A Shattered Mind

A Shattered Mind - James Li (Challenger School, Seventh Grade)

Isaiah sat at his desk, his old writing laptop in front of him beckoning like a ghost from the past. His fingers, calloused from years of neglecting the keys, hesitated before finally brushing over them. The laptop was a relic, its once sleek surface now marred by dust. Isaiah's eyes, a deep, contemplative brown, reflected the dim light of the room as he stared at the screen. His hair, still a vibrant black, a testament to his resilience throughout the years. Despite the years of no writing that had passed., his hands still possessed a certain grace as they hovered over the keyboard, hesitant to reopen the story he almost finally had closure on.

He remembered the day he first met Symone, her smile like sunshine on a cloudy day. They had been so young then, full of dreams and aspirations. He was leaving his writing seminar when he bumped into her in front of the English Department building at their undergraduate university. When he turned to apologize and make sure she was okay, he found himself staring at her. It was as if the world had paused. The English Department building loomed behind them, its architecture a mix of modern and classical elements. The students bustling past in the central hub of academic life disappeared at the sight of her. He couldn’t help but notice her beauty. Symone had rich, dark skin that glistened in the sun, a smooth and radiant complexion that seemed to glow. Her eyes were like polished onyx, deep and mesmerizing, and they sparkled with a warmth and intelligence that drew him in. As she made eye contact with him, a small, knowing smile played on her lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He finally got the words out of his mouth and said, “My bad.” She turned and said, “It's fine,” weirded out by his staring, and walked away. His friend, Aaron, saw the entire interaction and, with secondhand embarrassment, said, “Isaiah, what the hell was that?” Isaiah, embarrassed, said, “I don’t know. She just caught me off guard. Who is she?” Aaron said, “I don’t know, but I’ve seen her around. I think she runs track.

Neither of them could have ever imagined that the two of them, Isaiah and Symone, would build a life filled with love and laughter. Despite their initial awkward encounter, they quickly discovered a shared love for literature, music, and long walks in the park. Their conversations were endless and meaningful, ranging from the mundane to the profound, each one strengthening the bond between them. After graduating from university, they moved in together into a small but cozy apartment, filling it with books, art, and mementos of their adventures together. Isaiah pursued a career as a writer, while Symone followed her passion for social justice and running, working for a non-profit organization that helped underprivileged high school track stars. They traveled the world together, exploring new cultures and cuisines, always seeking out new experiences and adventures. They laughed, they cried, and they grew together, supporting each other through the highs and lows of life. Their love was a beacon of light, guiding them through the darkest of times.

As Isaiah continued to write, remembering their little awkward meet-cute, he couldn’t help but remember the worst day of his life. He had been up in the attic, just like he was now, writing a story about her. He didn’t know she was writing it. It was supposed to be a surprise for their anniversary in six months. His goal was to write a section each day. He had finished his section for the day and went down to see what Symone wanted to do for dinner. He called out for her and didn’t hear a response. She loved to sleep, so he figured she was just sleeping in their room. He walked in, and just like he guessed, she was lying down. He called her name again and she didn’t wake up. He chuckled at how quickly she got into a deep sleep. He went over and laid down next to her and hugged her. Surprised by the fact that she didn’t wake up like she usually does, he said her name and gently gave her a push to wake up. She slumped over. He leaned over and realized she wasn’t breathing. Freaking out, he called 911. When the paramedics arrived, they pronounced her dead. The autopsy report said an aneurysm in her sleep. Isaiah felt like he died with her that day. Not only did he never continue the story about her, he never wrote again.

But today something changed. As he continued to type, remembering his sweet, loving Symone, tears streamed down his face, blurring the words on the page. The day she died, he lost everything and it felt like a knife in his chest. But he also remembered the love they shared, the memories they had created together. But it didn’t start right away; he remembers when he saw her again after their awkward meet-cute.

A week after he bumped into Symone, Isaiah started a new Creative Writing class. To his surprise, Symone walked in. He had to figure out how to find out who she was. He didn’t even know her name, but he was going to make it his goal to get to know her before the semester ended. The class only had 15 students and involved constant class discussions so it shouldn’t be too hard to get to know her. She ended up right across from him during class. He wondered if he recognized her. The whole class he hyped himself up to talk to her at the end of class. When class ended and he finally had the chance, he chickened out and didn’t say anything to her. He promised he would try again the next day.

He went to the cafe down the hall, and while he was waiting in line, he felt a tap on his back. When he turned around, he nearly choked on air because Symone tapped him.

“You’re the guy that ran into me and then just stared at me,” she said.

If Isaiah could turn red at the embarrassment he felt, he would. He chuckled and said, “Yeah, that was me. Sorry about that.”

“It's okay. Don’t worry about it. I was listening to what you were saying in class about stories and fiction, and I am getting the sense you’re not as bat-shit crazy as I thought you are.”

“Lol, nooo not bat-shit crazy. Just a little awkward.” Symone chuckled. The little voice in Isaiah’s head encouraged him to keep talking to her.

“Is there anything I said specifically that stood out to you?”

Symone said, “Well, I enjoyed when you spoke about the underlying truth in a lot of fiction stories. We say it's not real and it's made up, but why does it always lead us to the truth?”

“Omg, great minds think alike. I always think that a well-crafted story is a journey of discovery, leading us to truths we never knew we sought.” 

“It looks like we have a lot in common. I literally think that you’re right, 100%.”

“Lol, since we have so much in common," Isaiah said, “why don’t we work on the presentation together? He said we could use partners.”

“I’d like that,” Symone said. She gave Isaiah her number and told him to text her when they could meet to work.

Isaiah beamed at his writing as he remembered and wrote about that conversation. To this day, he still cringes at the way he acted around her. Writing about Symone makes him happy, but it also makes him sad. He remembers how quickly life shifted in the weeks following her death.

He couldn’t live in that house because it brought up too many memories, and it was the place where Symone died. He moved in with his friend from school, Aaron, who, other than Symone, was one of the only constants in his life. He sold the house he and Symone bought together and tried to start a life without her. He was a writer, but he lost all of his motivation for writing. The story for Symone could not be finished, and he felt that he owed it to her to not just move on to another story. So he stopped writing. That career path and that part of his life were officially over. Isaiah became an English teacher, and that became his new life. Five years later, the pain never stopped, but he maneuvered through a life without Symone. On the fifth anniversary of her death, he was cleaning through old boxes of stuff and he found his old writing laptop. He opened it and charged it and noticed that the story about Symone was still open. He began reading and it led him to continue the story in honor of her death on the fifth anniversary. Painfully, he changed "is" to "was," making this story a tribute to Symone, telling their story and telling the world about the beauty and the human she was when she was alive.