Life went on. I learned more lovely news each day. Roger had chopped up his wrists so badly that he�d needed extensive surgery just to keep the use of his fingers, but he hadn�t helped his recovery much by tearing off all the bandages and attacking the doctor the instant he was conscious again. He was so out of control and violent that they had to keep restraining him. I wondered if they put him in a straight jacket. No one would say. They had him medicated to a near coma and then shipped him to some place with a fancy name�though it was really an asylum for crazy people, no matter what they tried to tell me. There he�d be kept away from the other lunatics and watched so that he didn�t destroy himself. They�d feed him every drug they could until his brain fixed itself, and they�d make strange people named Dr. Someone try to talk him back to sanity. This wasn�t the first time he�d had an attack of violent madness, but it was without a doubt the most severe and most dangerous. Like his mother had said, every now and then he�d had episodes where he�d very nearly lost it. Times like that his father had restrained him and held him to the floor until he�d calmed down and was back to normal. But those were rare and brief�this showed no sign of letting up. This was the superlative of any attack he�d ever had, and it had completely taken him over. He really was psycho. It was strange to imagine him that way. When I thought of Roger, I thought of my best friend with the white smile and beautiful eyes, the man who used to drive around the reservoir in circles for hours just because he still couldn�t believe he owned a convertible. He was the man who always stood up for me when I was being picked on, and never forgot to tell me how much he cared about me. He was emotional and affectionate, and a large part of him had never grown up but remained a loving and easily pleased child. He was undoubtedly a jerk sometimes, with his fiery temper and violent hands, but he always apologized and made it up to me somehow. �and maybe he only hit me when he was angry because that was what his first mother had taught him. I wish it were harder to believe that he was insane. But I�d seen glimpses of his madness before, hadn�t I? That night in the cemetery, when he was convinced he was responsible for his father�s death, was surely an omen of what was happening now. And all those strange looks I�d caught from him, those unusual glints�and how he�d attacked me with the knife�no doubt those had been caused by sudden bouts of insanity? I should have known sooner. It broke my heart that my beloved was suffering so much, that he was a prisoner of his own mind. It hurt, also, to think that all these years I�d never known. Did he think I would have broken off our friendship if I�d known about his psychological problems? Would I have loved him less? No. I didn�t now, and I wouldn�t have then. He should have been able to tell me, should have trusted that I would never leave him for something he couldn�t help, something he didn�t want. Why didn�t he tell me?! �Why hadn�t I ever told him I was gay? The answers were more obvious than I�d thought.
Everything was completely different. School wasn�t even remotely the same as it had been before, and I knew it never would be again. I only went because I had to. What did I care about grades? I knew what�who�I truly cared about, and I might never see him again. I spent all of school talking to him in my head�praying, I guess. No one bothered me anymore, and for two weeks I barely said a word or acknowledged anyone else�s presence. �Except for one incident, one foul, disgusting day. After school one day I overheard the putrid voice of Pete Shannon, his raucous sneers rising above the heads of all of us as we waited outside for our rides and buses. �Oh my God, did you hear what happened to O�Donnell? The fag went freaking psycho! No lie! They friggin� took him away in a straight jacket! HA! About time! Serves him right, the arrogant sonofa�� I tried to kill him. I didn�t even think before I tackled him�he was suddenly on the ground beneath me and my fingers were curled around his throat�I was banging his head back and forth against the icy pavement�and punching him, somehow�he was screaming and crying, too stunned to fight back�I dug my nails into his jugular�he choked�everyone around me was yelling�hands grabbed at me, arms wrapped around my waist�they finally grabbed me and threw me off him, then held me down as I tried to scramble back to him, screaming and hollering myself hoarse, completely blinded by tears. Pete�s face was covered in blood, and he didn�t get up for a long time. When he finally sat up, he clutched at his throat, which was dark red and pecked with tiny gashes from my fingernails. He stared at me in absolute horror�everyone was�it suddenly seemed as if the entire student body had circled around us�teachers and parents, too�Fuck, I was being held down by my 10th grade History teacher and someone�s father. I burst into tears and collapsed to the ground. �I hope you die�I HOPE YOU FUCKING DIE!� I screamed at Pete, bawling uncontrollably. Strong arms wrapped around mine and pulled me to my feet�teachers� arms. I was in such shit. Some teacher was bellowing at me, but I couldn�t respond, couldn�t do a blessed thing but sob and shake�everyone was gaping at me. But before the teachers hauled me into the school, I heard someone say to Pete: �God, what are you, brainless? Talking about Roger like that in front of Arik!� That made it all worth it. I swelled with pride. �Don�t worry, I won�t let anyone make fun of you,� I vowed. �I promise.� And I meant that. He breathed deeply. �Thank you. That-that means a lot to me.� And I finally, after waiting since ninth grade, got my chance to punch Pete Shannon.
