Mordecai
02-27-2011, 11:28 PM
I'm a sophomore in a small private school that believes strongly in integrating art and academics. I've written a few stories for my honors literature class, and I've gotten acceptable grades, but if anyone had to time to give me feedback (or just sit and read some short stories) then I'd love to hear about what you think.
"Somehow I knew I'd be seeing you again." Jordan jogged up to the boy in black and sucked in large gulps of the winter air. Her hair was messy and her cheeks were flushed from the run. She wasn't in the mood for his ego.
"That's just because you know everything, right?" she snapped at him, slightly panting.
"No," he frowned. "Not everything. I just know enough to get by."
"Is that what you've been doing since you left, Josh? Getting by? You used to actually want something better than that." Despite the chill, she felt her face growing hot with anger and discontent. The memories weighed her down. Way back when, the two were closer than Siamese twins, but the boy who stood in front of her now was just another nameless big city kid. Remembering how things used to be felt like a bullet in her heart. For a moment, Jordan thought she had begun to choke, but it was just a lump of misery that had formed in her throat. "Oh, Josh, what did you do to yourself?" she asked him softly.
"I still have goals, Jordan. I want to live not just get by. But things are tough. Shit happens. Times are hard right now." Josh stared down at the girl. He couldn't make out the expression on her face. It was like trying to read an old page where water had met the ink, ruining what could have been beautiful words. He just wasn't sure what to make of it. A few years ago, he would have been able to tell that she was on the brink of tears, but not anymore. Jordan sniffled and secretly tried to blame it on the cold, but she was just lying to herself. Josh couldn't see that she was trying not to cry.
"Jordan, I'm sorry. I just... sometimes..." Josh wasn't quite sure what to say. Words had never been his strong suit. It was why he left without saying goodbye. "You just, well, you wouldn't get it."
"Please don't tell me this again." It was the last thing she wanted to hear right now. It was the last thing she heard from him for two years. "Joshua, why'd you have to leave? Why?"
"I didn't leave by choice, Jordan. Scott made me, remember?" To tell the truth, Jordan honestly hadn't remembered what happened that day. She had always been good at blocking the most painful memories. This one wasn't an exception, but she forced herself to recall the details of what had happened.
First week of 8th grade and things were going great. Her birthday party was in a few weeks and she already had huge plans for the next few days. She had been invited to a high school party thrown by some 10th grade girl on the soccer team being held at some big name casino's pool. Jordan was in a great mood as she entered her house and hadn't bothered to pay attention to the unusual silence. Instead of wondering, she whistled the tune to some radio song.
Jordan bounced up the stairs taking two at a time. The first sight that anyone who used to the stairs saw was a black door and a bright red "Keep Out" sign. One Halloween, Josh had put up fluorescent police tape on his door but never took it off. Today, the decorations were littering the floor and the black door was cracked open.
Jordan set her backpack down on the stairs and quietly made her way towards the open door, only to see her step father hovering over her brother. Scott was a tall, burly kind of guy. He moved away from his parents when he was a teenager and became a Marine. Scott was a force to be reckoned with. He wasn't a man that people chose to argue with, but her brother did... everyday. Jordan's eyes then moved towards her brother. He was tall but not very lean. She always thought that he had a very "rock star" kind of look about him. When they were both younger, people used to ask if they were twins, despite the two year age difference. Now, his long auburn hair had been dyed black and any hints of a tan had long faded.
There was Josh, her amazing rock star wannabe brother, huddled against the wall of his room on the floor. Scott's empty beer bottle had been discarded on the carpet. It was quite a contrast to the cans of Mountain Dew lying around. Jordan couldn't remember the details from this point on. Scott was speaking to Josh. She knew she heard it all. Scott was incapable of using an inside voice, but the only words she could remember hearing were "out of my house."
"Fine," Josh had snapped up at him. When he stood up, Jordan could recall the bright, bright red mark on his left cheek. It was about the size and shape of a coiled fist. She was forced to step aside to make room for her large father.
