Us & Others

The Confession: Klaus Warren Fitz-Wang

I used to hate my name. I'd do everything in my power to avoid meeting new people, so I could avoid all the same questions. Woah, Klaus? That's german right? I'd nod. They'd ask if my grandpa was a Nazi. If I was lucky, it'd end there. But no, most introductions require a surname. So, they see the last name and ask me what a Fitz-Wang was. I'd tell them my mom's Chinese. My father's German. They'd say, "you don't look German." I'd be silent. They'd say, "speak Chinese right now." I'd ask why. There'd be a pause, there'd always be a pause, before they told me to "chill out." Then they'd walk away before I could speak a lick of Mandarin.

I hated proving myself to strangers. I hated it so much I started going by my middle name, Warren, when I switched schools my sophomore year of high school. By senior year, there were only two people who still called me Klaus: my mother, she called me her "little cloud" since I could remember, but whipped out the full name whenever I was in trouble...and Darrius.

Darrius Booker was captain of the football team. He was on a whole other level. The school worshiped the ground he walked on. But he sucked at math. Like, royally sucked. I tutored him last summer before he retook his ACT's. They put my full name on the tutoring site, and he only signed up for my slot cause I had a "cool name." He's refused to call me Warren ever since.

I credit pure luck, but Darrius and I became friends by the end of the summer. I started going to his games, he started taking his jeep to my dad's shop. For most of the school year, him and I just hung out together. We had our own friend groups, but didn't feel the need to mix. Mostly because there was one thing that bonded us together: films. We could watch movies from sunup to sundown, wasting away hours tearing them apart. Darrius wanted nothing more than to be a director. Even when we binged the trash films for kicks, he couldn't help but analyze every detail. I never really told anyone, except Darius, but I wanted to act. More than anything, I loved the big screen. Plus, I've done theatre since I was a little kid, but never bothered pursuing it in college. Not since my dad's car accident. I had to take care of the shop most of my senior year, and have to take a gap year. Movies meant the world to Darius and I. So, we kept that world to ourselves. Till Connie started wondering where her best friend's been spending all this time without her.

Spring break rolled around and Darrius and Connie and their friends were going on a road trip. I somehow was invited. Everything in me wanted to say no because Connie was the definition of the devil incarnate, but Darrius looked at me with his stupid, big 'ol, brown eyes, so I said yes.

It was just supposed to be a few days at Connie's lake house a few hours south of town. I expected there to be drinking, fucking, smoking, and maybe a little bit of skinny dipping. Everything straight out of your average teen film. Some drama, some intoxication, some stupidity. That's it. But then Connie had her stupid idea.

We were only a few miles away from the border. Strange stuff always happens around there. Apparently, a few weeks before, there was a spike in sightings. I blamed the rise in tourism, considering the time of year. But Connie took it as a sign. We had to go out and explore. "Leave a legacy," to put it simply. She said we had to go out there and leave our mark on the world and what better way than capturing one on tape. It was crazy, but slowly and surely, she had everyone on board.

Things were fun at first. The personas, the partying, those we met along the way. But Connie needed more. We were looking for an adventure, but she...she was craving something else. Something stronger. Next thing you know, there's a manic pixie dream girl in the trunk, and Connie's holding it over us. She was a guillotine in pink pumps, ready for heads to roll.

I didn't think it'd ever go that far. I didn't think we'd ever find one. Turns out, I just wasn't thinking. When we finally got back home, I was numb at first. Darrius spent the night, calming me down, reminding me of the plan. The guilt didn't settle in 'till the next morning.

It started out small. Insignificant. It was sitting in the back of my head, watching me go about my day. It wasn't until a month later-till the riots-that the guilt took over, consuming every part of me. I felt it swallow me whole, from the chest out. My guts wrung themselves dry, my chest folded in on itself, my mind wiped of all things except for that poor girl. I couldn't take it anymore.

That morning when its..her...mom got on the news and told the world what happened, I ran to the police station. My feet slapped against the pavement, shaking the guilt inside me. I swallowed it down, drowning in it, as I step foot in the police station...it poured out of me. Not gracefully like a waterfall, but tragic like a leaky hose. Bit by bit, I told them everything. Every detail. I dropped every inch of guilt, flooding the police station. Once it was done, I breathed for the first time in so long.

Nothing had changed. Someone still died.

They rounded up every one of us for questioning. The six of us spent most of the day silently sitting across from each other. There weren't enough rooms in the small station to keep us separated, so instead they hauled us into the lobby with a guard watching us, making sure we were silent.

I'll never forget the look in Darius's eyes. I was nothing more than a snitch to him. A rat. We used to agree that the whistleblower was the greatest of underdogs. Betraying the trust of a few for the many, for the greater good. I think he always thought of himself as the one doing the blowing.

There's still a few more days till the case goes to trial. I could give two fucks about what happens to the others. They were awful people. I just hope that, when this all over, someone comes out alright in the end. It won't be me. He's never gonna speak to me again;I accepted that the moment I stepped foot into that police station. It won't be the twins or Seth or Connie, for damn sure. It won't be the mom or the family. It sure as hell won't be the manic pixie dream girl. So, whoever it is, I hope they relish in it. I hope they stand in it like it's sunshine sliding down their skin on the first day of spring.

I wish it was me.