Background Character

Chapter 9

 Jake was still reeling from his confrontation with Olivia when he got home. Neither of his parents were in, a blessing itself because home was never really homely with them in it.

His house, if you could call it that, wasn't as I had always imagined it. He lived on the wrong side of the tracks so to speak, a little trailer that barely fit the family of four. The door creaked as it opened, illuminating the floors laced with trash and cans. Jake plopped has worn backpack onto the dated cushions of the dining area seats, which emitted a cloud of dust in protest.

Not a few moments later, he returned to the dining area with a bottle in hand. His fingers obscured the label a little bit but even so, it was obviously a beer. I was well aware that Jake drank, although he was careful not to post photos online because of his athletic status. Everyone was privy to the stories of him at parties, wild and free as he did things most people could only dream of.

He popped the cap off and took a seat next to the bag and just sat there. He took a few swigs of the bear, there wasn't much else to see. His eyes were trained on the front door before him, as if steadying himself for something. The trailer was silent, barring the sound of him putting the bottle onto the small table.

I'm not sure what I expected Jake to do.

Certainly not cry.

His shoulders fell forward, unable to hold the weight upon his back. The tears fell down his face, dripping onto the hand that again brought the bottle to his mouth. He made quick work of the first bottle...and then the second...and then the third. I soon lost count as he sobbed and drank.

As I watch him, feeling more than a little intrusive, Jake no longer feels like the heroic jock I had always imagined. He looks so vulnerable when I leave him, I certainly never imagined to see him all alone, drowning his tears over a bottle of beer. Jake was strong, or so I always imagined him to be.

He eventually falls asleep there, a quilt and a pillow lay where his feet are.

I'm at a loss. I had expected to hang around for a while, but I'm not the mood to just jump to the next thing. I need a little time to collect myself and process what I just witnessed, so I decide to go to the one place I stand a chance to do so.

I knock at the door, unsure of the proper protocol in the situation. I'm not sure whether or not I can knock or make a sound. I've never felt the need to test it out before. What if her mother answers and she can't see me? Another question is how did I get here? One moment, I was watching Jake's heartbreak and the next I'm here, standing on her front porch postulating my existence in this world.

Luck must have been on my side because she answers the door. As confused as she must have be, she doesn't show it. She simply gestures for me to enter and leads me upstairs to a room I can only guess belongs to her.

There is a bed, and a dresser, although the walls remain bare and the space lacks any other furniture. The most colorful thing is the quilt that adorns her bed, a faded blue that becomes a shining beacon in the room's overall absence of color. As I walk further inside, I notice a small photo frame on a nightstand, hidden from view when I first entered the room. It's small, but it fits the room well.

"Hello." She whispers, looking out the window.

"Hello B." I reply, unable to muster to courage for much else.

B faced me, her hazel eyes raking up my form as she surveyed me in interest. "Why are you in my home?"

"You invited me in." I answered weakly.

"That's not what I meant..." She trails off, I imagine unsure of how to refer to me. She chooses the simplest. "Sebastian. Answer my question."

"People aren't as they thought I'd be."