I’m going to tell you a story, and you’re going to listen to it. Because that’s how this works; I write, you read, and we both go home feeling a little bit better for it. So I’m going to tell you a story about my friend because while my life has been eventful, its story is unentertaining at best.

So, a starting point. These are always the hardest part, but I guess I have time to burn, and apparently you do too if you’re here, so we’ll start from the beginning.

I was, and am, a dork. Not the cool, gamer nerd type. No, just a dork. On a lucky day I ate at a table alone, and on the alternative, I was joined for a nice lunch eating a urinal puck. Things were bad. Real bad. My family was a dysfunctional mess, my friends were more of a lack thereof, and I had no one to turn to. I started to turn to a razor. We became good friends… real close. But enough about me, I did say that this story was about him, didn’t I?

It was about the middle of ninth grade when he transferred to my school. He was amazing; everything you could hope for in a friend, in a person in general. He was witty, smart, charismatic, good-looking. I looked up to him like a brother, I’d even call him a father-figure at times. He just showed up one day in my science class, without any warning. He walked in and came to the back, to sit next to me. I was shocked; it was the first time anyone had voluntarily sat next to me since middle school started.

“Hey.” His voice was warm, inviting. The one word somehow managed to promise me that there was hope for the future.

“Uhh… hey. I don’t think you want to sit back here, you look like you belong up by the popular kids in the front.” I thought I might as well fill him in myself, save myself the public humiliation when someone else speaks up instead.

“I’m sorry? I don’t know what I look like to you, but I wouldn’t sit by them if they asked me too. They look like a******s.”

“Where’s the punchline here? You were set up right? Just call me a f****t and move on with your life, you’re wasting your time here. I’m far used to it at this point.”

“I think you got me wrong here, kid. I just moved over, you’re the first person who looked cool enough to talk to.”

“I think I misheard you… did you just say I look… cool? I think you’re the one who’s got it wrong. I’ve got glasses that could stop a bullet, hair that you could grease an entire car with, and an Adam’s apple that makes it look like a tennis ball got stuck halfway down. Plus, I’ve counted 12 voice cracks in the last three minutes we’ve been talking.”

“Oh,” he laughed. It reminded me of my dad’s laugh, before he left. “I hadn’t even noticed until you pointed any of it out.” He paused and examined me as I was some piece of art. “And frankly, I’m still not sure I see any of it.”

The bell rang before I could reply, not that I could have found the strength to form any coherent thought through my incredulity. That was the only time anyone had said anything nice to me, excluding dares and bets.
“Hey, that means it’s time to leave right?” He asked, continuing to talk to me as he rose out of his seat.

“Yeah… we can go home now.”

He turned as he went to walk out the door, looking back at me, still in my seat with an awestruck face. “What’s your name, friend?”

I did a turn to make sure, for the last time, that he was talking to me. “Uh, I’m Melvin.”

“I’m Chad, it’s nice to meet you, Melvin.” Then he left, a wide smile on his face. Eventually I did the same, after many prompts from my rather annoyed science teacher. I walked my crooked walk out of school, and eventually all the way back home. I opened the door to the accustomed greeting-less entrance. I walked up to the second floor, and then another steeper, more broken staircase to my small room in the attic. I cast my backpack aside and threw myself down on my bed. It was incredibly warm, but I was used to it. I turned on some music, closed my eyes, and thanked God it was the weekend. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss about Chad. The whole encounter just seemed strange. I decided not to get hung up on it though, and to enjoy my free time instead. My room was the one place that I actually felt safe. Stressing isn’t what I wanted to spend my time doing.

But I’m doing it again, aren’t I, making this about me? Getting back to the real story, the next few months went about the same. It turned out that we had the exact same schedules, so we sat in the back of the class together and shared stories. I didn’t have too much to share, so I mainly listened, but he didn’t seem to mind. He told me all about the adventures he had went on, and all the ones he planned to go on with me. He sat by me at lunch, and I hadn’t been bullied in weeks. Occasionally I got weird looks, but people just seemed to keep their distance now. Everyone except Chad, anyway. The days blended together until the last day of my freshman year finally rolled around. I was honestly terrified that we would drift apart over the summer, seeing as we had never hung out outside of school. He said his house wasn’t “ready for guests”, but I honestly didn’t mind. It was at school I truly needed him, and it was there our friendship truly shined. But three months without him, I wasn’t sure if even the safety of my bedroom could shield me that long. After all, it never did the previous summers. I was usually home alone because my mom had to work, and she took my sisters to daycare because she didn’t trust me with them. The first week or so goes fine, but then the two CD’s I’m allotted grow old, and I start to regress to old habits.