"What did you do?!" she screamed at him. Scott just shook his head and mentioned something about everyone "being better off" without Josh... Jordan felt paralyzed as she stared at her brother. That day, something inside of her kind of died. It was worse than losing her best friend. They were so close. Losing Josh was like losing half of her brain.
"Josh? Josh, what are you -"
"Don't ask me questions right now," he said angrily. He picked out an old backpack of his and dumped out the entire contents.
"Are you leaving?" Jordan asked him. He didn't reply. Instead, he began to throw random clothes into the worn out school bag. "Josh, don't ignore my question. I asked if you were -"
"Yes, Jordan. I'm leaving."
"Why?"
"You wouldn't get it." Those words hit her like a slap in the face. He always did that. When he was going through a tough time, he treated her like a little girl that couldn't comprehend anything. She remembered getting angry. She stormed out of his room and went back down the stairs to get her shoes on. Jordan honestly thought about running away, too. But she had so much to do. There was no where to go, now way for a young girl to make living. Once she got outside, she began jogging, and then it turned into an all out sprint. She was angry, but she decided to let it out in a more positive way. The words "You wouldn't get it" rang through her head until she was forced to run towards the busier parts of the city, where the sounds of the concrete jungle would do that for her. She had run... all the way to the abandoned subway station doorway, where she was standing now. That had been the last time she saw her brother before he left.
"You just left." Jordan sighed and shook her head. "So there's nothing I can say to make you come back home?"
"I'm sorry, Jordan. You know there isn't." The girl sniffled and dabbed at the teardrops threatening to fall. "So it's just like last time? You're going to leave and not talk to me until I find you? Will you at least try to keep in touch with me?"
"Maybe," Josh mused. He took a step towards her and ruffled her hair. It didn't make much difference compared to what the wind and snow had done. "I'll find you next time, though. I promise." Jordan wasn't sure what else there was to say. She felt as if she was trapped in a burning room and there was no way to make it out unscathed.
"Where are you going?" She asked him.
"I'm not sure yet, but I'll let you know when I get there." The was a moment of silence between the two. Of course, it wasn't real silence. The city was never silent, even at this hour of night. Jordan watched her older brother's face as emotion flickered in his eyes, as if he desperately wanted to say something more and couldn't find the words. She knew the look well enough to know there was nothing more that had to be said.
"Well, goodbye, Josh."
"Bye, Jordy-bean."
"I'll miss you," she whispered. Jordan was afraid to look up and see him walking away and opted to stare at her feet instead.
"Yeah," Josh said. "I know. Now go home, Jordan, while you still have one."
Nathaniel Young was amazing, or so everyone said. He was just one of those guys - you know - those guys who had girls throwing themselves on their knees in front of them. It was hard to go one day without hearing something along the lines of "Oh my god, Nate Young is so hot." Nathan Young’s fan base wasn’t limited to just females. Every high school male seemed to have some opinion of him, too. Those opinions varied greatly, of course. His friends liked him; they were just jealous because Nate got the hottest girls and every coach he's ever had has loved him. He didn’t like teachers, but his 3.56 grade point average sure made teachers like him. Naturally, there were the other kids who didn't like him at all. If you ask me, the quiet kids who wore nothing but black to school and spent every lunch hour inside a classroom discussing obscure bands that nobody else cared about, they had the best opinions. It always made me laugh to see "Nate Young is a faggot" written on a wall or carved into the old paint of a bathroom stall.
From an unbiased point of view, it wasn't hard to see what made him so great. There was a never-ending list of reasons as to why people liked him. Not to sound queer, but he wasn’t unattractive. Even during puberty, it was like God smiled down on him and said, "Hey, kid, look. Don't worry about these next few years. I got this." Not once can I recall Nathan Young breaking out in zits before picture day. He didn't have to think twice about making out with girls who had
braces or not being able to do school work because he forgot his gay looking glasses and couldn’t see properly. I don't even think he went through that awkward period of time where his clothes never fit because he kept growing out of them before they got old. It was almost as if, one day, he suddenly woke up being 6’3’’ and more muscular.
