Chapter 1 – Why I’m Here
I’ll start with the hardest stuff first.
I was driving down near the base of the mountains with my best friend, Jesse Turnik.
I didn’t see the semi-truck swerve into us. I really, honestly didn’t.
But maybe I’m just lying again. Maybe I don’t remember it right.
My entire existence was a single, horrified thought. Hanging on nothing but the feeling of my breath stopped in my throat, my body tenser than it’d ever been.
I tried to move us out of the way, I really did. Sometimes I start thinking about this too hard and everything comes back and I just feel so fucking guilty about everything like I could have turned a bit more or just HAVE PAID ATTENTION TO THE ROAD instead of Jesse’s laughing face but I didn’t. I didn’t and I looked too late. The windshield was already bursting by the time I looked back, and my eyes closed in time as the fucking glass pieces shattered towards us flying like shooting stars. The car spun because it was mostly hit from Jesse’s side and the vechile kept turning until it drove itself into the ditch at the side of the road. I can’t remember what happened after that I just remember looking back to Jesse and seeing FUCK JUST SEEING what became of his face his nose his mouth smashed in from the airbag and even still I was stupid enough to call to him but I didn’t even realize he was already dead my eyes burned because of the tears I barely realized i was crying but I couldn’t fucking see the screen of my phone as I pulled it out and started dialing.
Those three numbers were so quick to type in, but the call felt like it took forever to connect. A voice answered me, and I can’t remember what they said because I just started talking. I told them what had happened and that my friend needed help and I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m pretty sure that’s what I said.. I just remember my chest hurt and my head felt really light like I couldn’t breathe.
“Where’s your emergency?”
I kept breathing. I knew what the question was. My stupid brain just couldn’t fucking comprehend it.
“Are you there?”
I stuttered out a reply. I looked around, trying to think back. I told her where we were, and that just brought back memories of Jesse.
“My friend’s hurt.” I said.
“I’ve dispatched a few ambulances to your location. Can you move? Are you feeling alright?”
I told her I was. Honesty I had no idea. I felt like I couldn’t even think. “My friend’s hurt.”
“I understand. Has the car been flipped? Are both of you able to move?”
“N-No. The car isn’t flipped. I… I can move.” I turned to Jesse, trying to wake him up. “My… My friend’s not moving.”
“Is the seatbelt restraining his breathing?”
I checked, calling his name again as I reached out. But he wasn’t even breathing. “No. The seatbelt’s not restraining…”
“Is his breathing labored? Is there any sign of injury? Perhaps something lodged inside him?”
“Y-yeah. I think the airbag hit his face pretty bad.”
“And his breathing?”
I checked. I held my own breath as I put my finger below his nose. Nothing.
“He’s… He’s not…” I couldn’t even get the fucking words out.
“I understand. There’s nothing hurting you?”
“N-no. I’m fine, at least I think so.”
“Can you walk? Is the car restraining you at all?”
“Um, no. I mean, I can.”
A pause, then for the first time, I realized how stupid I sounded.
“I can walk. I’m okay.”
“The ambulance should be there soon. Please remain with me.”
“O-okay.”
And I did.
Hard part’s out of the way, I guess. I killed my best friend.
I lied; that was way harder to type than anything else.
But it’s true. I caused the accident; I wasn’t looking at the damn road.
Through accidents and pencil taps and sloppy guitar playing, this is my story, I guess.
This is my life, and like anything else it’s full of ups and downs. More downs than ups, I guess, but that’s just a figure of my imagination. Figment, I mean. Is it figment?
All I know is right now, it’s 11:48pm on a school night. I should be sleeping, but words haunted my consciousness and I guess writing–however long my fingers stay with the keyboard–is like an exorcism.
Kind of like I have to, like an exorcism.
La Dispute. I think it was Trent who introduced me to that band. Cool stuff.
But here I am, acting like him again.
I’ll start with the first day of school. [The first day,] for me at least. (Explanations)
So the summer was basically the worst. The… event had happened at the start of May, the end of my Sophomore year, and my summer just a rotating cycle of doctor’s appointments. Psychologists wanting to know what happened, psychiatrists wanting to know how I feel on medications. They prescribed Zoloft, which makes me feel a little weird. Like being too short to reach the ceiling, I guess, except that feeling’s inside my chest.
So, yeah, but the first day of school didn’t happen until a week into school, if that makes sense. I was late (a “late bloomer”, as my mom would say. But that’s her, and I really don’t feel like talking about my parents).
As if anyone’s actually going to read this.
But… I’m spinning in circles again.
The first person that really… caught my eye- -held my focus
Lance. I sat next to him on my first day, first period. Health Sciences, but neither of us were paying attention.
I mean, I was, but I kept glancing at him. He was totally out of it.
The dude was asleep. Wasn’t he supposed to be awake?
“Lance.” The teacher’s voice.
He woke up, instantly alert, eyes wide and everything. “Yeah?” he asked quickly. He wiped at his eyes, blinking a few times at our teacher.
