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“What if I can’t hum on key? What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?”
Those were my words, from my poem, coming out of Clay’s mouth. God. I know everyone was reading the goddamned poem from Ryan’s goddamned magazine but I never expected Helmet of all people to be a part of this circus.
“Is everyone reading that stupid magazine?” I asked Clay as he sat with the magazine open at work.
Clay didn’t seem to pick up on the bitterness in my voice.
“I’m kind of addicted to it,” he replied sincerely, with a chuckle.
“You never read it?” He asked me, totally oblivious to the fact that the poem’s author was standing right there in front of him.
“No.” I replied, trying to sound indifferent.
Clay looked down at the page, mesmerized by its content.
“Listen to this,” he said as he started to read a section of my poem to me.
I stood there and fidgeted, uneasy.
“Some people can recognize a tree, a front yard, and know they’ve made it home.”
“That sounds like shit.” I blurted out.
“You think so? I think it feels really real,” Clay said, never taking his eyes off the page.
I continued to fidget as I stood there. I said nothing as Clay continued reading my poem out loud. Hearing it only made me think more about Ryan’s betrayal. It was the only thing on my mind until then. Did Clay really mean it when he said that my poem felt real? The thought stuck in my mind.
He continued reading.
“It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.”
I took a quick glance at Clay’s face as he read that part, continuing to stand in silence. Yeah Helmet. I sincerely hope it is. If only he knew what that part was about, along with the rest of my poem.
“I wonder who wrote it,” I said softly, tugging at the strap on my backpack as Clay finished reading my poem.
He smiled as he looked over the magazine.
“I know right?” He replied. “One dark human being that’s for sure.”
My heart skipped a little when Clay said that. He had no idea.
“I mean, I like her poem, I think. But I’m not sure if I’d want to hang out with her,” Clay explained, still transfixed by the poem.
I bit my lip. That hurt. I couldn’t be mad at Clay for saying that though. He didn’t know anything. I stood there silently, my mind raced with thoughts. Mostly unpleasant ones.
Then, a customer approached the front counter of The Crestmont, signaling the end of our little poetry session.
---
The thought ate at me the whole shift. Clay, Helmet, maybe he ought to know the truth. After another unremarkable shift, we finished up our last duties and it was time to go home.
“Helmet.” I said as Clay packed his bag, getting ready to leave. “Yeah?” He said somewhat nervously as always, as he turned toward me.
I took a deep breath and bit my lip. I was really going to do this.
“About the poem. I…I wrote it,” I said plainly.
Clay tightened his expression and raised an eyebrow. I swallowed nervously.
“You wrote it?” Clay asked, confused.
“Yes Clay. I wrote the poem that everyone’s talking about,” I replied bluntly.
He was in total disbelief. I stood there silently as he tried to comprehend the fact that I wrote the poem that he was so obsessed with. His eyes widened at the revelation.
“You’re serious aren't you?” Clay asked, calmly.
I nodded, with tears starting to form in my eyes.
“I…Jesus Hannah…I. I didn’t know. What I said earlier…that I wouldn’t want-”
“Relax Helmet. It’s okay. You didn’t know. And, I mean, you said you liked it a lot,” I explained to the bewildered astronomy boy.
“Let’s just get out of here. I can explain everything, I want to explain everything to you. Just…just take a walk with me Clay, please,” I said as I fought back my tears.
Clay bit his lips nervously and nodded, saying nothing.
After locking up the theatre, we headed out. Clay looked at me, his face was filled with questions. We stood there outside at the front of The Crestmont for a few moments. I didn’t know how to begin. The night was cool and the moon was out. It reminded me of when me and Helmet looked at the moon together in what felt like years ago now.
“Hannah?” Clay asked gently. Tears were forming in my eyes. I had a lot to say but didn’t know how to say them. I glanced over to Clay.
“Lets…let’s just go down this way,” I said as I started walking down the sidewalk.
Clay followed closely.
“Alright. Like I said, I wrote the poem. But I didn’t publish it,” I began.
Clay looked at me with intrigue.
“Who did?”