Of course, it probably sounds like I'm blowing this way out of proportion. Nate Young finished the last chapter of puberty before some of us got our hands on the book. Why should I care? Maybe if I hadn’t grown up constantly being compared to him, I wouldn’t. If I were anyone else, the teenage problems that Nate Young didn’t go through would be none of my concern. I would probably be less bitter if people could meet me for me, but it seems like every introduction I’ve ever done went something like this:
"Oh, hi, I'm Jake Young… Yeah, I am related to Nate. Yep, he's my older brother… No, I don't play any sports… Yeah, I guess we're close enough… How's Nate doing? Oh, just great. Congratulations on the recent win? Don’t worry, I'll tell him. It was nice meeting you, too."
I know what you're thinking. I'm just jealous, right? Go find another all star athlete and meet their younger siblings. I don't think they absolutely love their lives, either. The problem that I had about hating Nate was that he was such a good kid. He did charity work and donated blood regularly. Unless they were part of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Nathan had no qualms when it came to going out of his way to help somebody.
As far as any adult was concerned, Nate Young was the epitome of perfect child. You could hand him almost anything and he could find some way to shine. Hand him a bat and he’d hit a home run. If you stuck him in an ice rink with a stick and puck, he'd show you a hat trick. Toss him a basketball and he could make it from half court. When it came to sports, Nate was a beast. He was incredible in his element. In all essence, he was Superman, with his one weakness: Nate’s Friday nights were usually spent winning a football game and attempting to eat the biggest dish at the local Mexican place. After a Saturday with his girlfriend, there was often a party being held somewhere, and occasionally, his Sunday mornings were spent locked in his room with a hangover.
I know what you're thinking. I hate my brother, so why should I care so much? Well, until I'm old enough to get my license, I'm forced to rely on him. For six more months, my main methods of transportation were a big yellow bus and my brother’s ’96 Jeep Cherokee. Of course, he had his sports and his girlfriend to attend to all the time. It wasn't unusual for me to wait a few hours for my brother to finish practice or the latest block buster.
I didn't really mind it that much, really. After you deal with this kind of crap for so long it just becomes the norm and you really don't care that much anymore. I had pretty much convinced myself that I was alright with waiting for my hard ass brother to quit his partying so I could go home. Usually, I was a pretty patient person, but that patience wears thin when it's early November and I'm stuck sitting on the steps of a closed library, freezing my balls off and waiting for my brother to take me home.
Not even an hour had passed before a certain car caught my eye. At 10pm on a Friday, you really wouldn't expect to see drunk drivers on the road just yet. That was more common between the hours of midnight and 3am, when bartenders start to get sick of their patrons, or the keg stand kids decided to migrate to the house of someone whose parents don't care. It took me by surprise that there was a drunk driver wandering around town already. It wasn't until the car pulled up in
front of the library that I realized who it was.
My stupid brother parked so that his headlights shone directly on the steps of the public
library. He must have been trying to figure out whether or not it was me. It isn't like I had a very distinctive figure, just my regular jeans and a jacket attire, like I wore every day. Nate must have realized it was me because he flashed his high beams. Twice. For him, this was Morse code for "I'm here, get your ass in the car." I hurriedly made my way towards the driver's side when a mop of dark brown hair peaked out of the vehicle as my brother rolled his windows down.
"Jake, what the hell are you doing?" he asked me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and the thought of getting in the car with him made my stomach do summersaults.
"I should ask you the same thing. You shouldn't be driving, Nate."
"Hey,” he snapped, “you're lucky I even came here to pick you up."
"If I knew you were going to get drunk then I would have called someone else," I frowned. "Just let me drive home, Nate."
