Living

Living





I woke up screaming, with tears running down my face. Ever since that day, I have been getting nightmares, about it. It’s the same thing everyday; I wake up screaming, in the middle of the night. My mom comes in, and tries to comfort me; my mom hugs me tightly, I feel like such a baby, but it feels so good to be in my mother’s arms, safe from the dangers of the world.



I wake up the next day, I do the usual, and then walk downstairs to breakfast. My mom and dad are sitting there eating, as if nothing happened. As if I didn’t get the nightmare again. As if nothing happened to my best friend. As if, I’m not the worst person on earth. “Good morning Adam! Have a seat.” says my mom. I quietly sit down and try to eat my breakfast as quick as possible. While eating, I raise my eyes to look at my dad. We once also used to have that kind of relationship, in which we’d play football everyday, I’d get homework help from him, and we could just hang out. Not anymore. Ever since the accident, my dad has barely spoken to me. I pick up my now empty plate and put into the sink. “Bye Adam! Have a nice day!” says my mom. I don’t reply back, why bother? I’ll never be able to have a nice day ever again.



I walk to school alone, like always, keeping my head down, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I used to be a popular kid, I had tons of friends, and some girls even liked me. But ever since the accident, no one ever talks to me, so I don’t talk to them. I get teased too, people blame me for what happened to Greg, and I know they’re right. I go to my locker, and put in all my stuff, like my backpack and textbooks. The bell rings so I rush onto my first class. L.A. I take a seat way at the back of the class. “Good morning class!” says my overly cheerful teacher Mrs. Rienzi. “Please take out your journal, and do the assignment on the board.” She says. I look at the board, it says:  Write about your wish. I ponder on what to write for a minute, and then come up with this:

You really want to know what my wish is? Ok than here goes. I want Greg back. I want my best friend back. I hate going over to his house, and seeing his room, which is now empty. I hate having to see his parents crying all the time about him. I hate having nightmares about that day. I hate having to see everyone’s eyes full of sympathy for me. I HATE IT, HATE IT, HATE IT! But you know what I hate the most? Not having my best friend with me, and knowing it’s my fault he’s gone.

When I was done writing I read my letter over to myself again and again and again. Part of me didn’t want to, but the other part of me wanted to just read that letter, for the rest of my pathetic life, and know the truth. Finally after reading it for the sixth time, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I raised my hand and asked if I could go to the bathroom, then I took the pass, and went into the boy’s bathroom. I checked the stalls to make sure no one was in there, than I went into a stall, shut the door, and sat onto the ground. I sat…and cried. I hugged my knees to my chest and sobbed. All the pain was leaving my body, through the tears. I knew I couldn’t stay to long, so I wiped my face with the back of my hand and than came out of the stall. Than I froze because, standing right in front of me was John. John and I used to be good friends before the accident. After that however I stopped talking to him, because he was like everyone else, whenever I saw him, his eyes were full of sympathy for me. “Hey Adam.” He said in a quiet voice.



I looked at him musing if I should talk. “Hey.” I mumbled. Than I started to wash my hands, as if I had gone to the bathroom, instead of crying like a big baby.

“I-I heard you. Crying. Are you okay? Do you want to…maybe talk about it?” he said.



I froze. I though he hadn’t heard me crying. I looked at him in shock. “No. I don’t need to. I have no idea what you are talking about.” I said.



“But I heard you…” he said,



“John…I’m fine. So stop acting like a counselor. Ok? I don’t need anyone’s help. I don’t need anyone.” I said then left the bathroom. I knew what I did to John was mean, but who cares? Life’s been mean to me. He has friends. He has a dad that actually talks to him. He has a life. I opened the door to the classroom. Everyone raised their heads from their books, and every single person had one look on their face for me. Sympathy. I lowered my gaze and eased myself onto my chair. I took out my book, and started to read.



My whole entire day basically went the same as always. Some people bullying me, and others showing sympathy. What I wasn’t sure of was, which was better out of the two? I deserved the bullying, but the symapthy wasn’t as painful. Actually, I guess in a way it was. I felt so hopeless, confused, heartbroken, and mad when I got the “looks” from people. I didn’t deserve sympathy. I had killed my friend…me. The memory of how it happened still exsists fresh in my mind, tortutring me every second.



It was a beautiful summer day. I went over to Greg’s house, after he had called me to come over and hang out. His parent’s weren’t home, so he asked me if I wanted to play with his father’s hunting gun.



“Hey Adam? You know that gun my dad has in his closet? The one that he uses when he goes hunting? Let’s play with it, it’ll be fun!” said Greg.



“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if we get caught? I’ll be grounded for the rest of my life man.” I said.



“Oh c’mon, don’t be a wimp. We won’t get caught, my parents ain’t coming back till supper. We have enough time.” He said.



Since I didn’t want Greg to think, I was too scared I said yes. So we sneaked into his father’s closet, and took out the gun. It was about the size of my entire arm, and had brown leather at the handle, with a gold rim. We went downstairs, and started to run around, playing “cops and robbers”. Greg was the robber, and I was the cop. I had the gun in my hand pretending to shoot him, chasing after him as fast as my feet could take me. Dang, he was a fast runner!



“C’mon Adam! You can’t catch me! You can’t catch me!” he yelled.



“Oh yeah? Watch me!” is said laughing. Then I sped up my pace. I wasn’t watching where I was going, and tripped over Greg’s skateboard, which was in his living room. My finger was on the trigger, and the trip made me clamp, my hands down, which made the trigger go off. I didn’t even have enough time to react. One second Greg was running like a mad man, and the next he was on the floor in a crumpled heap.



“NO!” I screamed. I had shot him in the back. He was bleeding severly. He was gasping, looking at me.



“H-help me…please.” He moaned. But it was too late. His breaths became shudders, and then nothing. I looked at him. I had no expression no my face…nothing. I just looked at him. He was dead…gone, and it was my fault.



“No, this is stupid. He’s acting I know it!” I thought. “C’mon Greg! Wake up! Stop acting” I said. But he didn’t move, instead he was on the ground laying lifeless. I was mad now. This was not funny. “Stop it! Stop it! Please stop pretending!” I yelled. I went up to him mad, and shook him furiously. No repsonse. Now I was angered madly. I shook  him agiain harder yo make him move, stir, do anything. But he didn’t even respond. It was true, it was all true. I had killed Greg.



I ran. I ran all the way to my house, and didn’t tell me parent’s anything. I just went up to my room and shut the door. About an hour later my mom called me down. It was a cop. He found out from Greg’s dad I was at this house. I explained everything that happened. I was not in trouble since it was an accident. But still, I was now in the cop’s eyes. I didn’t even cry the first few days. Then I woke up, from a dream, where Greg asked me why I hadn’t helped him, why I had killed him. That’s when I started to cry. And have since.



The next morning at school, I found a note in my locker. It was signed anonomyous. It said:

Meet me outside at the back of the school, at luch. Please do come.



I had no idea who had wrote this, but for some reason, I obeyed. So at luch I went outside to the back of the school. I waited for about five minutes, and was just about to leave when I heard a voice say “Wait!” it was John.



“What do you want John?!” I said.



“I want to know what really happened. I’ve heard many different stories about what happened. Some say he sucided, Others, that you murdered him on purpose. What is the truth?” he asked.



I looked at him. “You wanna know what really happened?!” I said. