Chapter 4

The past, present, and the future surround me as I lie on my bed writing all this down. My last journal notes (now about 10-20 pages) are stacked up neatly on my left, piling higher and higher as I continue to scrawl all of this onto paper in front of me. Looking back at what I've written so far, I can't help feeling a little regret. I wish I had treated Tony a little better that day. I wish I had never lied to Alan about Akisha, or at least supported her a little better after Alan's passing. I wish I had been closer to Francie and Paul; they're good people. There is nothing left now but a regurgitation of the past, and contemplation what could have been.

I admit I�ve no idea why I am doing all of this. I�ve no aspiring plans to be a journalist or novelist, yet I feel compelled to jot all this dow-no, not compelled. I MUST write this down. There�s something chewing the other end of my sanity and I feel if I don�t record this it will all come back to me one day to haunt me. Maybe all this will serve as a poignant reminder sometime later in the future, or something to laugh about and reminisce when I�m an old fart at 80.

When I reached home that night I saw Francie waiting by the opened door leaning against the frame. I didn't expect her to wait up for me; she had stopped doing that 3 years ago. I thought it was because I had missed dinner but she usually kept it in the microwave whenever I came home late. She and Paul never lectured me 'cause they knew I wasn�t the type to run around late at night smoking grass. Yet there she was, with both of her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Though she hadn't reached her middle-age years, grey hairs were beginning to appear strand by strand in her once jet-black permed hair. She reminded me of old Mother Virgil, except for her crooked nose and her age-battered face which looked like it had endured a lifetime of heartaches and headaches (probably triggered by my first arrival). I greeted her liked I always did.

"I'm home Fran,"

"Dante, is it true?" she said.

I knew what she meant but I didn't answer her. I just walked past her into the hallway and made my way to my room to dump my bag. I went to the kitchen to nuke my dinner, but when I tried to return to my room, I found my way blocked by Francie again.

"Honey, why didn�t you tell us?" she pleaded with me.

"...it wasn't important," I replied. It was a pathetic excuse, but to be honest, I didn't feel like talking to her then. I just wanted to go back to my room and eat by myself. I tried to walk past her again but she pressed on with her interrogation, sidestepping to obscure my path.

"How could you say that? You and Alan have been friends since both first met at the..."

"...I'm tired. I'm going back in,"

I pushed her away and slammed the door. Francie called out my name and knocked on the door repeatedly but I ignored her. She stopped after awhile, giving up on persuading me to open the door. At first I thought, How could she have known? But on the other hand, it would have been impossible to keep it a secret, especially in a small town like Rosedale. She would have heard it from 'Big-Mouth' Bertha, the hairdresser who worked at Misty's Wonderhair.

Misty's Wonderhair had only 5 seats inside but it was big enough to host a small Tupperware party. From outside, the shop letterings and painting of a chirpy woman's head on the shop's glass front had faded to a pale yellow, small flecks of paint peeling off speck by speck to be blown away by afternoon winds. It was a spot for Rosedale's spinsters and hags, spending their afternoon getting their hair fried in large green cones and then passing comments to each other about how wonderful their hair and nails looked. Bertha was the town's unofficial loudmouth, always keeping herself busy and up-to-date with the local news and gossip. I heard she used to be very pretty in the 70's, but fixing women's hair isn't what one would call an aerobics activity, so as the years went on so did the rolls of fat piling up on her body making her round and fat like a mother sow (which probably made her lips fatter too).

I switched on the stereo and played a CD as I sat down on my chair to eat dinner. It was lukewarm; I hadn't warmed it long enough. I didn't want to go out and confront Francis again, so I stayed put in my room and ate my dinner as it was. The disc began to spin to life in the stereo and the sound of Noel's voice filled the room.

Today is gonna be the day That they're gonna throw it back to you By now you should've somehow Realised what you gotta do I don't believe that anybody Feels the way I do about you now

And all the roads we have to walk are winding And all the lights that lead us there are blinding There are many things that I would Like to say to you But I don't know how

Because maybe You're gonna be the one that saves me? And after all You're my wonderwall

Just then, the sound of the front door being swung close echoed from outside. It was a sign that Paul was home (he always came home the same time everyday). I lowered the stereo's volume and with my hand cupped one ear next to the door, struggling to hear if they would talk about Alan too. I couldn't hear very well through the thick wooden frame at that time, but this was what I made out most of the conversation:

"Hey, I'm home,"

"..."

"What's wrong Fran? What happened?"

"I-It's about Dante,"

"...What has he done now?"

"Nothing...but Alan..."

"Alan? You mean Dante's old friend? What's happened to him? Is he alright?"

"A-Alan he...oh God, Paul..."

All I could hear next was more stifled sobbing from Francie. They must have moved to another room to talk then because I heard nothing more after that. My head was aching. I went back to my bed with the stereo softly playing the remainder of the CD, lulling me to sleep:

...Where were you while we were getting high? Slowly walking down the hall Faster than a cannon ball Where were you while we were getting high?

Some day you will find me Caught beneath the landslide In a champagne supernova in the sky Some day you will find me Caught beneath the landslide In a champagne supernova Champagne supernova

How many special people change How many lives are living strange Where were you while we were getting high? While we were getting high We were getting high...

Where were you Alan?

Where are you now?





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