"If you don't get in the car right now I'm going to leave you here," he threatened.
"Nathan, you don't need to be driving. Give me the keys."
"I don't need your bullshit right now, Jake. Get in the damn car." My brother and I had a staring contest, both of us glaring at each other resolutely, but I already knew I wouldn't win this battle. I never did. Instead, I just shook my head and got in the backseat of the car. There wasn’t enough time to buckle my seatbelt before the black jeep began to move.
I could feel the car weaving back and forth between the lane, and I eyed my brother. He
looked focused, but I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The speed limit was 25 but
we were going 34. I took a breath and tried not to worry. I couldn't help but think that the car smelled strongly of teenage girl. The stench of his girlfriend's cheap perfume clung to the entire car and it was giving me a migraine.
"Nate, you made a really stupid decision tonight," I told him, slouching back in the seat and resting my knees against the seat in front of me.
"Hey, don't be a bitch," he snapped at me. I'm pretty sure I heard him mutter something along the lines of "Someone already did that tonight." I didn't have to think about who it was. His girlfriend, Chloe King, was a total babe. She was head cheerleader and a track star, as well. The only thing would make her hotter is if she didn't talk so much. She was one of those girls who cared about animals and women's rights and not getting high. It was weird. She was a party animal. She'd get drunk all the time - the pictures were all over Facebook - but she was against drugs of any form.
"For good reason, too," I mumbled. Nate turned in his seat to glare at me. His mouth opened to shoot me an insult, so he didn't see the yellow light appearing at 40 miles an hour.
"Nate, turn around!" I yelled. His insult died on his lips as he he realized that we couldn't stop in time for the red light. To the left, there was a large semi trying to turn onto the intersection. If we had kept going, Nate would have hit the trailer head on for sure.
I don't even know what happened in the next few seconds. I could have sworn I heard my brother say something like "Jake, I'm sorry," but looking back now, I could have imagined that. The last thought that went through my head was just that: a thought. My mouth opened to speak to my brother, but there just wasn't time. All I know was that the car jerked sharply to the right before
there the explosion of noise. At first, it felt like dead silence, and then a cacophony of sound erupted. I heard the crunching metal, squealing tires, and shattering glass, but I didn't feel a thing until I woke up in the hospital.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a baby blue ceiling. It took me a second to realize the obnoxious beeping was coming from the IV beside my bed. My head was still throbbing. I could still smell Chloe's perfume, and it was still giving me a migraine.
"Hi, Jake." I frowned for a second, and then I heard it again. "Hi, Jake." I looked to my right and frowned, thinking I was delusional for a second. The first thought that crossed my mind was that an angel had come to visit me before death, but it was just Chloe King. She sat there, hot and blond, with ice blue eyes and a pink nose that told me she'd been crying.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her, still dazed.
"I don't know. Just... sitting," she said softly, giving me a sad smile.
"Where's Nate?" I asked. Any attempt that Chloe was making to smile disappeared.
"Jacob," she began quietly. I didn't like her tone. She reminded me of a hunter approaching a wounded animal. "Nate died in the car crash." The effect of her words didn't hit me just yet, and she kept talking. "Jake, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked him to drive me home, but he told me he was okay. I was so wasted…"
"You wouldn't have done much better if it were you behind the wheel," I said emptily.
"I know." Chloe and I locked eyes for a second before she dropped her gaze to the floor. "I know you and Nate weren't very close. He said you guys fought all the time." I wasn't looking at her anymore, but I heard her sad, musical laughter as she reminisced. It wasn't until she'd put her hand on my knee that I'd glanced her way. "Jacob, will you be okay?"
"No," I told her honestly. "No, Chloe, I'm not going to be okay." I leaned back into the hospital bed and closed my eyes, hoping she'd go away. All I could do was beat myself up for what I couldn't say. We sat in silence until I heard a rustle of movement as Chloe prepared to go.
"Hey, Chloe?" I asked her.
"Yeah?"
