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Zach is eighteen. He is bright and articulate. He's also an alcoholic and in rehab instead of high school, but he doesn't remember how he got there. He's not sure he wants to remember. Something bad must have happened. Something really, really bad. Remembering sucks and being alive—well, what's up with that?
I have it in my head that when we're born, God writes things down on our hearts. See, on some people's hearts he writes Happy and on some people's hearts he writes Sad and on some people's hearts he writes Crazy on some people's hearts he writes Genius and on some people's hearts he writes Angry and on some people's hearts he writes Winner and on some people's hearts he writes Loser.
It's all like a game to him. Him. God. And it's all pretty much random. He takes out his pen and starts writing on our blank hearts. When it came to my turn, he wrote. I don't like God very much. Apparently he doesn't like me very much either. Sad
304 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 1, 2009
“I’ve lived eighteen years in a season called sadness where the weather never changed. I guess I believed it was the only season I deserved. I don’t know how but something started to happen. Something around me. Something inside me. Something beautiful. Something really, really, beautiful.”
“I'm thinking I could spend the rest of my life becoming an expert at forgetting.”
“People who have monsters recognize each other. They know each other without even saying a word.”
“That’s how I feel. I think God is the wind. It’s all like a game to him. Him. God. And it’s all pretty much random. He takes out his pen and starts writing on our blank hearts. When it came to my turn, he wrote “sad.” I don’t like God very much. Apparently, he doesn’t like me very much either.”
“All my friends thought I was a very happy human being. Because that's how I acted- like a really happy human being. But all that pretending made me tired. If I acted the way I felt, then I doubt my friends would have really hung out with me. So the pretending wasn't all bad. The pretending made me less lonely. But in another was, it made me more lonely because I felt like a fraud. I've always felt like a fake human being.”


"But look, Zach, another part of you lived. You lived, Zach."
"You're crying," I said.
"That happens sometimes," he said.
We both sat there for a long time, not saying anything.
"When Rafael was talking about his son, you cried then too."
"Yeah, I cried."
"Do we hurt you?"
"No. You move me, Zach."
That's a beautiful thing. That's what I wanted to say, but I didn't say that. I didn't say anything.