July 31st
I met a man today. I was in the shop running an errand for my mum when I bumped into him. He was a strangely beautiful man. He was a little pale. His black hair was very messy. He had a scar on his forehead that remarkably looked like lightning. But the things that struck me most about this man were his eyes. Behind his round-rimmed glasses were the brightest green eyes and when I looked into them, they seemed to see right into my soul. It was scary. They would have been the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, if they weren't so sad. It was like he had nothing to live for. Like he didn't care anymore. Like he was pleading for someone or something to save him. He picked my groceries up for me and said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause you trouble. I was just walking and I didn't see you. I really am sorry." It's okay. You don't have to apologize for anything. I wanted to say that. I wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. That everything's going to work out. But I couldn't. I was looking into his eyes, and I couldn't say a thing. He looked away and I was pulled out of the trance. I was going to say thank you but instead, I told him my name. I don't know why I did that. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He smiled, but the smile never reached his yes. His sad, sad eyes. "Hello," he said. "I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you." I didn't want to leave it at that. For some reason, I wanted to spend more time with him. It felt like if I didn't, I would never see him again. And even if I only met him, I felt that I just couldn't bear that. I asked him if he wanted to take a walk with me. He agreed.
I'm not usually like that. When I see cute guys, I could barely talk. I can't believe I was asking this guy to walk with me. I can't believe he agreed. But somehow, this time it was different. It seemed like the natural thing to do, so I did it. When we got out of the shop, we turned down a busy London street and started walking. We weren't talking or anything. Just walking. I'm not like this. I'd usually babble away about the silliest things until the guy gets bored or grossed out, whichever comes first. They said that you know when a person is already your friend if silence between you is comfortable. I don't know why but here I was walking silently with a beautiful man, and it was okay. It was the most comfortable thing. It was like I've known this man for years, and I didn't know it. When the buildings turned to trees, I asked him a question. It wasn't because the silence was bothering me. It was because his sadness was. I asked him why he was so sad. He stopped turned to stare at me with those hypnotic eyes and said, "You should cherish everyone you know. Even if he's an annoying neighbor, or that silent girl at the back of the library, or your crazy uncle. Cherish them. Cherish every second you spend with them. Because you won't know when they will leave you. You won't know when they're going to be taken from you. You won't know. You'll never know."
I cried. I don't know why I did that but after he said what he did, I couldn't help myself. He said, "It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay." That was very selfish of me. He was the one hurting. And there he was comforting me. I didn't have problems. He did. But I was the one crying. His sadness was so palpable. So tangible. So real. I could almost touch it. I think that's why I cried. I didn't want to touch it. I didn't want to feel it. And just the thought that whatever happened to him could happen to me made me want to scream my lungs out. That was very selfish of me. He didn't seem to mind though. He enfolded me in a warm embrace and comforted me. After what seemed like forever, he let go and just stared at me. His eyes were so sad, I wanted to cry again. But I had to know. I asked him what happened to him and he told me. He told me everything.
His parents died when he was just a baby. He never knew them. The only memories he had of them were the ones of them getting killed by an evil man. I could never imagine what it must be for him. Most of the time, I whine about how my parents don't understand me. And here's a man who never even knew his. He then told me that he was sent to live with his aunt and her family. Again, I couldn't imagine how horrible it must have been. Having to endure everyday of his existence hearing this family criticize every move that he makes. Making him feel like the most worthless thing. Not eating for days on end. Spending cold nights in a cupboard. And just that morning I was complaining about having to share my bedroom with a cousin who was visiting for the holidays. But then, for the first time since I met him, his eyes lost a little of the sadness that seemed to be a permanent part of his being. He started telling about being taken away from that horrible family. He told about meeting friends. True friends. He even told me everything about them. An old man who was the wisest man he'd ever known, even if he seemed a bit crazy. The man who actually took him out of his aunt's and continued to be one of his truest friends. A boy whom he met at the train ride to his new school who treats him like a brother, even if he already had a lot of those. A girl who never ceased to amaze him with her wit and courage. A man who turned out to be his dad's best friend. Then after that brief moment of happiness, his eyes went back to being the saddest things I've ever seen. He then told me that all of them, all of his real friends, all of the people that he ever really loved, died trying to protect him from the person that killed his parents. A tear silently rolled down his face, and then he said, "Everyone that ever gets close to me dies. First, my