Beauty Of Silence

     Everybody reaches that time in their life when they surrender. In my case, I surrendered like a wilting flower to love. My lover was the most handsome being I have ever laid my thirsty eyes on. He was full of the most capable abilities to brilliance. I was ready to experience all different sides of life in our unique way. I knew from the moment I heard about him that he had a ‘’confused brain’’ and I absolutely knew I was jumping head first with my pen, paper and now with my heart wide open.
    In my second year of college, myself and a few other students were conducting an observation study on how transitions effect the the brain and over all being of different people.  I found out about a young man who had been stressed out beyond his breaking point while graduating high school and the transition into college. When I called his house I was informed by his Mother, Anne, that they lived not to far from me and I was welcome to come the following morning around breakfast time. They have a Victorian-styled front porch where they were already waiting for me. I sat and chatted with Anne while sipping on my bland coffee, it was apparent that she was a loving Mother and any sane or insane individual would be able to see this, yet she was most likely at fault as well and his father for his Schizophrenia that caused him not to acknowledge anyone nor mutter a single word not even in  the passing of a lonely soul.
    We all have that friend, or even you, yourself who understands where Frank was coming from.  He grew up with the standards already set for him. He was to make the most exceptional grades, graduate top of his class and have the most up standing career. His parents held him on quite the pedestal while all he wanted was to live in a small town, know all the people and own a coffee shop or local book store. He would never intentionally hurt or upset his parents, at least he never planned on it. He went on with their idea of his life till he literally couldn't handle it any longer.
    The first day I met him on the front porch I was intrigued, I wanted to know all about him but to do so understanding Schizophrenia was very necessary, I studied and got all the books I could possibly get my hands on in our community library I was determined to know it all just for him.
    I visited two weeks later, with my own tactics for communicating and spending time with my new friend. I brought him books and did my homework or studied near him. When he became accustomed to my being there I would talk to him in low whispers just saying neutral things. He would listen and nod sometimes even when it wasn't needed. His Mother said he hasn't paid any body this much attention for sometime even before his diagnosis. After spending time with him I realized how special and intricate he and his mind were. I was invited to dinner on many occasions. These were also the only nights I would see Frank’s father. He didn't pay much attention to any of us at the table. He tried to be polite and make small talk with me but he would never glance up from his blackberry showing his complete lack of common social skills. Anne shared with me one night while we cleaned off the desert dishes how John, his Father, was always very proud of Frank for all his accomplishments while he was growing up and tried to make him sound better then he appeared.
 “ He meant well, never meaning to harm, but did cause great grief.” John gave up when his son needed to feel his love the most.
    While Frank and I spent time together we would just sit in the beautiful garden behind their house. It was the most perfect place, with calm scenery, where with seldom conversation there was little room for one to feel uncomfortable. I would bring along all sorts of books that I had bought recently or just loved while growing up. He would just thumb through them not taking much of a notice. I could tell the confusion on his face and just wondered what he was thinking, I would have enjoyed having him talk with me, but in the research I had done, it had explained how sentences were hard to understand due to the lack of being able to understand and organize what was heard to begin with.
    His Doctors, Therapists, and other specialist all gave us news that he was showing improvements, but not to get our hopes up. He was able to enjoy and seemed to comprehend others just being around.
    On his 23rd Birthday I wanted to take him to an Art Museum that I grew up visiting. He seemed to enjoy the idea when I explained it to him. After driving fifteen miles up the road we had arrived. We walked through out the whole place having a grand time, and when we got to my favorite painting I began getting passionate. I had started to speak fast and get louder with each word escaping my mouth . I caught myself and immediately balled back into my quiet persona and apologized to him, hoping I had not excited him. He ever so lightly and delicately reached for my hand, holding it and shook his head to let me know it was all OK.
    From that day on my feelings were confirmed and I knew I had found my soul-mate. We were meant for each other and I knew he felt the same. One day he would either be “normal” or be the man I fell in love with. To this day, I’m not sure which I would have preferred.
    At this point I had been seeing him about twice a week for the past two and a half years. On a Friday night I meant to meet him hours before but got caught up at work, which was my only time separate from him besides when I would go to my own house. When I had finally arrived a huge rain storm had just began. Anne had informed me that he had been at the edge of the garden standing in an uncomfortable posture that he had already began to over come in his progression stages. He refused to go inside and was beginning to be a danger to himself. I ran out to his side before she was even done explaining. I threw my blazer over his shoulders and tried to rush him in. He was stuck like stone, locking eyes with me and began to talk. His voice was deeper then I would have imagined yet it was smooth and reassuring. All I could make out of his jumbled-broken up phrases and words were, “I love you.’’. After I persuaded him with nudges into the house, I pulled out his warm clothes and helped him dry and change I whispered in his ear “ I will love you forever and always, no matter what” and left feeling complete fullness till the moment I slipped into slumber.
    I woke up to my phone ringing on my stand and Anne on the other line informing me of Franks death or I guess it should be called suicide.
   Today I sit in Frank’s room. It is now  two weeks later and I am trying to help his family box up some things ( they already want to change the room into a office or something) and put them into storage. His room is as disorganized as his brain must have felt. I am looking at everything through new eyes, the eyes of the surrendered gone wrong. As I continue to look and understand him just a bit more I stumble across all the books I have given him shoved under his bed in the far left corner. They all have full annotations and notes in the margins and sides that he had put there. I knew he was brilliant, and I couldn't help but feel he had left this here for me and then it was confirmed. His suicide letter written right over the text in a little novel and the first line read “ To my love, I owe you everything, you were my escape.”