Jesse

14: The breaking storm

14: The breaking storm

            It was almost the end of September now. So much had happened in so little time. Ty had managed to make front page on the local newspaper I saw; Harold had a subscription. It was that following Sunday morning. I had picked up the paper my eyes intense as I scanned the headline. It read:

            HEATED ARGUMENT ENDS IN SUICIDE FOR LOCAL MAN

            It had listed that Ricky Tyler Gray, 20, of Edmundson Avenue in Breckenridge Hills had shot himself after an argument he had had with his girlfriend Joann Louise Brighton, 19, that she confessed had gotten out of hand. "He was a good guy at heart," Brighton said, "even if he had his faults, but don't we all? I love him, and always will." I couldn't read anymore of the article. I had become all frozen up like when he had pulled the gun on me, my mouth dry: my heart pounding in my throat.

            That day flashed through my mind; his awful, seething eyes seared through; and, I had to shake my head to get it out. To get it all out. Harold had questioned me if I had known anything about this, since I supposedly hung out with "them." I told him no; even, if my voice was nervous. He didn't say anything more about it, except mumbling something I didn't catch, and neither did I.

            I had expected maybe a visit from Joann. She never showed up in those following weeks. But I understood. She needed time. We all needed time.

            I didn't go to his funeral. I wanted to, for Joann and nobody else. But I was a coward, and I stayed home. Went up on the rooftop like always and just smoked. That night I saw Ian staring at me from the window. Again I couldn't tell anything about his face, because of the distance and the darkness, but I knew it was him.

I           had become annoyed with him. Fucking seeing him and Jena everywhere, once or twice catching them making out. We never talked about it. He sensed that much. Damn, he hardly talked at all anymore. The usual:

            "Hey."

            "Hey."

            "How's it going?"

            "Good."

            "You?"

            "Good."

            "That's good."

            "Bye."

            "Bye."

            It couldn't get more infuriating than that. I really wanted to just punch him. Even worse, he was more popular now that he was the new football star. All the fuckin' touchdowns he had made so far, how many victories he had led the team too. That every-fuckin-somebody in the damn-good-for-nothin' school wanted to be his friend. And every fucking girl wanted him. It was all the same now. He was just like any other mindless, stupid-ass jock.

            In his truck on the way to the school, I happened to exit. Everywhere else, I was nothing more than a shadow. A fuckin' ghost. I was getting really tired of it. I had a thing or two to say to him, alright.

            I felt like I was living someone else's life, not mine. Like I watching everything from behind a two-way mirror, my hands and face pressed up against the glass. I could see everyone, but no one could see me.

            The week began to pass. Like it always had. I was beginning to think this was how it was going to be for the rest of high school. But life is not predictable; I learned that much already. I had learned too much of that, actually.