You Didn't Know. (Lams)

Chapter Eight

This chapter might not be so good. Today was my friends birthday but he's not around anymore to see it. And I'm just kind of sad about it I guess? I don't really know how to describe it. So sorry in advance.

John Pov
"How'd the funeral go?" Mr. Washington asked.

"Okay I guess. I don't know. It was a funeral you know? It wasn't happy but like...yeah. You get it." I said.
He nodded.

"Did they find anything more out about Alex's murder?" I asked.

"Not yet but I think they're close." He replied.
I sighed.

"Do you want to talk about Alex a bit more? What would you do on his birthday perhaps?"
"Okay."

~~

Alex and I sat on his carpet.

"Happy thirteenth birthday Alex." I said, handing him a card.

"Thanks." He opened it and read it.

His smile grew. He hugged me and whispered, "Thank you."

"It's not much, I kno-"

"John it's the most I've ever gotten for my birthday." He said tears in his eyes.

He hopped up and put it on bed.

I guess I never realized that he lived in a crappy apartment.
Or that his room is barely bigger than a closet.

"Wanna watch a movie?" I asked, pulling some tapes out of my bag. "Sure." He replied.

That's how we spent the night.

~~

"You said tapes?" Mr.W asked.

"We were always into old kind of stuff. And junkyards and crap like that. Not the coolest thing in the world, but it was our thing." I said.

"Fun." He replied, writing down some shit. What the hell is he writing down anyways?

'This kid is insane. Send help.'
I bet that's what he's writing.

To be honest he wouldn't be wrong. "Did he have any fears that you know of?" He asked.

"He has- Erm...had a huge fear of rain. I might even call it post traumatic stress disorder. He was in a hurricane when he was about twelve and he lost his brother. Same year he lost his mum." I said.

"How'd he tell you about that?" Mr.W asked.
"Well.."

~~

Alex was sprawled out on his old dusty mattress, his legs jumbled in mine. We had a record player playing Revolution by the Beatles in the background.

"Do you think your parents are gonna get mad that we are using the record player?" I asked.

"Nah. I don't have parents." He replied, tapping his fingers in beat with the music.

"The Beatles are literally the best band in the world." He said.

"What do you mean you don't have parents? Do you have a guardian or whatever?" I asked.

"My cousin Peter is technically my guardian. Even though he is an idiot who has no parenting skills whatsoever." He replied.

"What happened to your parents? Car crash or somethin'?" I asked, grabbing some gum from my pocket.

lNah. Dad left, mum died." He said.

"Oh sorry. How'd your mum die?" I asked.

"She died cuz of cancer. It sucked. A lot. For a good period of time I was home all by myself. But it was two years ago and I'm starting to get over everything that happened when I was twelve." He told me, getting up and putting in a new record.

"Everything?" I asked, sitting up.

"My brother died that same year. Hurricane in Nevis. Remember? That's where I'm from. That's where I got the little accent from. It's actually a lot stronger then I make it. I guess I've learned how to hide it better, you know?" He asked.

"Yeah...I used to have this really awful Southern accent." I said, playing with the gum packaging.

"Used to?" He asked playfully, sitting back down.

I punched his arm and smiled. "Shut up."

"Yeah but anyway, it was a really awful hurricane. I have some kind of PTSD from it but it's not like severe it's just like when it rains to hard or whatever. It's stupid." He said.

"Could I have some gum?"
"Sure."

~~

"Can I leave now?" I asked.

"If that's what you want." He said.
I scoffed and got up.

I walked outside and saw the regular things that you see in New York.

Those giant ass rats, people smoking left and right, people yelling for cabs.
Damn South Carolina was so much cooler.

With all those open fields and shit. But I guess when I was in South Carolina I would disagree.

I opened my house door. "Heyyyy John! What's shaking?" Martha asked.

"Nothing much. You?" I asked.

"I'm god. I mean good. Heh I don't know how I messed that up." Martha laughed from the other room.

"Yeah I'm not sure how you messed that one up either." I replied.

"My memes are god though." She said.

"They most definitely aren't." I told her, going to my room.
"That's rude!"
"I don't care!"