parents. Then, my friends. You better start running if you value your life." He laughed a dry laugh. He was trying to joke about the whole thing, but he didn't seem convinced himself. I felt horrible. I felt so worthless. There was nothing I could do to help this man. And that was what I wanted to do more than anything. I wanted to help him, make him feel worthy of the life that he was given. And I couldn't do that. All I could do was give him a hug. And he accepted it. He hugged me back, like I was his lifeline. Like it was what he needed to do. Like it was the only thing that would save him from the loneliness that was his life. And when he did that, I felt it. The thing that I didn't want to feel from the moment I met him. I felt his sadness and it was the most painful experience I've ever gone through. Then for the millionth time since I met this man, I wept. He let go and said, "I'm sorry for making you feel that. You seem like a nice enough person and it's my fault that you felt something that you don't deserve. I'm so sorry." There he was again, apologizing. Then it hit me. Of course, how could I have been so stupid. He was blaming himself. For his parents' death. For his friends' death. For everything. I didn't know these people, but somehow for the brief period of time that I've been spending listening to this man, it seemed like I knew them, too. Then suddenly, I knew what to do. I knew what to say. For some unknown reason, everything fit into place. I told him that it wasn't his fault. All of this happened because of the love that everyone had for him. And it was what they must have wanted. They wouldn't have had it any other way. They were glad that they were giving their lives for him. Then he said something that I wouldn't forget for as long as I live. He said, "I know. They loved me so much and I don't know why. I didn't deserve their love. I didn't deserve their lives. And that's what I can't live with." He then turned to me and said, "I should probably get you home. Your parents must be worried sick. They love you so much, they must have called the police by now. I wouldn't want to worry them any further."
We started walking back. On the way home, I realized that I didn't want to go back. After what I felt with this man, I don't think I want to leave him ever again. He needs me, even if I'm not sure what I could do to make things better. He needs someone. Someone to listen, to comfort him. The way back seemed a lot faster and before I knew it, we were home. I don't know how he knew where I lived, but somehow, I didn't care anymore. I looked at him and before I could thank him, he said, "Thanks for listening. You're one of the few people that I talked to about this since my friends died. And that was four years ago. I'm not usually this sad. It's just that, it's my twenty-first birthday today. And my best friend and I had a lot of plans for when we turned twenty-one. And we were so excited whenever we talked about those plans. I guess I'm just sad that we won't be able to do that anymore." I don't want to leave you. Please, stay with me. How I wanted to say that. But I couldn't. "Well, have a nice life. Remember what I told you." I thanked him and gave him another hug. He turned on his heel, and started walking away.
I went inside, and saw in the hallway clock that it was nine thirty. It's been six hours sine I left for the shop. I found my dad watching the telly, and my mom was clearing the table from the chaos that was dinner. I'm home, I said. "Oh, great. Put those on the counter, and your dinner's in the microwave." They weren't the least bit worried that I was gone. It's like they didn't care. But after what Harry told me, it didn't matter. I went to my dad, kissed him on the forehead and told him the I love him. "Oh, I love you too, Sport. But I love soccer, too, and I couldn't watch it with you in front of me." He said that with the sweetest voice. I stepped out of his way. He looked at me with gratefulness in his eyes, and turned back to the telly. Then I went to the kitchen, gave my mum a hug and told her that I love her. When I was about to break the hug, my mum didn't let go and said, "Not yet. Just a little more." So I hugged her more. She let go and said, "Thanks, sweetheart. I needed that." Anytime, mum. I even went to my brother's room, but since it was locked and Papa Roach was blaring through his speakers, I just screamed it through his door. I love you, Spike. I don't think he heard it, but it doesn't matter. I went to my room, lay in my bed, and was thankful for my life.
***
Spike turned down the stereo, looked out of his door, and saw his sister enter her room. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? He went down to the kitchen and saw his mum and dad grinning at each other like idiots. "What's up with Lara?"
His mum turned to him and said, "I think she just met Harry."
"Oh, right. That explains everything." And with that he went to his room, turned up the volume and silently thanked Harry for everything.
***
There's nothing like Harry's birthday to make the juices start flowing. Mwahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!! This is my first finished fanfic. Today is Harry's twenty-first birthday, and I've only just finished. It was strange really. I was drawn to the computer from the moment I woke up this morning. I went to school wearing my homemade Gryffindor tank top, greeted everybody a Happy Harry Potter's Birthday Day, went home, sat on my computer, and started writing. I was done before you could say Twilight Zone. Now, why doesn't that happen when I'm writing my other fanfics? Oh well, review if you value your life. Send flames, too! I just love answering hate mail. Mwahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!
-Deedlit
07-31-01
stupefy_this@hotmail.com