"You're pretty lucky."
"Why's that, Jake?" she asked, staring back at me earnestly.
"You weren't afraid to tell Nate that you loved him."
"Somehow I knew I'd be seeing you again." Jordan jogged up to the boy in black and sucked in large gulps of the winter air. Her hair was messy and her cheeks were flushed from the run. She wasn't in the mood for his ego.
"That's just because you know everything, right?" she snapped at him, slightly panting.
"No," he frowned. "Not everything. I just know enough to get by."
"Is that what you've been doing since you left, Josh? Getting by? You used to actually want something better than that." Despite the chill, she felt her face growing hot with anger and discontent. The memories weighed her down. Way back when, the two were closer than Siamese twins, but the boy who stood in front of her now was just another nameless big city kid. Remembering how things used to be felt like a bullet in her heart. For a moment, Jordan thought she had begun to choke, but it was just a lump of misery that had formed in her throat. "Oh, Josh, what did you do to yourself?" she asked him softly.
"I still have goals, Jordan. I want to live not just get by. But things are tough. Shit happens. Times are hard right now." Josh stared down at the girl. He couldn't make out the expression on her face. It was like trying to read an old page where water had met the ink, ruining what could have been beautiful words. He just wasn't sure what to make of it. A few years ago, he would have been able to tell that she was on the brink of tears, but not anymore. Jordan sniffled and secretly tried to blame it on the cold, but she was just lying to herself. Josh couldn't see that she was trying not to cry.
"Jordan, I'm sorry. I just... sometimes..." Josh wasn't quite sure what to say. Words had never been his strong suit. It was why he left without saying goodbye. "You just, well, you wouldn't get it."
"Please don't tell me this again." It was the last thing she wanted to hear right now. It was the last thing she heard from him for two years. "Joshua, why'd you have to leave? Why?"
"I didn't leave by choice, Jordan. Scott made me, remember?" To tell the truth, Jordan honestly hadn't remembered what happened that day. She had always been good at blocking the most painful memories. This one wasn't an exception, but she forced herself to recall the details of what had happened.
First week of 8th grade and things were going great. Her birthday party was in a few weeks and she already had huge plans for the next few days. She had been invited to a high school party thrown by some 10th grade girl on the soccer team being held at some big name casino's pool. Jordan was in a great mood as she entered her house and hadn't bothered to pay attention to the unusual silence. Instead of wondering, she whistled the tune to some radio song.
Jordan bounced up the stairs taking two at a time. The first sight that anyone who used to the stairs saw was a black door and a bright red "Keep Out" sign. One Halloween, Josh had put up fluorescent police tape on his door but never took it off. Today, the decorations were littering the floor and the black door was cracked open.
Jordan set her backpack down on the stairs and quietly made her way towards the open door, only to see her step father hovering over her brother. Scott was a tall, burly kind of guy. He moved away from his parents when he was a teenager and became a Marine. Scott was a force to be reckoned with. He wasn't a man that people chose to argue with, but her brother did... everyday. Jordan's eyes then moved towards her brother. He was tall but not very lean. She always thought that he had a very "rock star" kind of look about him. When they were both younger, people used to ask if they were twins, despite the two year age difference. Now, his long auburn hair had been dyed black and any hints of a tan had long faded.
There was Josh, her amazing rock star wannabe brother, huddled against the wall of his room on the floor. Scott's empty beer bottle had been discarded on the carpet. It was quite a contrast to the cans of Mountain Dew lying around. Jordan couldn't remember the details from this point on. Scott was speaking to Josh. She knew she heard it all. Scott was incapable of using an inside voice, but the only words she could remember hearing were "out of my house."
"Fine," Josh had snapped up at him. When he stood up, Jordan could recall the bright, bright red mark on his left cheek. It was about the size and shape of a coiled fist. She was forced to step aside to make room for her large father.
