A Year To The Day
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A Year To The Day
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It's been a year to the day, and I wonder.... How many times have I regretted what I said to you?
That's a relative question, now. As many times as I've thought of you. As many times as I've breathed. As many times as I've stood and looked up the railroad tracks, following them with my eyes, all the way up to the point where they disappear into a mere dot between the trees. As many times as I've wondered in that never-ending agony... What would have changed? If I'd bit my tongue, I mean. If I'd turned and walked away instead of hurting you. Would you have still come here? If you had, maybe I would have come, too, just like always. Maybe if I'd been here, what happened wouldn't have had to happen.
Who am I kidding?
Say I figured it out. Say I realized that if I hadn't said what I said, you wouldn't have done what you did. Let's say I figured that out for sure. What changes? I get more miserable, that's for sure, but would you be alive again? Would you pop up in front of me with your goofy, infuriating grin and laugh at me, saying, 'Well, now that you realize it's your fault entirely: I'm back!'
Huh. That would be just like you.
Remember back in middle school? Back when we were going to grow up and join the Navy, earn money, glory and girls, and be roommates in our 68th floor Chicago penthouse until we both got old and died? Did you figure our friendship would come to this? Over a stupid girl? She was playing us both all along, but somehow I can't even find the strength to hate her. No, I'm way too busy hating myself.
So what now, Derrick? Can I go join the Navy by myself? Can I be happy with whatever money or glory I might come by when the dream is only half of what it was? Because, ever since we met back in 3rd grade, or whenever it was, all our dreams walked the same path and ended in the same place. Always. Doing it by myself could never seem right.
We were gonna take on the world. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, like the reckless, devil-may-care teenagers we were.
I say were, past tense, because both of us changed last year. One year ago to the day. I'm not a teenager anymore. There's a moment in every boy's life, my Dad used to say, that he wakes up and discovers he isn't a boy anymore. He's a man. I'm a man now, Derrick, and I can say that with conviction. I changed, and you did that to me. Overnight. I can't even remember the last time I smiled, or whistled at a girl, or thought about running off to the tracks to get drunk.
You changed too, but I don't have to tell you how. It's a good thing you can't have nightmares in heaven, cause I can only imagine you'd relive those last moments every night. I wasn't even there and I have nightmares about it.
I wasn't there... God, why wasn't I there?
Do you remember the day, a year ago? Remember how stupid we both were? Yeah, the both of us'don't think your being dead is going to get you off the hook.
Idiot.
Whether that's directed at you or me can stay a mystery for all I care. I was an idiot for saying what I said, and you were an idiot for doing what you did, so maybe I'll say it to both of us.
'Guess what, man?' I'd asked you, as we threw our bikes down beside the tracks. It was the very middle of summer, and in lieu of the sizzling weather, we'd scouted out a spot where the shade fell over the tracks to crash for the day.
'You're pregnant.' You retorted, always the smart-ass.
'Haha, I'm laughing. Seriously, guess.'
'I just did.' You flopped down across the tracks, but I remained standing, smug in what I had then perceived to be a great victory won.
'Shut up; you wanna hear it or not?'
'Not.' Your eyes were closed as you tipped your head back onto the rail, folded your arms and pretended to be completely disinterested in anything I had to say.
'What does this look like?'
I'd gotten you to crack one eye open'a sign of hidden intrigue. 'A piece of paper.'
'With what on it, stupid?' I smacked the wrinkled sheet of notebook paper with my free hand.
'A math problem, I dunno.' You closed your eyes again and shifted your position to get more comfortable.
'Huh, sure. A math problem I solved! Check it out.' I threw the paper at you, and betraying your interest, you picked it up.
'Is that a phone number?'
'Not just any phone number, genius. A particular phone number. A particular someone's phone number.'
'Get outta here. Is that'? You mean Kelly, right?' You were starting to sit up, and I knew I'd caught you.
'You bet it is. And I got a date with her tonight.'
'No kidding. Great man; I'm happy for you. You've been stalking her for what, a year now?' You handed the paper back. That was a new one. Knowing you, you'd wrinkle it up and eat it or something. But I'd planned ahead: I'd already memorized the number.
'Eight months.' I shrugged, not bothering to deny the accusation.
'Close enough, dude. But seriously, right on. You're a lucky dog, my man.'
We shared a laugh, a summer afternoon in the shade, and then when it got dark, a case of beer. A nightly ritual I had to cut short, reminding you smugly of the hot date I had to pick up in an hour.
