The Blue Room

Joshua Lamparelli

I entered the room and a musty salty smell overtook my senses. The room itself was filled with beautiful gold trim which glistened due to the pale light coming through the window. But as my eyes darted around the room, nothing stood out to me more than the most minute detail: a deep shade of blue which reminded me of memories long ago, when I was just a boy. The longer I gazed, the more I started to fall into memory.

There I stood, on a warm beach blanketed with vibrant yellow sand that seemed to stretch for miles. The ocean shone brilliantly like the most unfathomable sapphire stretching as far as the eye could see, its beauty incomparable to any amount of riches in the world. But on a day like today, even a place of such angelic beauty could feel so cold and inhospitable. Today was a day of mourning, but everyone kept telling me it was a day of remembrance. I grabbed the urn from my mother because it was his dying wish for me to spread his ashes in his final resting place. This place was his favorite. Our favorite. I tried to stay stern, but I felt a single salty tear drip past the floodgates and run into my mouth. The world's saddest stream was dried in a matter of seconds as I flung the final remnants of my best friend around the most gorgeous, peaceful place on earth.

I squirmed as I felt my eyes watering up. I fought to dispel the urge. I needed to stay stoic for his mother's sake. It had seemed like the world was against me that week; every day without him had started to feel more and more like my last. But hopefully now, with closure, things would get a little easier. But things had to be fine for me. I needed to be the shoulder his mother could lean on. I dropped to my knees and put my head towards the ash as I whispered my final message to a friend I lost too soon.

“I’ll take care of her, Jerry. I promise.”

I was barely able to whimper out this message before feeling my composure crack. That’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder snapping me back into the moment.

“You okay?” a voice said behind me.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just needed to say goodbye.”

I turned to see who had addressed me. It was a tall man with white snowy hair, a jolly yet stern expression covering his face.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said, breaking our silent observance of each other.

“No, I don’t believe we have, but I’ve heard all about you, James. I am excited to finally meet you; Jerry did nothing but speak of you.” My eyes stared back blankly at him with what I assumed was a pondering look. “I am Jerry’s grandfather, Charles,” he stated, breaking my silent inquiry. He stuck out his hand.

I reached out and shook his hand. With not even another glance exchanged, he turned and strolled away towards some other guests to make conversation. This struck me as odd because Jerry was always an open book to me, but he mentioned how his grandparents had passed away when he was young. I found it odd why he wouldn’t tell me about Charles, but I tried to forget it and put it to the back of my mind. With that, my despair returned. We had so much planned together. My birthday was coming up; we had great plans for my 17th birthday. We were going to go fishing and surfing all day in this very spot where he is resting now. I wish I got to see him one more time, one last time, but by the sound of the accident, I didn’t want to see him like that. It was a brutal car accident a week prior. I was told that his brakes failed, which caused him to crash into power lines. There was a gas leak, and boom.

“Sweetie,” I heard behind me. I turned to see Jerry’s mom, Ms. Martin.

“Yes?” I replied with a sturdy expression.

“It’s time to go,” she said with a sense of comfort in her voice.

With that, we climbed into my 2014 gray Jeep Liberty and headed back to the last place I saw Jerry before he passed his house.

“He left something for you,” Ms. Martin stated. “He told me that, if he ever went, to give this to you.”

Hearing this, I was curious and pondered my entire way on the drive back to her house. I pulled into their driveway. It was always difficult given its minute size and thinness. I never could understand why an architect would ever design such a driveway. But that was of no importance. At that moment, I was pressed to see what he had left me. I walked over to the passenger side and opened the door for Ms. Martin, then bounded up the steps, opening the front door to be greeted by Rover, the family dog.

Rover was a brown mutt—a larger dog, probably around eighty pounds. Even a jubilant young pup like himself was sulking on such a sad day. It was almost as if he, too, had truly said goodbye to his best friend today as well. I patted him on his back as I stepped by. I saw Ms. Martin had stepped into the doorway with my peripheral vision.

I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by the barely audible sound of a duck quacking. She shushed me as she picked up the phone. She motioned for me to leave, but not before handing me a book. I didn’t recognize its softly worn green cover with a faint yellow star in the middle. I had no clue as to why he would leave it to me, or what it was. I nodded a thank-you and hugged her as I left. I marched down the steps and climbed into my Jeep. I sat down and, before I left, opened the book. What I saw shocked me. The very first words on the page were “Dear Journal,” followed by 8/19/20. This was his diary. I proceeded to turn the slightly worn yellow pages to the last one, the day before he died, and read.

Dear Journal,

Today was a wonderful day. I went surfing with James and got ice cream with my mother afterward. I was really happy because I finally got my brakes fixed.

That’s all for today,

Jerry