The Boy With the Trapped Tears

Did I ever tell you about him?

Let me introduce you to a boy I used to know. A boy with calloused hands and bruised knuckles. A brown eyed wanderer who we'll call Aldo.

At first glance, you'll notice his smile. That's what I noticed too. His smile is slightly crooked and he chuckles a lot. You will notice his eyes too. They look tired - almost vacant. Sometimes I would watch his mind drift elsewhere as his eyes followed. I remember wishing I could follow his thoughts wherever they went. His eyes sort of sigh every time someone speaks. There's his walk. It looks tired, yeah, you'll notice it too. But he's funny isn't he? Yeah, he made me laugh as well. You won't notice how his smile falls uncomfortably silent the moment after you've laughed. You won't notice how he stretches slightly before he stands up to walk. You won't notice his tired lingering while he's listening. 

You won't notice these things. At first, I didn't notice them either. 

But you see, back then there were things he didn't know either. Things he couldn't see but things I hoped he would. Those tears he kept trapped behind his eyes - walls of steel anger pulling them back. He would feel less tired if he let them go. I wonder if he knows that anger is supposed to be shared. I wonder if he knows that he cannot hide behind strength or fear.

The way he spoke about himself slashed open his past wounds. Does he know none of it has ever been his fault? Does he know that memories can be let go? I often wished that I could wash away the red stains of his past. He was always wondering, always worried. I don't think I had ever met someone so afraid. Afraid of saying the wrong thing or being the wrong person, or getting hurt. Why had no one taken these fears away from him? Who had instilled them inside? Does he know there is nothing to be afraid of? Does he know these fears are not his own? I often wonder if he knows how to protect his heart. 

Sometimes I think his tears must be lonely, guarded behind those eyes. They are probably so tired of trying to run free.  

But you see, above all of his pain, there was a light that seemed to go with him everywhere he went. A halo of his mothers prayers, and those who loved him. It's easy to talk about all of the heartache that passed, but there is something much softer hidden underneath. It is disguised in the smile of the stranger he passed this morning. It is hidden in the patience of the car that he sped past, and is found in the flush of a flower he stepped over. It is in the bandage he used to cover up his knuckles, and the pillow that granted him rest after an anxious day. Whether it is gentle like the memories of past reassurance, or kind like the door help open, it is always there. 

Invisible grace. 

This grace that gave him a clean slate every morning. This grace was why he could start over in his career knowing that a failure doesn't mean a mistake. It was grace that he was freely given and I hoped he would understand. This grace was why the people he came from does not define him. It was the reason why his way of caring for people is enough every time. It was why he could wake up and not live under the umbrella of the choices made by those before him.  This grace had carried him so far in his life and I wondered if he was even aware of it. It was one of the things I always hoped he realized that he didn't have to earn.   

I knew Aldo from the month of June to September. It's your turn to know him now. 

In September there was a goodbye. Today, I hope his tears run freely.