I was visiting a high school in Allen, Texas, and a girl named Alexa Stolarski gave me an extraordinary poem she’d written to the main character of my novel, Notes from the Midnight Driver. I was blown away, so I asked if I could share it here, and she agreed. Here it is:
In the pages of the book I see broken shards of glass Serrated edges hiding The words that lie In every paragraph But I did not look at the words as the glass fell For though the crash was rough, loud and hard on gentle ears For a moment it sounded like music
Dear Alex, Play the guitar for me Prove that the emotions you feel Can be boxed up Locked up with a fake gold key And transformed into a dull rage That you softly play through the chords As you sit alone
I hear your anger I hear your sadness And I hear your fear
You are selfish like a child For the melody you play inside your head Overpowers any other voice but your own
“Listen,” I want to shout Stop living in your own world Stop blaming others for your actions You are nothing but a seed that is too proud to beg for water
But when the elephant in the room Sits upon your chest The one sinking, wavering word You speak is Help
But help does not come with angel’s wings Or a halo made of gold It comes forth from a bitter old man Who becomes an unlikely friend “Listen,” I whisper And you hear him Speaking the truth
And slowly as the seasons pass You changed You began to grow to the sound of a guitar You learned to play
Your ending was not joyous It was not sad and not in between But in a strange way it was a beautiful end For it felt real