“Ryan Shaver. We went to the Evergreen Poetry Club together. I don’t know. I found poetry to be a way I could express how I felt. Which, as you could tell from my poem, I felt- and still feel, like shit,” I explained.
Clay’s expression changed to one of pity.
“Ryan Shaver? You didn’t want your poem in his magazine?” He asked, with gloom to his voice.
I closed my eyes for a moment and scrunched my lips together. Thinking about the whole thing was so painful. I sighed deeply.
“No. I didn’t want him to publish it. I read the poem at the poetry club and they really liked it. I just wanted to leave it at that. Ryan insisted that I publish it but I didn’t want to. He begged me non stop but I still refused. He gave up and I assumed that was it but then I heard people reading it at school. I opened my notebook to find that the poem had been ripped out,” I explained as I thought about the notebook that Ryan had given me as a gift with the pages missing.
My breath was fast and my heart was beating fast.
Clay was shocked.
“Hannah. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry for what Ryan did. What he did was wrong. He shouldn’t have stolen your poem and published it after you told him you didn’t want it to be,” Clay said.
I stopped walking and turned over to him, my eyes were wet. Clay’s were too. I nodded pressing my lips together.
“Thank you, Clay.”
We began walking again in no particular direction.
We soon came across a park and sat down on the bench. We just sat there and took in the night air and each other’s company for a while. I stared off into the distance, thinking about the pain Ryan caused me. I could feel Clay looking at me.
“Why me Hannah? Why tell me all this? I assume no one else other than Ryan knows you wrote the poem?” Clay asked, breaking the silence.
I lifted my head up and sighed.
“No one else but Ryan knows. I hope so. You said that the poem was real. That you liked it. Everyone else was making fun of it and saying bad things about it,” I replied.
I thought about what I had heard at school from people reading the poem. So many terrible things.
“I do think it’s real. It's raw and powerful That’s what I like about it. Can I ask what it’s about?” Clay asked, curious.
I turned my eyes toward the sky and then back down again.
“Just…stuff.”
Clay nodded.
“It’s…it’s about the way I feel. I feel like shit, all the time. My parents fight, I’m the school slut, etcetera.”
Clay raised an eyebrow. ‘What? No Hannah. You’re not the school slut,” he said, bluntly.
I turned over to him, my eyes still wet.
“Hannah, I think you’re a wonderful person. You’re great to be around. You’re kind, and decent, and I’m glad to know you,” Clay said.
There was a genuine quality to his voice. I softened my expression.
“You mean it?” I asked.
Clay nodded.
“I do. More than ever.”
I nodded in a bittersweet way. Clay was the last real person I knew, everyone else was a fraud.
“Thank you Helmet.”
Clay smiled and I couldn’t help but to smile back. It had been a long time since I’d felt this way, this content.
“And the reason why I told you is because you're the only one I thought would understand. The only one that wouldn’t make fun of me. I’m glad I thought right,” I explained, with a smile.
Clay nodded and smiled.
“But please don’t tell anyone that I wrote the poem, no one else is like you,” I asked.
He nodded again.
“I promise. I won’t tell anyone Hannah.”
I smiled softly.
“But, there's still the issue of me being the school slut and all the other shit people say about me,” I said, staring at the ground.
Clay placed a hand on my sleeve. I looked up at him.
“I know Hannah. Fuck everyone who says that shit about you. I don’t think of you that way. You can get through this. I’ll help you get through this. People say shit about me all the time and it hurts. Trust me. I know. We’ll do this together. Just know that I’m here for you Hannah. And I'm so glad you told me," Clay said, with a fiery energy in his voice.
I sat back up and nodded at him.
“Thank you Helmet. Thanks for listening to me rant,” I replied sarcastically.
Clay chuckled.
“Anyone time, Hannah Baker.”
We sat together for a while longer.
“You know Hannah, I’d love to read any other poems you might have,” Clay quipped.
I chuckled and smirked.
“Sure Helmet. But we should probably head home now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Clay smiled.
“Yeah alright. See you tomorrow.”
Clay and I got up and we made our separate ways home. There was work to do but now I knew that I wouldn’t be going about this alone. A weight had been lifted off of me and I felt better.