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Epilogue
My feelings towards AP Creative Writing were thoroughly mixed: I loved it, felt as though it was the one class I could pour my heart and soul into, but it also brought about a great sadness, all because of John Lourdes, who sat next to me every day in every class.
He couldn’t help it, of course. He had no idea what his brown hair, sweet face, and odd, green eyes did to me. Oh, yes, he was a great guy: funny, cute, charming. But when I looked at him, I saw the greatest opportunity of my life, gone in a flash of mixing worlds. I could no longer know him as the boy I had seen in the guidance office one day in freshman year.
I walked into the second-floor classroom, thinking heavily. I had lain awake for hours, from four am to six am, thinking, recalling, reminiscing, about the party – that grand, incredible party – that followed the defeat of the Denizens. I replayed, over and over, that moment on the stairwell when Jeremiah Stone, eyes swimming with too much pi’jiu, begged for my hand in marriage. I had refused to acknowledge it – why? Why did I do something so stupid? – and I had told him to go to bed and get back to me in the morning.
And then my mind had jumped to the words Songtamer had spoken, in perfect English, learned from Jem or Waverly or Lord Marke – “Thank you for restoring my faith in the beauty of the world and myself.” Had that really been three years ago…?
“You okay, Bryn?”
I jolted, that familiar but unaccented voice breaking me from my reverie. I noticed with some embarrassment that a filmy layer of tears had clouded my eyes. “Hmm?” I looked up and saw John Lourdes looking at me in concern, just like Jem had…‘No,’ I reminded myself firmly. ‘John is not Jem. No way. They just happen to look alike…’ “Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied rather brusquely. “Thanks,” I added in a softer tone. John didn’t know what he had done: how could he?
The rest of the students came in, blithely skipping along. It was a small class, made up of juniors and seniors; I had made it a point to be friendly to Mrs. McMillan, the teacher, towards the end of sophomore year, and had become her student in junior year. Now, in April of 2010, I was a senior, and my adventures as a freshman were not even close to forgotten, as much as I had desired them to be.
Life had gone on, in a manner of speaking. Without any hope of ever seeing Jem again, I had no room left to find anyone else: I couldn’t let myself get hurt. I dated randomly, convinced myself I could learn to love them, broke up with them when the charade became too much, when they fell too hard. Then I went through the whole thing again, reminded horribly of how I had treated the Songtamer crisis: I tried to act as if it didn’t exist. But the truth stood. If my love for Jeremiah Stone was not real, then I doubted anything else was.
The bell rang, and Mrs. McMillan began handing back papers. I got mine and looked at what it had been: describe a villain. The assignment had read thus: “For your project, describe a believable villain. It can be non-human if you like. You must include the following: their name; their background; their motives. What is their M.O.? Is there any way to defeat them?” I had written my assignment from my memory. I had written about the Denizens. I received an “A+” on it, much to my delight.
Our next assignment, due today, was to described a protagonist, but it had to be of the opposite gender. The assignment before the villain one was to describe a setting; I already knew where this was leading. We would have to write a story in our setting, about the protagonist versus the villain.
Mrs. McMillan returned to the front of the class, smiling at us. “I was pleased with what you had all written, relatively. A few characters were two-dimensional, and many of you forgot to include the M.O. However, seven of you got a ninety-five percent or above, which is an improvement from the three beforehand.” She was silent for a moment, then clapped her hands together. “So! Who wants to read their character description?”
I sunk down in my chair, looking at the typed pages in my hands. I had written about a certain boy – well, a man now – who lived in Sloünjel and had helped fight the Denizens. I touched the earrings I wore, and then the necklace; both sets of jewelry were the ones Jem had given me.
“Bryn, how about you? You haven’t read aloud any of your other things,” she pointed out. I sat up, suppressing a groan, and made my way to the front of the class.
“How much do I have to read?” I asked.
“Oh, just the first part of the assignment,” she told me cheerily. I nodded and looked at my paper.
“Okay, so…‘His name is Jeremiah Stone, but he calls himself Jem’.” A ripple of laughter hit the class. “‘He is seventeen-years-old, but works as a translator for the King of his land. His older brother, Clancy Stone, is the head warrior. His brother has to look after him because their parents were slain by the enemy. With him, battling these guys is personal. He would much prefer peace, however. He had a girlfriend from a foreign land, but it sadly didn’t work out. She had to go back home, and they never saw each other again’.” I felt strange, but also oddly detached as I stood in front of the class, detailing mine and Jem’s love life to the class. I finished, and there was polite applause as I went to sit down.
