A Million Little Pieces

Chapter 2

I made my way to Jamie's to find him tangled in between the sheets of his bed. He always slept like someone in the middle of performing a cartwheel, even when we were kids and Dad would help us make a pillow fort on the couch. We'd get so worn out we'd fall asleep right next to each other. Mom would, of course, come home and have a panic attack when she saw it. I smiled at the nostalgic thought, and remembered how innocent the world was when we were young. However, as I reflect I realize the world was never that pure, and perhaps we were just blinded by our own immaturity. Yet slowly as time slipped away so did our innocence, and soon creating a pillow fort shifted to deep conversations behind the safety of my room. We talked about anything under the sun. Our worst conversations were always about his mother though. She was a cloud that only knew how to rain. Not the mother he deserved, but unfortunately the one he had. Despite everything I didn't hate her even though she was hard to understand somehow I understood. Not everyone realizes there is more to life than work or business. Their problems become too much to bear leading them to believe the only solution is to work and make money. By the time they realize money isn't the answer they've already worked their life away. Jamie wanted to go to a school where he can learn how to draw, it has been his passion for as long as I've known him. Jamie will find the solution to all his problems because he's following his passion, and the heart never disappoints. If the earth died tomorrow he'd find something beautiful to draw, and that's one of the million reasons why I love him. Life without passion is no life at all. In death I cannot purchase anything with the money I've earned, but I can be filled with joy remembering all the words I've written. There was a loud bang on the door and his mother came storming in. "Wake up, don't think you're off that easy." She demanded and pulled off the sheets in one quick motion letting them pile on the floor. Jamie's mother, Helen, had pulled her chocolate brown hair into a bun so tight it sent her eyebrows soaring, her hands securely positioned at her hips. Jamie rolled to his side and half opened his eyes to look up at his demise. I could tell by the look in her eyes she was here to rain down terror. "I know you're awake," her mouth was pulled into a straight line "Just because your friend died doesn't mean you're not in trouble for running away." His mother stood watching him expecting a response, but when there was none, so she continued. "I can't have you running away again or people will start to ask questions. It'll ruin my reputation James. You're nineteen almost away to college." She said matter of factly. He did answer this time with a muffled sigh Jamie was not quite awake yet and therefore not ready to argue now or ever. "You got accepted into a good college and you run away, I'm ashamed. Get up and get dressed this is pathetic of you." There was no empathy in her voice as a matter of fact I don't think she's ever been genuinely sorry in her life. Helen stood there watching over him as if waiting for him to argue back with her. After a minute or two she turned on her heels and slammed the door on her way out.
   I looked back at Jamie his eyes shimmering. He was looking nowhere in particular staying so still I though he fell back to sleep. His bed sheets were thrown to the floor and he was laying in grey sweats and an over sized white T shirt. Jamie looked like someone had taken all the hope left in the world. The sight of him like this squeezed my heart. I couldn't see any trace of the boy I remembered. After a while he eventually got out of bed and went to the bathroom. Once he left the bathroom I saw myself for the first time through the opened door. I was shocked by what I saw-it was obviously me- but I was in a flowing yellow tank top and light blue jeans. These are the same clothes I was wearing when I died. However, they had a sick twist to them as they were blood stained and torn. The right strap of my loose yellow top was black with my blood and the left was holding on by a thread. The side had gaping hole in it which revealed a pink wound covered in black residue from the street I took my last breath on. My sky blue jeans looked like someone cut a line from my mid thigh to my knee. Dried blood held most of the holes together. If anyone saw me it would've looked like I needed help, but I guess it makes sense. I didn't think I would need spare clothes considering no one can see me. Despite how horrid I looked nothing hurt. I could not feel any of the wounds I had gained. I had looked at myself in the mirror and saw the product of my mistakes painted on my skin and carved into my bones. It was like my wounds were here to serve as a reminder of what I'd done not the pain I've suffered.                                              
   When I left the bathroom Jamie was in the kitchen looking at a bowl of oatmeal and buttered toast. I gagged, he's like an old man eating oats for breakfast. I also smiled to myself he was old at heart, a quality to be admired. He was looking at his breakfast like it was a puzzle to solve. Like if he looked at the pale apple slices and light yellow oats long enough they'd change, hopefully into something more appetizing. They might take on the form of the answer to all his problems. If only it was that easy, I frowned. After a torturous few minutes he tossed the bowl full of oatmeal into the sink and threw away his toast. I exhaled a sigh of distress. I didn't know what I expected. He's never been able to get through tough times easily, but then again is anyone?    
     I followed him back into his room where he was shuffling with papers. I leaned in closer to see two different college acceptance letters. One for art school and one for law school. I can only imagine that he was not the first or the last in the world to do this. To debate whether to follow his own dream or another's. He shoved the letters under his bed and instead dragged out a photo of me and him together. My dark green eyes stared back at me and I had a finger playing with a loose strand of hair. Jamie had his arm enveloping me his black hair a big mess as usual. We were smiling like it was the best day of our lives. I can tell Jamie was thinking as I was when he looked away from the photo. His eyes were void of happiness and he looked as if he was physically in pain. It was one of the worst feelings in the world, knowing the person you love isn't happy, and nothing you did would help. And it was exactly how I felt now.