“I haven’t laughed like this in such a long time. This has been the best day,” I say, still giggling a little. Jonas nods in agreement but he is still laughing, leaning on the railing of his front porch to catch his breath. After a few more chuckles, he takes a deep breath and sits next to me on the porch swing, sighing contentedly.
We swing in silence for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company. I love how comfortable we are with each other. We don’t have to fill the void with senseless chatter. It’s enough to simply be together.
I look over at him, and he turns to look at me, at almost the same time. When we’re standing, he’s a foot taller than me, but sitting here, his eyes are almost level with mine. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest as our eyes connect for a moment. And before I can think better of it, the words are spilling out of my mouth.
“Jonas, I’m in love with you,” I say, barely more than a whisper. He inhales sharply, obviously surprised. Then, I see a thousand different emotions flicker in his eyes. My stomach is in knots as I wait for his response.
“Paige, I…” he hesitates, unsure of what to say, but I know what’s coming. I can feel the tears coming before he even speaks.
“Paige, you’re my best friend, and I like you, but I can’t…” he trails off. I stand up and walk over to the other side of the porch, not wanting him to see me cry. I hear him stand and walk over to me.
“Paige..” he says again, putting his hand on my shoulder. I turn around and see that he is crying too.
“Why not?” I ask quietly.
“Because I don’t do relationships. I’ve been hurt too many times.” He turns his head, avoiding my gaze, and continues, “And you’re too important to me. I don’t want to lose you.”
Embarrassed and hurt, I grab my keys out of my pocket and head towards the steps, tears streaming down my face.
“Paige, wait!” He grabs my hand and pulls me back.
“Jonas, I know you’ve been hurt, but you have to move on sometime. And I’m not gonna wait around forever. You have to make a decision.” I wait for an answer, still holding his hand.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. My heart breaks as I slowly let go of his hand and walk to my car. Before I drive away, I glance up at him. He’s still standing in the same spot, watching me.
“How did the best day turn into the worst day so quickly?” I wonder aloud as I back out of his driveway and head home.
I lace up my shoes, dreading what comes next. I know she is watching me, wondering what I’m going to do. And as much as I hate it, I know that it must be done. I hear a small whimper, and my heart breaks. “I’m sorry, but you know I have to go.” She is silent, but I can feel her anxiety from across the room. I glance over, but I avoid looking into her brown eyes, because I know that it will make it harder to leave. She is shaking, and I hear another whimper.
I stand up and reach for my keys. Her crying is louder now, and I have to force myself to put on my jacket. Why does she have to make this so difficult? Hearing her cry is weakening my resolve, but I know that I need to do this.
I head towards the door, but as I reach for the doorknob, I pause and glance back at her. When I look into her sad, brown eyes, I realize that I can’t do it. I can’t leave her.
“Alright, you can come with me,” I say, as I reach for her leash, which is hanging by the door. She is instantly a new dog, furiously wagging her tail and prancing around the room, her sadness replaced with excitement. Kneeling down, I clip her leash onto her collar. As I do, she jumps up to lick my face. I laugh at her, saying, “Silly dog. I was just going to the grocery store. You know I’m a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes though, huh?” I give her a quick scratch behind the ear, and we head out the door. Together.
I walk along the street parallel to the border wall that surrounds our city. The city maintenance crew is hard at work, trying to clean up another rebel’s graffiti from the night before. The city has increased security around the wall significantly, but somehow, someone always finds an opening to add some colorful artwork to the wall.
As silly as it seems, the best part of my day is walking past the wall on my way to school. I know I shouldn’t, but I always hope that there will be something new there, a new word or phrase.
The government outlawed the written word years ago, but the rebels have been leaving messages on the wall for years, even though no one can read them. Somehow, even though I can’t read, I can feel how important the words are. I can sense the urgency with which they were written. And while I know that it’s wrong, I feel drawn to them. Sometimes, I even imagine that they were written for me. I could get in trouble for thinking like that, but I can’t help it. I long to read the words that are written there.
I continue to walk, stealing glances at the wall and the new words written there last night. The crew must have just gotten here, because they’ve barely made any progress scraping off the bright red letters. I count 7 words written in huge blocky letters. I wish I knew what they were.
I look around to see if anyone is watching before I duck into a nearby alley between two buildings. I circle around to the back of the building, hiding in the shadows so that I can get a better look. I try to memorize the sentence on the wall, the shapes of the letters that I have no idea how to decipher. I stare at it for a few minutes, as I watch the maintenance crew remove the paint.
Suddenly, a voice whispers from behind my shoulder, “Do you want to know what it says?” I jump, and I almost scream, but I catch myself before I do. My heart races as I turn around and see who the voice belongs to. It’s a boy that I recognize from school, though I don’t know his name. He’s a grade or two ahead of me. He is a little taller than me, with curly, brown hair, an amused look on his face, and a twinkle in his pale green eyes. I am both embarrassed and annoyed that he caught me, but then I remember what he just said.
“You know what it says?” I whisper back, my eyes darting around to make sure we are alone. Even though we are hidden in the shadows behind the building, I suddenly feel like everyone is watching me. No one is supposed to know how to read. And talking about it is very dangerous.
The boy just smiles at me, and nods. My heart races again, but this time out of anticipation as I wait for him to respond.
He leans in and whispers in my ear, “The pen is mightier than the sword.” My heart flutters, not just at the words but because he is still leaning so close to me. Nervous, and unsure what to say, I turn back to look at the wall again.
I don’t look back at him, but I can’t keep myself from asking, “How did you learn to read?” He doesn’t respond. I turn around and he’s gone.
Glancing back at the wall so I can see the words one more time before I have to leave, I repeat them quietly to myself.
“The pen is mightier than the sword.”