I decided to give Chad my home phone number, but told him to only call during the day because my mom didn’t like me using the telephone. He said that sounded good, gave a heartfelt goodbye, and walked away.
The first week of summer went about as described; I listened to music and laid in bed all day. Then the music started to grow old, and I started to grow sad. But one day, when I was home alone, I heard a knock on my door. I ran down the stairs, expecting some package to be on the doorstep. I never got any mail, but it was fun to imagine sometimes. One time, I got a bit too excited and started to open one. I didn’t get halfway in before I realized my mistake, but that didn’t stop my mom from whooping me good when she got home.

I was surprised, however, to open the door to a much more welcoming person: Chad. “Chad? What the hell are you doing here…?” I asked incredulously; my voice a mix of shock and joy.

“What do you mean? I came to hang out with you, Melvin. We’re best friends, remember?”

“I mean… how did you get here? How did you find me?”

“That’s not important. What is important is that I’m here for you, Mel. We’re best friends until the end.” His voice and expression remained one of comforting joy, as it always was. I gestured for him to come in, hesitantly at first. I shut the door behind him, and had him take off his shoes and carry them upstairs. I went up the attic stairs first and guided him into my cave of a room.

“Sorry it’s so small, my sisters get the good rooms downstairs.” I explained as I went about my room, throwing things out of the way to make room in my tiny living space.

“It’s okay, we have each other after all, don’t we?” He shot me that smile that he always does. It was entirely cheerful and friendly, it promised of prosperous times to come. I just smiled back in response, something I rarely did because of my braces and, to be frank, lack thereof a reason to. Once he was settled in, he suggested some music. I told him I didn’t have much, but he insisted. We listened to both my CD’s in their entirety. Once they were over, he looked at me and asked if that was all. I regretfully informed him that we had exhausted my entire music collection. He just shrugged, shot another reassuring smile, and said that we could just make our own music instead. I told him he was a genius, and we proceeded to do just as he suggested. We jammed out until my mom got home, which put a rather abrupt ending to our fun.

“You should probably go, Chad. My mom would not be happy if she saw you here.” I went to hand him his shoes, but stopped me midway through the motion.

“Her room is on the bottom floor, isn’t it? She would never know, and you wouldn’t have to be so lonely.”
“But… okay, I guess. But we have to be really quiet, and you have to leave as soon as she goes to bed.” I set down his shoes and breathed a sigh of resignation. Despite what I let on, I was stoked. Chad was the first person who had ever come to my house, and I truly didn’t want him to leave.

“Actually, I was thinking I could just stay here. My parents are cool with it, and your mom will never know.”
I thought long and hard about it, but ended my indecisiveness with another long sigh. “Okay, you can stay here… but what will you eat? My mom won’t cook any food for you, and I definitely can’t take an extra helping. She’d kill me.”

“I don’t eat much, trust me. We can just share.” I didn’t respond other than to give one more, and final, sigh. When dinner time rolled around, I ran down stairs, alone, and grabbed my premade, small portioned dinner plate. I ran it upstairs to my waiting guest, and split the meal about 50/50. He held true to his word, though, and after about an hour of staring at it, he still hadn’t touched any of the food. When I prodded him about it, he simply explained that he had eaten earlier and that I should eat his portion for him.

The days went on like this, with Chad living in secret. My mom never found out, or if she did, she didn’t let on that she did. In fact, she seemed to be a bit more lenient with me as the summer went on. I was truly happy, and she seemed happy to see it. Before I knew it, the next school year was upon us. And honestly, not much changed. We kept on as we always did for the first few months of my sophomore year. That was when things started to get worse at home.