"What did you do?!" she screamed at him. Scott just shook his head and mentioned something about everyone "being better off" without Josh... Jordan felt paralyzed as she stared at her brother. That day, something inside of her kind of died. It was worse than losing her best friend. They were so close. Losing Josh was like losing half of her brain.
"Josh? Josh, what are you -"
"Don't ask me questions right now," he said angrily. He picked out an old backpack of his and dumped out the entire contents.
"Are you leaving?" Jordan asked him. He didn't reply. Instead, he began to throw random clothes into the worn out school bag. "Josh, don't ignore my question. I asked if you were -"
"Yes, Jordan. I'm leaving."
"Why?"
"You wouldn't get it." Those words hit her like a slap in the face. He always did that. When he was going through a tough time, he treated her like a little girl that couldn't comprehend anything. She remembered getting angry. She stormed out of his room and went back down the stairs to get her shoes on. Jordan honestly thought about running away, too. But she had so much to do. There was no where to go, now way for a young girl to make living. Once she got outside, she began jogging, and then it turned into an all out sprint. She was angry, but she decided to let it out in a more positive way. The words "You wouldn't get it" rang through her head until she was forced to run towards the busier parts of the city, where the sounds of the concrete jungle would do that for her. She had run... all the way to the abandoned subway station doorway, where she was standing now. That had been the last time she saw her brother before he left.
"You just left." Jordan sighed and shook her head. "So there's nothing I can say to make you come back home?"
"I'm sorry, Jordan. You know there isn't." The girl sniffled and dabbed at the teardrops threatening to fall. "So it's just like last time? You're going to leave and not talk to me until I find you? Will you at least try to keep in touch with me?"
"Maybe," Josh mused. He took a step towards her and ruffled her hair. It didn't make much difference compared to what the wind and snow had done. "I'll find you next time, though. I promise." Jordan wasn't sure what else there was to say. She felt as if she was trapped in a burning room and there was no way to make it out unscathed.
"Where are you going?" She asked him.
"I'm not sure yet, but I'll let you know when I get there." The was a moment of silence between the two. Of course, it wasn't real silence. The city was never silent, even at this hour of night. Jordan watched her older brother's face as emotion flickered in his eyes, as if he desperately wanted to say something more and couldn't find the words. She knew the look well enough to know there was nothing more that had to be said.
"Well, goodbye, Josh."
"Bye, Jordy-bean."
"I'll miss you," she whispered. Jordan was afraid to look up and see him walking away and opted to stare at her feet instead.
"Yeah," Josh said. "I know. Now go home, Jordan, while you still have one."
Nathaniel Young was amazing, or so everyone said. He was just one of those guys - you know - those guys who had girls throwing themselves on their knees in front of them. It was hard to go one day without hearing something along the lines of "Oh my god, Nate Young is so hot." Nathan Young’s fan base wasn’t limited to just females. Every high school male seemed to have some opinion of him, too. Those opinions varied greatly, of course. His friends liked him; they were just jealous because Nate got the hottest girls and every coach he's ever had has loved him. He didn’t like teachers, but his 3.56 grade point average sure made teachers like him. Naturally, there were the other kids who didn't like him at all. If you ask me, the quiet kids who wore nothing but black to school and spent every lunch hour inside a classroom discussing obscure bands that nobody else cared about, they had the best opinions. It always made me laugh to see "Nate Young is a faggot" written on a wall or carved into the old paint of a bathroom stall.
From an unbiased point of view, it wasn't hard to see what made him so great. There was a never-ending list of reasons as to why people liked him. Not to sound queer, but he wasn’t unattractive. Even during puberty, it was like God smiled down on him and said, "Hey, kid, look. Don't worry about these next few years. I got this." Not once can I recall Nathan Young breaking out in zits before picture day. He didn't have to think twice about making out with girls who had
braces or not being able to do school work because he forgot his gay looking glasses and couldn’t see properly. I don't even think he went through that awkward period of time where his clothes never fit because he kept growing out of them before they got old. It was almost as if, one day, he suddenly woke up being 6’3’’ and more muscular.