“You’ll have time to sleep in detention this afternoon. Pay attention.”
Lance didn’t seem fazed by the announcement. His hand came to rest on the side of his face, a casual reply coming from him.
“Can’t. I got a show to play.”
The class laughed a little bit, but I figured he was being serious.
“Then reschedule it.”
Lance just raised his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair and letting his arms hang down. He noticed me then, as the teacher started blabbing about whatever.
“You’re new, right?”
I nodded a bit and avoided his eyes. I stuttered out something of a reply. He just nodded and introduced himself, a name I’d already gotten from the teacher. Who I quickly figured out was an asshole.
He caught our attention again, asking me if I would like to join Lance for his second detention. I saw Lance’s hand come into a fist.
I quickly got out something that was a no, and for whatever reason the teacher dropped the topic.
Good. I breathed out a little bit, sighing, and turned back to taking notes.
Lance and I talked sometimes, in that class. The first question he asked me was what kind of music am I into. I stuttered a bit, trying to remember what I liked before saying rock. He nodded.
“Like Motley Crue or Smashing Pumpkins?”
“Uh,” I stammered again. “The second one? I’m not really into oldies.” Dad kind of killed that vibe.
He nodded once. “That’s cool. Some of them can take time to get used to.”
“Yeah.” I said lamely. but it had happened;iwas damn smitten.
But basically our friendship began there. I asked my friends about him, lamely stuttering out something that included his name. That’s all I got out, before my odd ball of friends freaked.
“You talked to Lance?!” one kid, Malcolm, asked me, one hand on my arm.
“DUDE. I’ve only seen him in passing. What’s he like??” my friend, Sindy, who I’m currently not talking to. Long story, for another page.
“Um…” I reached into my brain. “We-we just sit next to each other–“
“YOU SIT NEXT TO HIM?” A whispered yell. Sindy again. I kind of hate her, but not because she’s super annoying.
I could barely get a word in. “N-… I…”
“Give him some air.” A kid with spiky blonde hair, Kell, parted Sindy and me, and part of me honestly could breathe better.
They let me sit at our lunch table in piece peace. Okay, I could do this.
But I just thought of talking on couches and psychologists listening. I couldn’t…
Eons passed. And then another friend spoke.
“He’s just too awesome for words, then…”
“W-what?” I snapped back to reality, totally diregarding the PB&J in my hands. “N-no–“
“Dude!” I took a light slap to the face. “How dare you!” And then he took both shoulders and shook me, nearly making me drop my cruedly made sandwich. “LANCE. IS. A. GOD.”
Each word was slow. Each syllable spaced out. Ugh. Okay, here we go.
My friends pressed me for info, and despite the fact that I had know this “God” for like a week (he was in two classes, so I saw him daily), I couldn’t get out too much. My face just heated up and I couldn’t really talk. Blame my doctors for most of it.
“W-we just talk… Sometimes–” My last word was drowned out. Sindy again.
“Did he ask about me?! I swear he was eyeing that skirt I wore the other day!”
I doubt it.
Bitch.
^Total thoughts from my brain, on the paper for you to read.
Liek anyone would actually read this… But anyway, I basically got out that we just talk about music.
“What stuff???”
All three of my friends, three-fourths of our small little group, they yelled it all at once. Ugh. I swear my headache-of-the-day started there, at around 12:45pm.
The bell rang, signalling lunch was over, and I had maths with Lance across the room.
He was sitting near my seat, when I finally got unglued from my clinging friends. Sindy poked her damn head in, and I swear her eyes nearly popped out from how much they bulged.
“Lance…” She was whisper-yellling it, and at that moment, I officially hated her voice. A quick yelp, and I saw a dark hand clapped over her too-much-lip-glossed mouth.
I made a point to thank Barry for that one.
Lance must be used to her, because he didn’t look away from the front of the room. His stare remained straight and drooped, as if he were fighting off sleep right then and there.
I barely said anything, as I took my seat. Right
next
to
him
I kicked myself at how fast my heart was beating, hoping the blood wasn’t swimming to my face.
“Uh, hey.” I was sure he didn’t hear my squeak of a voice, but as I sat down, messenger bag dropped beside my desk, I sensed his eyes go over to me.
“Oh, hey.” He sat up, fully regarding me now. “You finish the test?”
So that’s why he was here. I was the nerd he could mooch off of.
But… This was Lance.
Was I really complaining? He was like twenty feet closer to me now.
“Um, yeah.” And I pulled it out of my binder, the take home test we were supposed to have finished by, well, today. Like, now.
“Thanks.” The word was barely audible as he took the paper with two fingers, and part of me noticed his fingerpads were… like shaped in a point?
Okay, weird. But I wasn’t holding it against him or anything. I’ve just never heard anyone talk about his fingers before.
I would soon come to know he was just playing with his callouses. When you play a lot of guitar, your fingers get tougher from the strings. The callouses are just fun to mold.
I’m typing this out with my own calloused fingers, but that’s for another time.
So that’s it. That’s the first part. My hands are cramping from writing so much.