Part III: Gray I lived in a black and white world Arkn gave it color how can I ever be satisfied with gray?   I check out lots of books Morgoth’s Ring At the Back of the North Wind Perelandra even outworn ones Redwall Pellinor Guardians of Ga’Hoole   but none of them seem as real as Arkn’s stories I had written them up and posted online now people asked “what’s next?”   Nothing the story has dried up ”the muse  has died” I wrote and all their suggestions comments wouldn’t bring him back   For my heart has died   I’ve read of people who died from broken heart Míriel, Fëanor’s mother Arwen Undómiel other tales too but I never thought my name would be added to the list Bailey Green age, nearly eighteen died when her teacher was forbidden   surely if I was dying Arkn would come   But only my heart was dying I still went to school working to hide broken pieces   Once, I wrote a story where everyone— save two— died Everyone good I had pity for the survivors but I had not wept I rarely wept When I was young I cried too much Maybe I had run out of tears   Mandy Grace Evan still eat with them tease them but a barrier
cloaks every word Sometimes Arkn’s name slips out like a tender spot where a thorn embedded and hadn’t worked free   “Maybe if you’d just talk about it”
Mandy said   “I don’t wanna talk about him.”   “But Bailey, Arkn—“   “I’m done with Arkn! Remember? I’m done!” I eat my soup quietly conversation moves on to English homework   Arkn’s name tasted like cherry syrup on my tongue like medicine bitter but Arkn brought no healing to my heart   I go home Mom never mentions Arkn she rarely clams up but she never refers to him maybe she’s forgotten But I’ll never forget deep down a seed of hate waits for water   the water comes the next day at lunch I look across the lunchroom at our table Mandy Evan Grace and— who was that?   I stalk over it is
            Renee a foreign exchanger   “I have not seen you in the memory room:   Her accented English cuts my ears “You—you” I stammer   “Arkn chose me”   Grace sprang to her feet. “I tried to tell you— He isn’t replacing you I wanted to tell you before—“   I turn away “Congratulations, Renee” I walk away towards the door   Evan runs after me “Bailey, Bailey, wait—“   “Why?”   “Look, we need four for the mission—“   “So he told you why we were training? He never told me” My lips tighten “I hate him.”   “You don’t mean that— do you?” The question dangles unanswered       Two days later I come home an envelope sits on my bed (Mom leaves my mail there) No return address but a local postmark I tear off one end and fish out a trifolded letter   I unfold it Bailey, I gave this to Grace in hopes she could reach you.   Arkn’s handwriting! I am compelled to keep reading   Renee is not a replacement for you I couldn’t replace you if I tried Your smattering of Quenya Your habit of exclaiming “By the Lion” Even the references to dragons in your psychology notes Renee is not you but the mission needs four I wish I could  tell you more but even this small note breaks the rules   My lips curl into a thin half-smile So, he’d break rules for me   But the next phrase shocks me   Maybe you could  teach her a few things   I throw it to the floor Ask me to train her? No matter what he said she had taken  my place and he asked me to train her?   Like asking an ex-girlfriend to help the other woman Like asking— no metaphor strong enough   Arkn wasn’t a boyfriend but maybe this was how dating felt Broken, discarded hearts
littering the halls   I kicked it under the bed   He missed my Quenya?   Namárië   Quenya for Farewell                    Yeltëanyel!   I hate you