Disequilibrium

Part 4: Senior Year - Scene 7

One thing Casper's movies forgot to mention is how long it takes to trash an entire place to make it look like an accident. I mean, they make it look so goddamn easy on screen, yet it really takes a lot out of you. Making a huge mess is tiring. Adding details is tiring. Dragging a dead body is tiring.

Hell.

It's well into evening by the time I make it out the trailer, first smuggling about eighty dollars and half a pack of smokes from Dad's jacket. I've got a pack of zip ties in one pocket and duct tape in the other, moving as quick as I can to Casper's place. Dad's truck is the safest bet, so I open the door and turn on the engine and roar out of the trailer park, getting some ways near his house before I figure the entire fucking neighbourhood can hear me cruising through. So I end up abandoning the piece of crap in the empty parking lot of some superstore and walk the rest of the way.

It seems to be getting colder the closer I get to his place. My body folds within itself to keep warm, hands digging deep into my pockets. Man, I don't know how I'll do this. Hell, I don't even know what I'm doing, but there's still purpose in my step as I walk quickly through the dark, running through the motions in my head. Get to him, get him out, get in the car, drive off. Yeah, that should be easy.

Sure.

It takes longer than I thought to see Casper's house among the others. I linger on his driveway for a moment before walking up the porch steps, pounding my fists on his door five, six, ten times before it finally swings open. And I guess something in me really did snap because when I see him standing there, wearing nothing but a loose pair of pyjama pants, a sore feeling starts stirring in the pit of my stomach, grinding and thrashing around like a storm.

Casper blinks a couple of times when he sees me. His eyes are a little red. We stand there looking at each other like a couple of middle school crushes, unable to say anything until a gust of cold air slaps my cheeks and forces a "Can I come in?" out of me.

He blinks a few more times like he didn't expect me to speak at all before stepping aside. "Y-yeah, sure." He sounds confused as hell. "I wasn't expecting you."

Well, no shit. I don't say that though, and instead stand in the foyer with my eyes going everywhere. Casper shuts the door behind me but doesn't make another move, probably looking at me while I look at everything else but him. I never noticed the table by the door. There are little figurines reflecting their culture scattered about, mostly surrounding happy family photos and baby pictures. There's a small ceramic bowl holding keys right next to a silver-plated elephant the size of my hand. It's staring right at me. I stare at it back.

"What do you need?" Casper says, calling my attention. I turn to him and smile a little, trying to lighten the mood but it's not working. It's never going to work.

"I needed to see you."

"You know you can't stay."

"You're making a mistake."

He pauses for a moment, still staring, and then says, "You can't stay."

I can't help laughing at that. I don't know why. It must've scared the crap out of him because his body stiffens like a statue, eyes still looking at me like I'm some wild animal. The laughter dies down as I look around the house again, back to that damn elephant, then down at my feet the same way Dad used to do when he thought of Mom and how much he fucked up.

I fucked up. There's no lie there. And I guess I know it, because my heart's beating like crazy and my stomach's churning and anytime I look at him, I imagine kissing him and sticking a knife through him all at the same time.

"Things still aren't alright," Casper says.

I'm not all right.

"It isn't good for you to be here. You need to leave now. I shouldn't have even let you in—"

Before he can even finish his sentence and before I can even think about what I'm doing, I've got my left hand balled in a fist and the right one clutching that elephant. The ceramic bowl shatters on the floor. I take a swing at him before he can even think about what to do next, soon followed by the elephant slamming against his jaw. Casper's head moves unnaturally for a moment or two before his body crumples to the floor, unmoving.

He looks an awful lot like Dad did, which scares me to the point where I drop the elephant and move beside him, putting my ear on his chest and checking his pulse and anything else I can remember from health class.

But he's not dead. Just out. And I'm not sure whether to be happy or sad because there's pros and cons to this, really. A pro would be that we could run away together. I could show him this isn't a terrible idea. But I've still got to drag his damn body around. Still dragging fucking bodies.

Either way, I move towards the coat closet and grab the first jacket and boots I can find, slipping them on Casper's body before sifting through the broken glass for his keys. There's a last minute thought of going into the kitchen for a knife, which I do before I hook my arms under his armpits and hoist him up the best I can, his feet dragging against the floor as we make our way out of the house.

I don't bother locking the door or cleaning up the glass as I take quick steps to the car, my eyes going all over the place just waiting for the moment where I'd see someone watching from their bedroom window and everything will go to shit.

But the street is quiet. Blinds are closed. I unlock the car, open the passenger door, and slide his body in. His head lolls and hits the dashboard. "Fuck," I say, and push his body back just so I can get the zip ties on his hands and feet. The knife is poking a hole through my jacket pocket.

Everything's a mess.

When I've finally got him strapped and secure, I circle the car and get seated behind the wheel. I turn the engine on but take a moment to look at him sitting there, head resting against the window, and his face serene like he's just sleeping. In that moment, part of me sort of wishes he'd never wake up. I mean, this is nice, but where's the fun in it? Where's the fun in anything if he's just a vegetable? So I shake the thoughts out of my head and back out the driveway.

It'll take some time for him to get used to it. I know Casper more than anyone—perhaps even himself—so I know that in one way or another, he'll see soon enough. I'll take care of him, make him happy, and he'll go back to normal. He'll be the same Casper I met in freshman year. It'll only take patience. Time. Sometimes you've got to break something to put it back the way you want.

That's what Dad used to say.