If you haven’t yet read the first parts of the story, I’d recommend you to read those before moving on to this one. Below are links to Part 1 – 2:
Got it? Okay, let’s continue…
Part Three: Goodbye
It was amazing how slow the time went by with Simon. We didn’t meet more than once or twice a week, walking and talking, but already had a month passed. Yet it felt as if we’d known each other forever, but I guess that was just how he was. After all, he had opened up to me the first time we’d met. Now, after all this time, I was pretty sure I knew almost everything about him. That’s probably why I took it so hard when he finally said he couldn’t handle this no more. This was the end, goodbye. Have a great life and don’t worry about me. That’s what he said.
To me it was like any other Tuesday afternoon. I was at home, in my kitchen baking this time, when I got the message. “Lissy, I’m really bad today.” “Nobody cares about me, nobody loves me: I’m the one God forgot. I’m gonna do it this time.” Naturally I told him that I cared about him and that I didn’t want him to pursue with it, but it’s like when I say stuff like that, it doesn’t really count, because I “have to” say those things. Only I really don’t. Anyways, that’s what he thought and the reason why he refused to listen to me. But you know me by now: I don’t give up that easily.
And so I think I went on and on for hours, giving him reasons to stay only to have him rejecting my suggestions. Simon could be real stubborn too. Instead he tried to turn it around, convincing me that it was for my own best and that he didn’t want me to get dragged into the same darkness that ran his life. I was offended. Me, if anybody, could handle this. Like he didn’t know me at all! (I was to find out he knew me better than I knew myself, though, but that wasn’t until later.)
Eventually I ran out of words. I wanted to help him, I really did, but I had said the same things over and over again, and it didn’t seem to make any difference. I guess I couldn’t help him. After all, it was his life, and he deserved the right to do what he wanted with it. I had to accept the fact that in the end, I would have no say in that.
So I stepped back. I regretted it the second he wrote back, though. “It was nice to get to know you, goodbye.” Then Simon shut his phone off. And there I was, my heavy head in my hands, groaning at the kitchen table. But it was no use in trying to do anything else.
Days passed and I didn’t hear from Simon. It was real weird, since we’d talked every day during the time that we’d known each other. All of a sudden, he was just gone, and I had no idea whether he was alive or not. To be honest, I was worried sick. Then Saturday came, and I had received a new text. It was from Simon. Even though it pretty much was in the middle of the night, I called him right away.
Picking up the phone, his voice was trembling. Simon had had enough. He was sick of the dark thoughts, sick of the depression and sick of being alone. Even though I couldn’t understand what it was like to be him, I got it. I had seen what it had done to him, it wasn’t hard to imagine it was difficult for him.
I felt so bad for him I wanted to cry. Although, what disturbed me the most was that he kept telling me how lonely he was. I knew he wasn’t alone! Not because he had me, but because it was obvious he’d had somebody watching over him since the day he’d been born, during the shitty childhood and especially during the months he’d been on the run. Let’s just say Simon had been a little too lucky to have made it here on his own. Did you know he couldn’t swim? Yet one day, he’d reached the part of the journey where he would have to cross the stormy sea in a tiny, overcrowded rubber boat. Out on the water, the waves grew bigger and stronger, and the boat tipped over. In the middle of the storm, Simon managed to forget about the panic to remember something he’d heard when he was younger: if you fill your lungs with air, you float. That’s how Simon was one out of very few refugees to survive that night.
Still he didn’t believe there could ever be a God. He didn’t want to, after all the things he’d seen, and if there would be a God, why didn’t he put Simon in a family that loved him and gave him a happy life in a safe part of the world? I wish I had the answers of his questions, but I didn’t. Geeky as I am though, I was sure Jesus saw him, and I kept telling him that even though he’d sigh and tell me he could never believe in that. I had heard it before, how silly it is to believe in such nonsense as the Bible, and so I was kinda prepared of this kind of response. In fact, I was nearly chocked when Simon didn’t sigh or told me he could never believe. This time, he sat quiet for a second. I could hear him breathing on the other side of the cellphone. Then he said: “I want to get to know your God.”
At first I thought he was joking. SIMON, the boy who thought religion was stupid, wanted to hear about God? I guess he was willing to try anything to get better now! But I also figured he might had seen what a positive impact my relationship to Jesus had had on my life. How I could be so certain of something that doesn’t exist must have started to nag on him too.
So once again, we started meeting, walking and talking as before. I told him about “My God” and he always managed to reach the same conclusion: that it was good that I was religious but he could never believe in the things I said. Being stubborn sorta was a part of his persona, and giving in would take away his pride. Anyways, that was before he met Jesus himself, and before he no longer could say that there was no God. I suppose it’s easier to say that things don’t exist before you’ve seen them with your own eyes. ♥︎