding, refusal to let him pull away from them. Ultimately, he made his way back because he, as excruciating as Reid's death had been, had caught sight of a revived passion that pulled him out of that dark place, and of the good, meaningful life he could make for himself. But even as he knew this, he also recognized what an integral part of his struggle Reid was, even from beyond the grave. Reid had raised him up where others had torn him down, taught him to toughen up and stand up for himself, and, especially, had loved him with a passion unmatched by anything Luke had ever experienced – including the love he'd felt for Noah, the love he at one time had thought would never fade.
By January, after spending a Christmas with his family where every minute of the day didn't feel like a never ending struggle, he received a letter in the mail. To his surprise, and Lily's delight, it was a letter from Damian. His biological father had, securely in prison, had his lawyer draw up the legal papers for Luke to resign from his position in the shipping company, giving him the opportunity to figure out what he actually wanted to do. Damian's letter was the result of him, Lily and Holden burying the hatchet to give their son the chance to spread his wings, and for once, put himself first. Luke knew that just thirty days prior, he would have probably balked at the interference, even as he knew the shipping company was not what he wanted to devote his life to, and part of him was unnerved by Damian knowing it, too. But now, he couldn't harbor those thoughts. He didn't respond to Damian's letter, but eventually, he did sign the papers and send them back to the lawyer, setting the process in motion. By the end of the month, Luke was relieved of his duties, and while a part of him hated proving Damian right, he felt like he could breathe for the first time in what felt like forever. That very afternoon, as he was heading to Java to have coffee with Casey and Allison, the air seemed crisper, clearer, and as the glimmering winter sun caressed his cheek, it felt … warm.
By the first week of March, the relentless winter had slowly began releasing Oakdale from its hold, and as the timid spring made the snow vanish and the bitter cold lessen, bit by bit, another important letter found itself in Luke Snyder's hands, trembling fingers ripping it open. Refusing to let anyone read it to him, needing to see the printed letters himself, his gaze scanned the two pages. The crisp white paper, the elegant monogram at the top of the first page – he took it all in, forcing himself to take his time, process every word. As he reached the bottom of the second page, he put both pages back in the envelope and sat back on the couch, resting his face in his hands. In that very moment, as he tried to process what he had just read, the door opened and Faith barged through the door with her backpack slung over one shoulder. It only took a second for his little sister's smile to fade, and she dropped the backpack on the floor and hurried over to Luke. As she sat next to her brother, a frown on her face, firing concerned questions at him, his heart clenched at how quickly his family, his little siblings, still worried about him, rushed to comfort him. But even as he thought that, he didn't experience the choking guilt he would have expected at one point in his life. He felt pride, gratitude, and respect. And he felt love. So as he gave his sister a slight smile, he told her the one thing he knew would convince her that everything was okay – the content of the letter he had been so afraid to read. And as soon as he did, a smile, brighter than anything he had ever witnessed, exploded on her face, her eyes twinkled, and she hugged him tighter than she had dared to in months. Her firm embrace revealed no pity, or worry, or protectiveness. Just pride, and gratitude, and respect. And love.
The day Luke left for New York, all set with a scholarship, a seat in a writing class and encouraging feedback from an New York editor who'd read a draft of one of the stories he'd, however timidly, had penned over the summer, the whole family gathered together to see him off. John and Lucinda had even returned briefly from Europe, and as lunch was finished, his bags were packed and a cab was on the way, the hugs, and kisses, and promises of visits, were exchanged. Even as excited as Luke was about leaving, a part of him trembled, and it was only in Holden's embrace that those trembles began to cease. When the cab pulled up outside the farm, Luke took one last look at the house where he had spent at least half his childhood, and his heart did pang at the thought of leaving it behind. Whenever he came back, in the future, living so far away, things would be different. This would never truly be home to him again. But as he shared one last hug with his mother, the slight sadness faded away. For the first time in his life, he had the confidence to stand on his own feet. The confidence that wouldn't let him diminish himself, put himself second and always cater to everyone else's needs. He had never felt more like a man. It was time to spread his wings.
Upon boarding the airplane, Luke sat down, buckled his seat belt and leaned back slowly. As he glanced out the window, he pondered briefly on how he really felt about leaving Oakdale … leaving Reid. Maybe people expected it to be much harder for him. But for many reasons, one of them being the treasured item in his hand, those feelings didn't take hold. He wasn't really leaving Reid, after all.
Luke slowly opened his hand, gazing down at the object in his palm. The exquisitely carved chess piece, pressing against his skin, gleaming at him, almost embodied the confident, slightly grouchy smile of its owner. He let his eyes linger on it for a long time, until he heard the engines start roaring, and the plane tugged forward, turning on the air field. As his mild fear of flying came rushing in for a second, Luke grabbed the armrest with his other hand, trying to manage the creeping anxiety. It wasn't until his flickering gaze fell on the chess piece he still held in his left hand, that some of the tension immediately left his body. The sensation of the wooden piece in his hand grew even more comforting as he closed his fist around it, and bit by bit, the surging fear lessened as calm, cool headed relief rushed in to replace it. He let go of the armrest and shifted in his seat, and just as the plane left the ground with a sudden thrust, he allowed himself a second glance out the window. The clear sky began to stretch out from under them, and as the buzzing city disappeared out of sight, hidden far underneath the clouds, Luke turned in his seat, facing forward, a slight smile dancing on his lips, and his fingers still curled around the chess piece.
He wouldn't fail at all.