Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

Chapter ONE!

Justin is the only person I'd ever trust with my secrets.

When I close my eyes, I can see him standing there before me, instead of resting motionless, six feet below the Earth's surface.  His voice rings above the treetops, as clear in my memory as it was three months ago, back when he was still capable of making sounds audible for any working human ear.  He laughs at the right moments, and grimaces at others, never late and always comforting.

There's nothing more I miss than his laugh.

"Hey Justy," I begin.  My voice is weak in comparison to how it used to be.  It cracks with the tears that will never materialize.  "How are you doing down there?  The earthworms treating you nice?"

I turn around and survey my surroundings.  Aside from the wind, I'm alone with the rows of headstones.  Just how I like it. 

"Marty dumped my backpack in the trashcan today," I tell the plot of land beneath my feet.  "You remember him right, Marty Robins?  And Hannah and her wolf pack gave me dirty looks across the hallway.  You were right, she does kind of look like a Persian cat, with her face all scrunched up when she glares."

He'd laugh, but there was nothing funny about my words.  Then I'd start laughing until there'd be tears running down both our cheeks, mine thick with black eyeliner and his with gold.

"I miss you, but you already know that."  Slowly, I kneel down to the patch of grass, and shift around until my legs are crossed in front of me.  My fingertips press into the ground.  "I don't think this feeling will ever go away, though."

There's a rustle behind me, and I whip around.  A set of green eyes hidden behind a curtain of shaggy blue hair gaze intently back at me.  I can't see the figure's body, but it's a teenage boy, making his way through the maze of graves, studying each inscription with curious fascination. 

I'm not alone.

"What feeling?" he slips around the edge of the rock and comes towards me, each step cautious.  He shows no desire to get his neon Converse coated in the slimy mud.

I don't answer him.  I don't speak to the living.

"Did you hear me?" he asks, and then repeats himself, "what feeling?"

When I make no move to answer him, he walks closer.  He's not afraid of me, not my dark clothes and dirty hair, nor the marker I've placed myself in front of.  "Did you know him?"

I nod before I can realize what I'm doing.  When I catch myself, I pull my chin to my chest.

"I'm Timmy."  He sticks out his hand to shake.  The pale skin is covered in rainbows and purple veins. 

However, I don't shake it back.  Who does this boy think he is, spying on me during the only time I can be myself?

He lets his hand drop awkwardly.  "Not a people person, huh?  That's alright.  I am, though.  I love people."  He smiles at me as though I'm his favorite person in the world. 

Timmy takes in a deep breath of the foggy air.  The tips of his hair seem to curl up with every second he spends unmoving in front of me.  Blonde lines his roots.

"I just moved here," he tells me.  "My mom and my dad and I.  And my doggy too, and our two kitties.  We had three, but we had to leave one at home."  He rambles on, totally oblivious to the world around him.

If he wasn't cute, he'd be pretty damn annoying.  Right now, he's just pretty annoying.

"She wasn't really our cat...we just fed her and stuff.  And sometimes I'd leave my window open and she's come in my room at night and sleep on the edge of my bed.  She liked Poptarts."

I focus on the words on Justin's grave until they blur around the edges.  Timmy goes on and on about his cats, their names and their favorite places to hide and all the adventures they'd gone on together.

Me?  I couldn't care less.  I just want him to leave.

"So how about you?"  Something warm lands on my shoulder, and I find a colorful hand in contact with my jacket.

Actually, it was Justin's jacket.  His favorite.

"Have you lived here your whole life?"

I nod, again.  It's not really speaking, so I suppose it's alright.  I almost feel bad being rude to a little kid like him.  He can't be older than fourteen. 

"That's so cool!  Like, has your family been here for generations and generations and do you know everybody and have like dead relatives here that you visit every Sunday and leave them a flower and stuff?"

No.  A head shake.

He looks almost downfallen.  "Oh.  Why this grave then?  Did you know him?"

Timmy turns to read the caption.  "Justin Trace Sykes.  May 17th 1993 to..." he gasps and covers his mouth when his brain does the math. "...January 2nd 2010.  Oh my God, he was so young.  I'm so sorry!"  His one hand turns into a full blown hug.

I shrug the clinging boy off me and get to my feet.  He stands with me.

"Was he your friend?"

Friend, ha.  This kid has no clue.  Justin was so much more than a friend. 

Just run home, kid, and leave me alone.  I'm not done talking to Justin, but I can't with him here.  I need to shake him off somehow.

I start to head towards the path, over by where the fencing meets the train tracks.  No stones dot the grass ahead, its unmarked surface a fresh shade of neon green.  It matches the laces on Timmy's left shoe.

He follows after me, bouncing with each step.  "Where are you headed?  Aren't you supposed to be in school today?  I start tomorrow, at the high school.  What grade are you in?  Maybe we'll have some classes together!"

Keep dreaming, I'm not a freshman.

"I'm a junior," he states.  "I'm seventeen.  Are you seventeen too?"

Yeah. 

When he sees the look on my face, he slows down.  "Do you want me to stop talking?"

That'd be nice.  I shrug. 

He checks the time on his phone, a slider with the keyboard barely hanging on.  Pink duct tape keeps the battery in its rightful place.  "Oh shoot, it's almost noon.  I promised my parents I wouldn't stay out too long.  I have to help them unpack.  I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"  He gives me a quick hug and then darts off towards the main road.  His blue hair flies in every direction.

I flip up my hood and head home across the tracks.