'Sweep her off her feet, Romeo.' You had laughed as I'd picked up my bike, leaving the remaining two beers at your disposal. 'See y'tomorrow.'
Waving over my shoulder, I left you lying in the middle of the tracks. 'Don't get hit by a train, stupid!' I'd hollered as I rode away. You threw an empty bottle after me, and I laughed as it shattered on the cross ties far behind.
Nine 'o clock on the dot, and I was standing outside of Kelly's door in my football jacket, with a bouquet of cheap flowers in my hand and my blond hair slicked back into perfection. I'd even borrowed and washed my Dad's car for the occasion.
She opened the door when I rang, smiled brilliantly, and thanking me for the flowers, took them inside and left me standing on the front porch with that old lovesick puppy expression. I gathered my wits back up enough to take her arm when she returned to the door and escort her to the car. That would have to score me a point or two, I'd thought.
According to my thoughts later that night, I'd had the best date of my life. As I'd dropped Kelly off, I walked her to the door, secretly hoping she'd invite me in. On the porch, she turned to me, smiling about half-way as she ran her fingers along the arm of my jacket.
'I had a great time, Johnny. I'd really like to do it again sometime.'
I had enough presence of mind to process that, and my heart skipped as I comprehended the meaning of that statement.
We were dating.
I, Johnny Moorhouse, was dating Kelly Daye, one of the most popular girls at our school. That made me her boyfriend.
I was so high on that thought that I brashly decided to press my luck. Gently, yet gallantly, I slipped an arm around her waist and bent my head for a kiss. Somehow, I was still surprised when she returned it.
I left walking on air.
My happiness lasted exactly four weeks, as I continued seeing Kelly and left her house every night with my lips tingling and my head in the clouds. You laughed at my childish enthusiasm and lovesick expressions, and never missed a chance to make a good-humored jab at one or both of us.
As the three of us sat in the pizza parlor, Kelly and I with one arm around each other, you would tell the waiter, 'Sorry, I'm the only one who'll be ordering. Those two can't eat pizza with one hand.'
Since you left, all I can think about in moments like that are the jokes you would have made, and the things you would have said, and although they might have been annoying or irritating at the time, now I would trade anything to hear just one of them, just one more time.
Like I said, four weeks of pure bliss, and then Kelly dropped me like a hot potato. No reason, no phone call, just a note on her door the night of a predetermined date to inform me very bluntly that things weren't working out and she had decided to break up with me.
I stood there for perhaps ten minutes, gaping at her door like a fish out of water, wide open mouth and all.
I dropped the flowers. Not the ones from the drugstore; these were the colorful wildflowers I'd hunted along the tracks for and picked myself. I'd even borrowed a ribbon from my Mom to tie them with. I dropped them on the porch, and after a few minutes of further gawking, I turned on my heel and left them there.
I felt slightly sick to my stomach for reasons I could pinpoint, and so when I got home, I went straight to bed, ignoring the worried looks my parents shot after me as I entered the house and trekked up the stairs without a word to either of them. I spent the night staring at my ceiling, feeling strangely numb and detached as I wondered where exactly I had gone wrong, and when exactly I had gone wrong, and why, exactly, hadn't I seen this coming? There hadn't been a single sign to warn me; not one clue to tell me of this impending doom.
I'd gone through break-ups before... But wasn't there usually a reason of some kind?
Over the next few days, I refused to snap out of my funk. I spent the hours with you at the tracks in gloomy silence, still immeasurably perturbed by what had happened. It was obvious I was making you very uncomfortable, but I wasn't in the mood to care at the time. You tried to talk to me about the incident a couple of times, and since I hadn't told you about it directly, I assumed the word was circulating around town. That angered me even more. Now everyone knew what a loser I was.
'Dude, I'm sorry about Kelly'' You tried to say, sitting on the track across from me with your elbows on your knees.
Arms crossed tightly, I glared down at the pebbles under the cross-ties like it was their fault, or at the very least, they were hiding the answers to all the questions I had.
'Johnny, you listening?' You tried again, shifting uncomfortably.
'I hear you.' I snapped.
'Look, I'm sorry. Seriously, I am, but it was her choice. Are you mad about it?'
'Am I mad about it?' I blinked, and looked up at him. 'What do you think, Derrick? Would you be mad about it? I don't even know why the hell she dumped me.'
You flinched, and I wasn't in the right mind to understand the look that fleeted across your face. 'You don't know why?' You repeated slowly, as if that didn't make sense.
'No, I don't.'
'She said she told you.'