“Good job,” whispered John Lourdes. “But I thought we had to include their physical description?”
“Oh,” I muttered. “Um, I put that in the second part, where it’s like a diary entry or an interview with them.” I had done that indeed, even though the directions had clearly stated that it had to be in the first part; the second part was on a separate page, and I didn’t want John to see that I had described him perfectly. ‘My God,’ I thought, looking up at him, into those strange eyes I had loved so much on another. It seemed so odd, so unreal, like from another life. ‘John’s seventeen. Jem was seventeen when I met him.’
John shrugged. “Well, you did good, anyways.”
I smiled. “Did well. You’re in AP Writing; you can’t have poor grammar!”
He grinned back. “No, I suppose I can’t. Hey,” he leaned closer, “d’you want to go to the Galleria after school? A bunch of us are going,” he told me quickly. “Kate Bronson and Tricia Fare and Matt Caldwell. People from the class.”
“Oh.” I was taken aback by this. “Um, no, John, actually, I can’t. I promised my boyfriend I’d—I’d study with him in the library after school. Sorry.”
John nodded. “Oh, okay. No problem. Have fun.”
I smiled, feeling very strained. “Yeah, thanks. You too.”
That was true: I had promised my boyfriend I’d study with him. His name was Tobias Peters; he was a junior but was supposed to be a senior, and desperate to make it this year. We had been dating for three weeks, had been friends with a year before then; I wasn’t planning on being serious with him. I would break up with him before summer started, allowing him time to find a summer fling and get over me. If he ditched me – well, all the better. Some boys were now afraid to approach me, afraid that I was just out to have as many boyfriends as possible in high school. This was completely untrue, but some boys liked to use this rumor to explain their cowardice.
At 2:15 pm, I made my way to the library and found Tobias Peters, a tall, slim boy with dirty-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He was energetic and enthusiastic about everything he did. I suppose one of the things I liked best about him was that I had never seen his counterpart in Sloünjel. There was no way that he could remind me of that which I didn’t want to see again.
“Hey, Bryn,” he said cheerily, sitting at a small, wooden, round table. I pulled out one of the stiff wooden chairs and sat down. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” I replied. “What d’you need help with?”
He looked up at me sheepishly. “Okay, don’t laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s...symbolism. See, we’re reading this book, and it’s like every other phrase is a symbol for something else, and I just can’t recognize it,” he complained cajolingly. “We have a test tomorrow and I really, really, really need your help.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tobias, why do you always study at the last minute? That’s kinda why you failed eleventh grade the first time.”
He shrugged, grinning. “Oh, I don’t know. Just ’cause. But can you help me?”
I sighed. “Sure, Tobias. I will. But you better do well on this or I will be really mad.”
“Thanks Bryn! You’re awesome.”
I leaned over the book he was reading, looking at his notes. “Yeah,” I replied shortly. “I know I am.”
We studied for almost three hours, up until the library closed. Then, because it was so close to dinnertime, we beat our way along the ever familiar shortcut to the Longwood Galleria. As we walked, Tobias glanced at me and said, “Hey, Bryn. Uh, your necklace is, like, flashing.”
I looked at him in surprise, then down at the necklace, my heart beating faster. It did seem to be sort of flashing, bouncing up and down as I walked. I stopped and examined the necklace; my heartbeat returned to normal as I realized what it was.
“Oh,” I muttered. “Uh, I think it was just reflecting the sun.”
Tobias nodded. “Oh. Right.”
But I wasn’t completely sure. I dropped the pendant down my shirt and decided to check it out as soon as I could get away from Tobias.
Tobias got food at McDonald’s, while I bought a wrap at a local place called Sami’s Wrap ’n’ Roll. We ate at a small table, talking about school. Mainly, we lamented about how Tobias wasn’t going to graduate with the class he had entered with; but, as I pointed out to him, it was his own fault.
