Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > up all night
I was determined to keep the whole thing a secret from my parents even as Joey and I kept seeing each other at school and afterwards in the quiet place, and we always referred to it as that. Our safe spot away from the hustle and bustle of the world and also the gap between school and our home lives. It was the one place where we could hang out and talk to each other without anybody wondering about us. There was a part of me that wished I had the same kind of thing with Lars, but then again we had the benches in the cafeteria, thus I saw that as the closest thing to the quiet place.
He once told me he worried about being seen with me.
“Why’s that?” I asked him.
“You know how grown ups are,” he said, “all that mushy romance type stuff and everything.”
“What about crying?” I suggested.
“What about it?”
“Can I cry in front of you?”
He shrugged and then he eyed me.
“Do you have to right now?”
“Well, not right now, but some day,” I clarified, and he shook his head.
“Sure. As long as it’s always gonna be between us.”
“Of course!”
We often walked to the quiet place side by side and once we knew the coast was clear. One day, I did in fact have the chance to cry in front of Joey—I had lost the paper I wrote for class. I actually lost it somehow the night before it was due: I went to look for it in my binder and it was missing. I thought I was done for my grade in English even though our teacher promised me an extra two days to redo it: I couldn’t help but cry over it. It was perfect, written so well that I found myself feeling proud of it. I knew it wasn’t going to be the same the second time around.
When I walked home that day, Joey caught up with me, and once the coast was clear, I beckoned him to the quiet place. Once we were across the street, the tears began to fall. By the time we were at the bushes, I buried my face in my hands.
“What’s wrong, Hannah?” he asked me in a kind voice. I wept right there and then he put his arms around me. His body was so soft and tender that it felt like holding a little teddy bear: his tummy was warm and plush even from underneath his shirt and his jacket.
“What happened?” he asked me. He looked into my eyes, those big gentle brown eyes stared back at me like big dark marbles.
I sighed and coaxed him to the quiet place. I told him what had happened, and then he put his arm around me.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,” he whispered into my ear, “take these broken wings and learn to fly.” His voice was high and sweet like wild honey. “All your life... you were only waiting for this moment to arise.”
I turned to him to find the soft look on his face.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,” he continued, “take these sunken eyes and learn to see... all your life... you were only waiting for this moment to arise.”
“I forgot about 'Blackbird',” I confessed with a sniffle. “You... have a nice voice.”
“Thank you—I'm still learning it, though.”
And then the next day, he let down his wall enough for me. He forgot something at school and he was unable to find it by the time it was time for us to go home again. He met up with me, his face red and his eyes filled with tears.
“What's wrong, Joey?” I asked him as he huddled closer to me.
“What happened? Joey? What happened?”
I guided him to the quiet place, where he let the tears flow forth. He bowed his head onto my shoulder and wept. I put my arms around him and held the side of his head to my chest. I buried my face in the incoming crown of fledgling black curls atop his head and listened to him.
I wanted to rock him like how my mom rocked me but we were standing up so it wouldn't make sense to me.
“Now, tell me—what happened,” I started in a soft voice. He sniffled again and lifted his head from the front of my jacket.
“My aunt gave me a bracelet as good luck for school and for hockey,” he said in a single breath.
“Okay. What'd it look like?”
“It was silver—and black and turquoise. It was Iroquois like me.”
“Okay,” I followed along. “Where'd you see it last?”
“In the cafeteria. I just—lifted my hand and I didn't feel it there anymore.”
“Like during lunch?”
“Yeah. I'm scared she'll get mad at me...”
“But tell her, though. Tell her what happened. I'm sure she'll understand.”
He wiped his eyes with the base of his hand and gasped for air.
“Boys don't cry,” he told me in a broken whisper over the white noise from the lake behind us.
“Yes, they do,” I assured him. “You're a boy and you're crying.”
He sniffled and huddled closer to me.
“Come on, let's sit here...” I gently coaxed him to the spot, the quiet place. He snuggled close to me and I rested my hand on the side of his head. A soft little boy right there next to me, and a soft little boy I would always know. Lars had his moments, but this was a whole other level for me there in the quiet place.