I frowned. 'You've been talking to her?' I cut myself off on the very edge of spewing a torrent of names and descriptions that in my state of my mind, seemed to apply to her perfectly.
'Well'' You froze, and shrugged stiffly. 'Yeah, I mean''
'What the hell do you know about it...' I muttered angrily, seeing red as I stood and jerked my bike off the ground.
'Hold on a sec, Johnny'' You stood, and stepping after me, tried to grab my arm. Impatiently, I jerked away, unwilling to look at you.
'I just gotta be alone, Derrick.' I snapped harshly, mounting my bike. In a brief flash of clarity, I hesitated, but not for long. 'I'll see you tomorrow.' I said a little regretfully, and without waiting for you to reply, I took off.
'No, wait!' You called after me. 'Hey, wait up a sec! Johnny!!'
I ignored you. I didn't even look back, because I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to listen to you. A joker, perhaps, but if I gave you half a chance I knew you'd sort everything out into boxes and categories, and rationally explain it all until I was mad at you just for being smarter than I was and being able to see the big picture when I couldn't. I didn't want to listen to you be rational, and I sure didn't want to start getting rational myself. I just wanted to be angry and depressed and hurt until my emotional storm blew itself out.
Before I turned on the road back into town, I turned to look back up the tracks. To my surprise, I could still see you standing there, staring after me, a tiny speck in the distance. Still feeling a little guilty after my abrupt departure, I waved my arm high in the air at you. I waited until you waved back with a fraction of your usual energy, and then I stood on the pedals and took off back into town.
I wasn't ready to go home, since I knew I'd only face another barrage of unanswered questions from my parents, so I spent nearly two hours riding aimlessly around town, sometimes pedaling so fast down an empty street that my legs burned, and sometimes wandering through an alley so slowly I probably could have walked faster.
It was close to dark when my growling stomach decided it would no longer stand to be ignored, and I caught the wafting scent drifting from the back door of the pizza parlor. Remembering all the times I'd taken Kelly to eat there, yet still hungry, I threw my bike against the brick wall in front of the restaurant and headed for the door.
With my hand on the metal of the doorframe, I froze, the blood in my veins going cold. Through the newly-cleaned glass, I saw you. And Kelly. Together. Sitting at the same table where Kelly and I had shared so many dates, there you sat. I watched in twisted fascination as she sidled up to you and started to snake her arm over your shoulder. You pushed her off and moved away, but that meant nothing to me. Nor the fact that the two of you seemed to be arguing. You looked angry, and she looked sheepish and even a little guilty. None of that processed. I just stared at you, hoping the gaze would bore two eye-sized holes right through the middle of your traitorous heart.
After a moment, Kelly, who didn't seem to be listening very hard to whatever you were saying, spotted me. I had a moment's satisfaction in seeing her blush, and then you looked too. Our eyes met, and you went pale. You mouthed my name, but I spun away, nearly stumbling in my rage as I picked up my bike and began to walk it away.
I heard the pizza parlor door fly open behind me, and running footsteps in pursuit.
'Johnny!' You said, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around. 'Hold on, Johnny, it's not what''
'No? Then what the hell is it?!' I screamed in your face, hitting your hand away, just as I had earlier that day. This time, I wanted to break it off at the elbow.
'I know it looks bad, Johnny, but I didn't''
'You know what, Derrick?' I seethed, stepping up until I was right in your face. 'I don't want to hear it. I see it now. I can see why she broke up with me, and I can see that you'' I jabbed you in the chest hard enough to knock you back a step, 'You'my best friend since freaking kindergarten'are nothing but a lying, cheating, back-stabbing bastard!'
I didn't want to hit you; I really didn't. My fists were thinking otherwise, and I was clenching them so hard my arms were shaking. Telling myself vehemently that you weren't worth the energy, I turned away, nostrils flaring and breath coming fast as I willed the red tint away from the edges of my vision. I don't think I've ever been so angry in all my life.
'Johnny!' You tried one last time, a hint of pleading in your voice; not coming after me, but still trying. 'Just wait.'
I turned slowly. Glaring at you, I spat viciously, 'Go to hell, Derrick.'
You never listened to me Derick. Not once in your life. I hope you didn't start then. I'm counting on that to hold true, or I swear to God I couldn't live with myself. I can barely do that as it is; thinking that you might have taken me literally would just kill me. God, I swear it would kill me. It might already be starting to.
Guess where I am right now? Guess where I'm sitting, replaying those words in my head?