After I finished my dinner, I quickly excused myself to the bathroom. It was empty when I entered, and I hurriedly fished out my necklace from under my cotton blouse. I sat on the edge of the sinks, not caring if I sat in water and if my jeans were soaked. I cupped one hand over the necklace, shading it; it still glowed brightly.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, so shocked I said it aloud. I quickly dropped it back beneath my shirt and exited the bathroom. I returned to Tobias. “Hey. Look, I’m real sorry, but I have to go; my mom’s on her way to BLS to pick me up.” I gathered up my items. “No, it’s okay, you don’t need to walk me there,” I jutted in before he could even ask the predictable question. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck on your test,” I called over my shoulder as I ran from the Galleria.
I took off the necklace and used it as a guide. It had glowed particularly bright as we walked through the back alleyway towards the Galleria. I began to run towards there, the stone slowly getting brighter; however, when I arrived, I didn’t see any sign of Jem. My heart sank; he had told me that the stone would glow whenever he felt any positive emotions. ‘Maybe,’ I thought glumly, ‘he’s fallen in love with another girl. I mean, I’ve dated others. I can’t seriously expect him to not go out with someone else. That’s just so hypocritical.’
I put the necklace back on and began making my way back to the school. It was along the way to the bus stop, and I would have to hurry so Tobias wouldn’t know I had lied to him. As I walked to the school, I could see someone walking from the entrance, his back to me and moving further away. He was hunched over, his hands in his pockets; I could tell he was disappointed. That long, brown hair and odd way of dress made me gasp, though; I pulled out my necklace, which was burning brighter than ever.
“Hey!” I called, running towards the young man. “Je—JEM!”
He turned around, and there he was, his golden-green eyes piercing straight through my black ones. It was the man who looked exactly like John Lourdes; the twenty-year-old man who I had met and fallen in love with three years ago; it was Jeremiah Stone, the man from Sloünjel.
I ran to him, flung my arms around him, almost weeping with joy. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I cried, holding onto him tight as he put his arms around me. Even though Jem Stone and John Lourdes looked frighteningly alike, I could not doubt that this was Jem. “Oh my God, how are you here?” I asked, pulling back from the hug, wiping my eyes. “How did you – ? Jem, did something happen?”
Jem looked at me, eyes full of warmth. “So you remember me,” he whispered. “I am glad.”
“What? Why would I forget you?”
Jem shrugged slowly. “You wanted to return here so desperately, I thought that you wanted to get away from me.”
I took a step back from him, shocked. “Jem, why would you say that?” I asked, hurt. “No, of course not! I wasn’t trying to escape you or anything. But why are you here?”
“I am an adult now. I can handle myself and my own decisions.” He drew himself up proudly. “I have decided to leave Sloünjel and to be with you on Earth. I tried as hard as I could to ground myself in reality, and I wound up here. I knew to look for you here because you once told me the name of the place where you attended school.”
I stared at him. “Jem, I…I’m still in school. You do realize that. I’m going away to college next year, in D.C., and…” I looked away, down at my feet, hating to admit it: “Jem, I have a boyfriend.”
He was very quiet at these words. “I see.” He turned away, and I looked up. “I could not have expected you not to. I understand.”
“Wait, Jem,” I exclaimed, grabbing onto his arm, clothed in a purple tunic. “I don’t think you understand. It’s nothing serious between us,” I explained quickly. “It’s – he’s more of just a friend. I don’t…like him in that way. Doubt I ever have.”
Jem nodded gravely. “I know what you mean. Wait…how did you find me here?”
I indicated the necklace, holding the pendant out in the palm of my hand. “It glowed brighter as I got closer to you. I guess that’s how I knew that you were even here on Earth.” I paused. “Wait, but where are you going to stay? How will you provide for yourself?”
“I have excellent farming skills,” he said, “and, as it turns out, quite an ear for languages.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Jem, you don’t even have a high school diploma. Do you honestly think people will hire you?”
He shrugged, smiling at me. It was a smile of sadness, a smile of love. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” He reached out, holding my face in his hands. I didn’t dare move. He pushed a strand of hair from my face before whispering words that I had spoken to him so long ago, our eyes so closely connected: “I have an opportunity, Bryn. If I have a chance at it, then I ought to go for it. Even if I don’t, I’ll try. I can’t go through life trying to avoid being hurt. That’s not really living, is it?” He kissed me then, gently, but with so much behind it. He straightened up, opened his mouth as though he was going to speak, but words had been long useless. He merely nodded once, turned around, and walked away.
Thank you all for reading,
E.B. Keane-Farrell