Of course, it probably sounds like I'm blowing this way out of proportion. Nate Young finished the last chapter of puberty before some of us got our hands on the book. Why should I care? Maybe if I hadn’t grown up constantly being compared to him, I wouldn’t. If I were anyone else, the teenage problems that Nate Young didn’t go through would be none of my concern. I would probably be less bitter if people could meet me for me, but it seems like every introduction I’ve ever done went something like this:
"Oh, hi, I'm Jake Young… Yeah, I am related to Nate. Yep, he's my older brother… No, I don't play any sports… Yeah, I guess we're close enough… How's Nate doing? Oh, just great. Congratulations on the recent win? Don’t worry, I'll tell him. It was nice meeting you, too."
I know what you're thinking. I'm just jealous, right? Go find another all star athlete and meet their younger siblings. I don't think they absolutely love their lives, either. The problem that I had about hating Nate was that he was such a good kid. He did charity work and donated blood regularly. Unless they were part of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Nathan had no qualms when it came to going out of his way to help somebody.
As far as any adult was concerned, Nate Young was the epitome of perfect child. You could hand him almost anything and he could find some way to shine. Hand him a bat and he’d hit a home run. If you stuck him in an ice rink with a stick and puck, he'd show you a hat trick. Toss him a basketball and he could make it from half court. When it came to sports, Nate was a beast. He was incredible in his element. In all essence, he was Superman, with his one weakness: Nate’s Friday nights were usually spent winning a football game and attempting to eat the biggest dish at the local Mexican place. After a Saturday with his girlfriend, there was often a party being held somewhere, and occasionally, his Sunday mornings were spent locked in his room with a hangover.
I know what you're thinking. I hate my brother, so why should I care so much? Well, until I'm old enough to get my license, I'm forced to rely on him. For six more months, my main methods of transportation were a big yellow bus and my brother’s ’96 Jeep Cherokee. Of course, he had his sports and his girlfriend to attend to all the time. It wasn't unusual for me to wait a few hours for my brother to finish practice or the latest block buster.
I didn't really mind it that much, really. After you deal with this kind of crap for so long it just becomes the norm and you really don't care that much anymore. I had pretty much convinced myself that I was alright with waiting for my hard ass brother to quit his partying so I could go home. Usually, I was a pretty patient person, but that patience wears thin when it's early November and I'm stuck sitting on the steps of a closed library, freezing my balls off and waiting for my brother to take me home.
Not even an hour had passed before a certain car caught my eye. At 10pm on a Friday, you really wouldn't expect to see drunk drivers on the road just yet. That was more common between the hours of midnight and 3am, when bartenders start to get sick of their patrons, or the keg stand kids decided to migrate to the house of someone whose parents don't care. It took me by surprise that there was a drunk driver wandering around town already. It wasn't until the car pulled up in
front of the library that I realized who it was.
My stupid brother parked so that his headlights shone directly on the steps of the public
library. He must have been trying to figure out whether or not it was me. It isn't like I had a very distinctive figure, just my regular jeans and a jacket attire, like I wore every day. Nate must have realized it was me because he flashed his high beams. Twice. For him, this was Morse code for "I'm here, get your ass in the car." I hurriedly made my way towards the driver's side when a mop of dark brown hair peaked out of the vehicle as my brother rolled his windows down.
"Jake, what the hell are you doing?" he asked me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and the thought of getting in the car with him made my stomach do summersaults.
"I should ask you the same thing. You shouldn't be driving, Nate."
"Hey,” he snapped, “you're lucky I even came here to pick you up."
"If I knew you were going to get drunk then I would have called someone else," I frowned. "Just let me drive home, Nate."
"If you don't get in the car right now I'm going to leave you here," he threatened.
"Nathan, you don't need to be driving. Give me the keys."