You don't have to guess; you know. Whether you're in heaven or hell, or sitting in limbo somewhere just guessing, you know where I am. It's where I always am, if not physically, than at least inside my head.
There's a rusty-brown colored stain on the track where I'm sitting, a little darker than the dirt and oil stains in other places. What is it? Is it blood? I imagine so. I imagine that this is exactly where it happened. That seems about right; it's pretty much the same spot we always came to hang out. We spent hours out here on these tracks, days even.
When we were younger we could amuse ourselves for countless hours walking on the straight rails and seeing who would fall off first. When we got a little bigger, we would have full-out fights on them, reaching across and trying to push each other off without losing our own balance.
At an even older age, that game got old, and we'd come at dawn to just lay on the tracks and stare at the sky and talk about life in general. Why teenagers have the innate urge to spend the majority of their time in a stupid, potentially dangerous place, we couldn't say. Maybe we saw it as laughing in the face of danger in the only way you can when you live in a remote town in the-middle-of-nowhere, California.
Laying across the tracks: What a thrill! Boy, were we brave!
Idiots.
We even used to joke about someday falling asleep there, and having a train come by and run us over. Taking it even further, we would joke about what they would write on our epitaphs if that happened, making up ridiculous sentiments and stupid poems.
'Here lies Derrick Fletcher,' we would jest,
'Just as he lay across the tracks,
The only difference is that, now,
He lays in different halfs.'
Or, 'Here rests Johnny Moorhouse; we hope he rests in peace, for he will certainly rest in pieces.'
Like the idiots we were, we would hoot and laugh like we'd just made up the world's funniest joke, and received a trophy for it too.
God! Idiots. I can't even think of another word for it.
So how about it, Derrick? Why are the tracks stained red here? Why are there shards of broken beer bottles all over the place?
Why did you have to come here to die?
Did you get drunk first? Or did you just think about it, and then throw the bottles down onto the tracks and watch them shatter? Did you yell and rant and scream at the sky? We used to do that too; I wouldn't put it beyond you.
How bad did I hurt you? Did it hurt you more the things that I said, or knowing that you hurt me?
Because right now, that's what hurts me most for me. The knowing I hurt you. The knowing that the very last words you heard from me, and the very last time you ever saw me, I hated you. I hated you, Derrick, and I wanted you to die.
Or at least, I thought that was what I wanted.
So, you say, I got my wish. You're dead; you literally 'went to hell', just like I told you to the last time I saw you. Did you come here because of me, Derrick? I can't help but think so.
I'm so sorry, man.
Am I allowed to say that? Is that appropriate? Can I get down and grovel in the dirt and cry and scream the injustice of it all, and hope you, or God, might forgive me for what I did? Am I even allowed the hope of repentance? If I'm not, it would only be fair. I don't deserve to be forgiven for this. Not now; not ever.
Kelly came to me, at your funeral, and told me what happened. I guess even her cold heart was starting to feel a little shook-up, because she admitted the truth. She'd told you that I knew why she'd broken up with me. You thought I knew, and when you found out that evening I didn't, you met her at the pizza parlor to demand the truth, and in short, break all ties with her. Your greatest fear, she'd said, was that I'd find out and think you'd betrayed me.
I didn't cry in front of her; I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. I'll try to forgive her someday, Derrick, because knowing you, you would want me to. But not now. Not now, or tomorrow, or soon. Just someday.
Now, I sit here on the tracks. It's been one year to the day, and I'm dimly wondering why, when a train comes through every other day, it had chosen to come at that moment one year ago. It had come out of the darkness of an angry heart and a broken one, and destroyed both in one fell swoop. It had changed me, broken me, and it changed you'it killed you.
Like I said, I didn't cry there at the funeral, in front of Kelly. But when I got home, I took one look around my empty room, and I collapsed right there, with the door open and everything. I knelt on the floor and bawled like a baby. I sobbed, and raged, and sobbed some more.
We were closer than family, the two of us. Brothers in all but blood, ever since we were kids. Over.
We'd always boasted to each other about how strong we were. Pull-up contests, bench-pressing wars, and football records. We were strong, we'd say, and try to prove ourselves each stronger than the other.
And I realized as I sat there and cried, just as I realize now, a year to the day from then...
I have only ever been as strong as my best friend.
And now that you're gone... I'm nothing.
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Author's Note: This was originally penned for a writing challange on another website that I did not end up entering. The prompt was a sepia-toned photograph of someone looking down the railroad tracks, and so that was the image I sought to incorporate into this story. You will have to let me know whether or not I suceeded. =) Thanks,
-RLT
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