It was that moment there behind the hockey rink, that moment there that I knew he and I would be friends from there on out. I felt the same way about Lars, for sure, but Lars never cried in front of me the way Joey did.
He once told me he worried about being seen with me.
“Why’s that?” I asked him.
“You know how grown ups are,” he said, “all that mushy romance type stuff and everything.”
“What about crying?” I suggested.
“What about it?”
“Can I cry in front of you?”
He shrugged and then he eyed me.
“Do you have to right now?”
“Well, not right now, but some day,” I clarified, and he shook his head.
“Sure. As long as it’s always gonna be between us.”
“Of course!”
We often walked to the quiet place side by side and once we knew the coast was clear. One day, I did in fact have the chance to cry in front of Joey—I had lost the paper I wrote for class. I actually lost it somehow the night before it was due: I went to look for it in my binder and it was missing. I thought I was done for my grade in English even though our teacher promised me an extra two days to redo it: I couldn’t help but cry over it. It was perfect, written so well that I found myself feeling proud of it. I knew it wasn’t going to be the same the second time around.
When I walked home that day, Joey caught up with me, and once the coast was clear, I beckoned him to the quiet place. Once we were across the street, the tears began to fall. By the time we were at the bushes, I buried my face in my hands.
“What’s wrong, Hannah?” he asked me in a kind voice. I wept right there and then he put his arms around me. His body was so soft and tender that it felt like holding a little teddy bear: his tummy was warm and plush even from underneath his shirt and his jacket.
“What happened?” he asked me. He looked into my eyes, those big gentle brown eyes stared back at me like big dark marbles.
I sighed and coaxed him to the quiet place. I told him what had happened, and then he put his arm around me.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,” he whispered into my ear, “take these broken wings and learn to fly.” His voice was high and sweet like wild honey. “All your life... you were only waiting for this moment to arise.”
I turned to him to find the soft look on his face.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,” he continued, “take these sunken eyes and learn to see... all your life... you were only waiting for this moment to arise.”
“I forgot about 'Blackbird',” I confessed with a sniffle. “You... have a nice voice.”
“Thank you—I'm still learning it, though.”
And then the next day, he let down his wall enough for me. He forgot something at school and he was unable to find it by the time it was time for us to go home again. He met up with me, his face red and his eyes filled with tears.
“What's wrong, Joey?” I asked him as he huddled closer to me.
“What happened? Joey? What happened?”
I guided him to the quiet place, where he let the tears flow forth. He bowed his head onto my shoulder and wept. I put my arms around him and held the side of his head to my chest. I buried my face in the incoming crown of fledgling black curls atop his head and listened to him.
I wanted to rock him like how my mom rocked me but we were standing up so it wouldn't make sense to me.
“Now, tell me—what happened,” I started in a soft voice. He sniffled again and lifted his head from the front of my jacket.
“My aunt gave me a bracelet as good luck for school and for hockey,” he said in a single breath.
“Okay. What'd it look like?”
“It was silver—and black and turquoise. It was Iroquois like me.”
“Okay,” I followed along. “Where'd you see it last?”
“In the cafeteria. I just—lifted my hand and I didn't feel it there anymore.”
“Like during lunch?”
“Yeah. I'm scared she'll get mad at me...”
“But tell her, though. Tell her what happened. I'm sure she'll understand.”
He wiped his eyes with the base of his hand and gasped for air.
“Boys don't cry,” he told me in a broken whisper over the white noise from the lake behind us.
“Yes, they do,” I assured him. “You're a boy and you're crying.”
He sniffled and huddled closer to me.
“Come on, let's sit here...” I gently coaxed him to the spot, the quiet place. He snuggled close to me and I rested my hand on the side of his head. A soft little boy right there next to me, and a soft little boy I would always know. Lars had his moments, but this was a whole other level for me there in the quiet place.
It was that moment there behind the hockey rink, that moment there that I knew he and I would be friends from there on out. I felt the same way about Lars, for sure, but Lars never cried in front of me the way Joey did.
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