"I don't need your bullshit right now, Jake. Get in the damn car." My brother and I had a staring contest, both of us glaring at each other resolutely, but I already knew I wouldn't win this battle. I never did. Instead, I just shook my head and got in the backseat of the car. There wasn’t enough time to buckle my seatbelt before the black jeep began to move.
I could feel the car weaving back and forth between the lane, and I eyed my brother. He
looked focused, but I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The speed limit was 25 but
we were going 34. I took a breath and tried not to worry. I couldn't help but think that the car smelled strongly of teenage girl. The stench of his girlfriend's cheap perfume clung to the entire car and it was giving me a migraine.
"Nate, you made a really stupid decision tonight," I told him, slouching back in the seat and resting my knees against the seat in front of me.
"Hey, don't be a bitch," he snapped at me. I'm pretty sure I heard him mutter something along the lines of "Someone already did that tonight." I didn't have to think about who it was. His girlfriend, Chloe King, was a total babe. She was head cheerleader and a track star, as well. The only thing would make her hotter is if she didn't talk so much. She was one of those girls who cared about animals and women's rights and not getting high. It was weird. She was a party animal. She'd get drunk all the time - the pictures were all over Facebook - but she was against drugs of any form.
"For good reason, too," I mumbled. Nate turned in his seat to glare at me. His mouth opened to shoot me an insult, so he didn't see the yellow light appearing at 40 miles an hour.
"Nate, turn around!" I yelled. His insult died on his lips as he he realized that we couldn't stop in time for the red light. To the left, there was a large semi trying to turn onto the intersection. If we had kept going, Nate would have hit the trailer head on for sure.
I don't even know what happened in the next few seconds. I could have sworn I heard my brother say something like "Jake, I'm sorry," but looking back now, I could have imagined that. The last thought that went through my head was just that: a thought. My mouth opened to speak to my brother, but there just wasn't time. All I know was that the car jerked sharply to the right before
there the explosion of noise. At first, it felt like dead silence, and then a cacophony of sound erupted. I heard the crunching metal, squealing tires, and shattering glass, but I didn't feel a thing until I woke up in the hospital.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a baby blue ceiling. It took me a second to realize the obnoxious beeping was coming from the IV beside my bed. My head was still throbbing. I could still smell Chloe's perfume, and it was still giving me a migraine.
"Hi, Jake." I frowned for a second, and then I heard it again. "Hi, Jake." I looked to my right and frowned, thinking I was delusional for a second. The first thought that crossed my mind was that an angel had come to visit me before death, but it was just Chloe King. She sat there, hot and blond, with ice blue eyes and a pink nose that told me she'd been crying.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her, still dazed.
"I don't know. Just... sitting," she said softly, giving me a sad smile.
"Where's Nate?" I asked. Any attempt that Chloe was making to smile disappeared.
"Jacob," she began quietly. I didn't like her tone. She reminded me of a hunter approaching a wounded animal. "Nate died in the car crash." The effect of her words didn't hit me just yet, and she kept talking. "Jake, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked him to drive me home, but he told me he was okay. I was so wasted…"
"You wouldn't have done much better if it were you behind the wheel," I said emptily.
"I know." Chloe and I locked eyes for a second before she dropped her gaze to the floor. "I know you and Nate weren't very close. He said you guys fought all the time." I wasn't looking at her anymore, but I heard her sad, musical laughter as she reminisced. It wasn't until she'd put her hand on my knee that I'd glanced her way. "Jacob, will you be okay?"
"No," I told her honestly. "No, Chloe, I'm not going to be okay." I leaned back into the hospital bed and closed my eyes, hoping she'd go away. All I could do was beat myself up for what I couldn't say. We sat in silence until I heard a rustle of movement as Chloe prepared to go.
"Hey, Chloe?" I asked her.
"Yeah?"
"You're pretty lucky."
"Why's that, Jake?" she asked, staring back at me earnestly.
"You weren't afraid to tell Nate that you loved him."