I got off easier than I should have, considering how badly I could have hurt Pete. Apparently, witnesses claimed I had been provoked, and they were all peeved by what he had said as well, so they were on my side. The administration took into consideration what had happened to Roger, and my �delicate emotional state� because of it. In fact, the first person I was sent to was not the head of discipline, the vice principal, but Ms. Janet. I was let off with a Saturday detention and scheduled daily counseling sessions for the next two weeks. Which, I realized once I calmed down, was a hell of a bargain. My parents were not pleased. They only found out when Mrs. Shannon called later that afternoon and blasted my mother�s ear with: DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOUR SON DID TO MY POOR PETE?! Dead-eyed, I responded to my parents� scolding shouts with: �If that bastard EVER talks about Roger that way again, I�ll take a gun and blow his fucking brains out.� That stunned my parents into momentary, horrified silence. They knew I meant it. �Don�t say things like that,� my father replied in a low, stony voice. �Why not?!� I snapped back, glaring heatedly. �He�s done nothing but pick on me since fist grade, and he�s never said a single good thing to or about Roger. I wish he were dead! I wish more than anything that all this had happened to HIM, not Roger! The prick deserves it!� �My God, Arik!� my mother exclaimed. �What are you saying?! You and Pete have been friends since you were little kids�!� �WE WERE NEVER FRIENDS!� �For God�s sake, Arik, you were best friends!� �ROGER IS MY BEST FRIEND!� I screamed. �He�s the only friend I�ve ever had, and that little red-headed bitch can�t even compare to him!� �Watch your language!� Mum barked. �And lower your voice! There�s no reason for this! You haven�t been acting at all like yourself for weeks! Saying awful things like this, getting in fights at school, getting sent home!� �Well, SORRY!� I exploded, shaking from head to toe. How dare they�didn�t they have any idea how much pain I was in?! �My best friend tried to kill himself�WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?!� Mum and Dad looked at me levelly, breathing slowly in and out. �Arik,� my mother began, kneading at her forehead, �you have to stop this. Listen. Your father and I know you�re upset about Roger, and we understand. We know this has been very hard for you. �But you CANNOT let one tragedy ruin your life. It�s awful what happened to Roger, but the truth is, this has been going on for years in one way or another. We know that you cared a lot about him, but you can�t let his problems bring you down so low that you can�t function. There�s no reason for two lives to be ruined because of one person�s problems. �This is only one tragedy in a long life. It may be the worst, or it may not. But things get better�and life goes on. You have to get over this, honey.� My head was spinning, and I felt sick. They were telling me not to be upset? Mum came over and stroked a hand down the side of my face. �I�m only saying this because I want what�s best for you in the long run.� I wanted to protest�how could they possibly be telling me these things?�but they didn�t understand. They didn�t know how I�d really felt about Roger�they didn�t know I was gay�they didn�t know anything. What was the use? �O-okay,� I whispered, ducking my head. �Y-you�re right. I�m sorry. I�ll try to stop being so upset.� �We know you�re grieving, Arik. That part is okay. You just cannot let it control your life.� I smiled at them. �I understand. Thanks.� They smiled back at me, and I went into the living room to watch TV.
I haven�t been remotely honest with my parents since. |