If you haven’t yet read the first part of the story, I’d recommend you to read THIS first. Otherwise, this would be the second part of The Boy No One Could Help: To Walk And Talk.
Part Two: To Walk And Talk
Simon and I had decided to meet in the City Park. Usually I didn’t meet with stranger guys like that, but since we’d already met once (and I’d been quite clear with the fact that I was interested in somebody else to avoid future complications if he’d for any reason develop feelings for me), I thought I’d be fine. Besides, I knew he really needed someone to walk and talk to (Simons way of putting it), and I didn’t mind being there to listen.
Walking into the park, I was nervous of course. After all, pretty much all I knew about this guy was that he could kill himself any minute. The funny thing was that from the moment we said “Hi” to each other, it wasn’t weird at all. He asked me how my day had been, I said “good” and asked about his day and he said “well, not good”… Then again, he started talking, and this time I’m sure I got to take part of his entire story.
Simon was born in Afghanistan. Shortly after his birth, his parents had run to Iran because of the war. He grew up as the eldest of three children: him, his little brother and his sister which he loved very much. Being the first born son, his parents chose to treat him differently from his siblings. If somebody did wrong, he was the one being lectured, by anything from harsh words to violent fists. It might would have been different if his father hadn’t been an alcoholic or if his mother would have had the courage to say interfere, but they were his parents. And even though he hated them, he loved them as well.
Getting older, things got more brutal at home, though. Simon decided to leave the house when his father had a final outrage on him and ended up beating Simons grandpa to death, of course blaming Simon for the incident (which Simon still believes in). He was twelve years old by that time, when he had to live on the street and when he needed to learn how to make it on his own. In waken condition fully concentrated on finding food to make it through the day, and a place to sleep to make it through the night. Eventually Simon found a place to live, at an Armenian woman’s house in exchange for labour. The Armenian woman was a business woman and owned a nice computer company in the city. There he stayed until he decided it was time to take off, and leave Iran and everything that came with it behind, for good.
The reason why Simon was talking as much as he did could easily be because I didn’t say much, but I wasn’t sure how to respond. What do you say when you hear something like that? To me, his life seemed like a movie. But I really tried to imagine what he’d gone through. Just sensing how it would feel like when your parents don’t want you and how on earth a twelve-year-old kid could be living on the street; but I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. I could see where the darkness came from, though. Especially after hearing how his mother had called him after he’d got here to tell him they never wanted him to come back ever, AND after hearing about him meeting the love of his life (and the only one who’d bring love and happiness into this darkness) – dumping him.
In fact, (and I wasn’t surprised any longer) he had tried to suicide several times already. Every time he’d done it, somebody had managed to stop him, though. At least twice: his New Mother (as he prefers to call her); Mary (who he no longer had any contact with since he’d happen to chose his girlfriend before her…). Obviously, he hadn’t been able to pursue with her watching him. This was why his plan was to go back to Afghanistan and suicide there, where no one cared about him.
I came to hear this story many times. Every time we met, at least some part from his previous life came up. Mostly we talked about his girlfriend. To him, the break-up was the worst thing among all of his experiences that had ever happened to him, and what had hurt him the most. She was the reason why he now spent his days staring into the wall and his nights burying the pain in alcohol and cigarettes. My idea was that she was the bomb that started a series of explosions, but it didn’t really matter. He was just as ruined and depressed anyways.
Still, talking calmed him down for a bit, in comparison to the antidepressants, so we continued meeting as we did: walking and talking. Usually after discussing the “dark subjects”, we would start talking about movies or something instead. These were the moments which I really began to enjoy. Not broken-down, Simon was an amazing guy! He was nice and smart, and you could tell he had been forced to grow up at an early age judging from how experienced and intelligent he was. I had so much to learn from him! At the same time, he was a real actor that managed to make me laugh loudly and often as he made one of his many perfect impressions of Captain Jack Sparrow from the movies that he loved. Apart from that, he had an actual heart of gold. I was absolutely sure of that.
It was sad to know that a guy like him would have to be so miserable, because when we’d go our separate ways and he’d wake up the next morning, the depression would be ruling his life once again. And he would be staring into the same wall as he’d been staring into for the last couple of months. ♥︎