My mom lost her job. She never talked about where she worked, or what she did, but it made enough money to keep us living. Just enough. So when she lost her job, our only source of income, it came as quite a shock to the family. She started to stay home with the girls, and our meals became even smaller and more portioned. But that wasn’t the worst of it; on top of all of it, Chad began to act funny. He would sometimes disappear for a whole day or two without any warning. I’d go to school one day, and he’d be fine. The next, Chad wouldn’t be at school. One time, he disappeared for an entire week. I was worried about him, but I was more worried about me. I started out alright, but after about three days I began to have anxiety attacks on a bi daily basis. By the fifth day, I fell into old habits once more… I just couldn’t live without him. He ended up coming back, just walking into school like nothing had happened. I was upset at him, but he explained that he was sick and I understood. Then the next day, he left. Forever.

I never saw him again after the fifth of January. He just went missing. I tried waiting it out, but as one week turned to two, and eventually a month, I began to get worried. I tried to convince people that something was wrong, that someone was missing, but no one would listen to me. I tried sneaking into the computer lab to print missing person fliers, but the computer tech guy found me and kicked me out. He didn’t really say anything, just gave me a look that was somewhere between pity and sorrow and pulled me out to the door. It got so bad that I decided to resort to trying my mom. I admitted everything to her, from the beginning to the end and everything in between. But when I was done, she just sighed, rubbed her temples, and went back to dealing with the kids.

I was heartbroken. The world seemed to turn itself in on me, and I had absolutely no one I could turn to. I pointed my anger towards Chad. After all, it was his fault for leaving me like this, alone and in pain. I ran upstairs and rummaged through all my things, grabbing everything that reminded me of him, including my CD’s. I ran back downstairs to throw it all in the garbage, but when I opened the trash can, something else caught my eye: An empty pill bottle. I’d never seen my mother taking pills. I dropped everything I was carrying to pick out the bottle. I adjusted my glasses to read the fine print, it read “Tofranil - Melvin Chadington” It was a bottle of antidepressants, prescribed to me. Everything started to clear up; the events of the last years of my life, of Chad. The only friend I had ever known.

He wasn’t real. I made him up.

My vision began to spin, my head started to hurt. I think I fell to the floor, but I honestly don’t remember. I do remember struggling back to my feet, though, and running outside. Running far, far from home. Covering many, many city blocks before I dared to look back to what I once called home; the attic that once housed my only solace from the cruel world, but now only held the empty lie that had been my life. I crumpled to the ground, defeated.

I looked around, frantically, trying to catch my breath. It felt as if there were a lead weight on my chest, as if my lungs had burning holes in them. Every gasping breath sent sharp pains through my body.

My eyes finally settled on a building; one I knew well. It was an old factory, abandoned now, except when school bullies brought the school dorks there to be tortured. Often times I was that dork. They would dangle me off the top of the building, threaten to drop if I screamed or shed a tear. Once, when we were on the second floor of the complex, I couldn’t help but let out a whimper. Their threat didn’t prove empty; I plummeted down onto my feet, one of them letting out a sick thud when it hit the earth. I layed there, crying softly, for 15 minutes until they came down and found me. Just when I thought I saw a hint of regret, a hint of mercy, in one of their eyes as they extended a hand to help me up, he pulled his arm back in and spat in my face. Kicking dirt in my face as he walked away, I couldn’t help but scream in protest. Protest that anyone could be so cruel, so undeniably evil.

He turned, looked back at me, and laughed.

I passed out from the pain, and didn’t make it home for several hours.

Looking at that building then reminded me of all that pain, that hate, that cruelty.

That lie.

I scrambled to my feet and started running towards it. Sprinting up the stairs I had been up so many times before, I pushed through the door and onto the roof. I saw a tattered notebook lying up against a vent. The pages were torn and ripped, barely clinging onto their binding. I picked it up, pulled out my pen, and started writing.

And that brings us to now. I told my story, you listened. And we’re better off for it, eh? Well, I have a confession: I hope you feel better, because I certainly don’t. And, frankly, I’m not sure I ever will. So, I wrote this as a final goodbye. And, since I have no one that cares enough to give this to, I’m simply going to let it go in the wind. Carried by the currents until it finds someone, finds you, I guess. I have no way of knowing that you’ll even read this. Or that you’ll care. But I guess I can hope that you will, and that you’ll feel better after reading it.

Because I certainly don’t. And I can’t make sure that I will ever feel better again.

But I can make sure that I never feel worse…