Me, Myself, and I

what the article was about

I'd hardly spoken to Ben before that incident. What I do remember:

- It was six thirty in the morning

- I was on a morning walk while Dad made breakfast

I'd found him sitting next to this old broken fountain near downtown, hiding in an old alleyway of graffiti. I walked by it most mornings, because the gas station down the street had the best pastries in the city for God knows what reason. He held a knife, until I said his name, and then it miraculously found its way behind his back. At first, I didn't see him there. I saw Max on his bed; I saw myself running into my brother's bedroom and finding him first; I saw myself screaming and running downstairs to tell my parents. I saw them calming me down until they saw it. I saw my mother knelt by his bedside for hours; red and blue lights.

But when I let myself into the present moment. I saw Ben, and I saw his knife. And for God really couldn't explain what reason, I yelled at him. My face was so hot, my thoughts jumbled, and I knew names to call him, which I used, and I knew that I didn't want to see another knife covered in blood, so I got that from him too.

After the fact we stood a while. I hadn't thought about the aftermath. The now what.

"Are you going to report me or something?"

"No." Did I mean that? I guess I did. I wouldn't recommend that course of action. "If..."

"If—"

"If?"

He shoved his long hands in his pockets. I reminded myself I had the knife, watching the sidewalk, a path winding back to my house. "Come to breakfast with me. And stop skipping out on support group."

We went back to my place. Dad knew nothing, told Ben's parents he'd invited him over for breakfast. And that was that. I'd lied so many times. Of course this is when I chose the truth. With a few more lies for good measure.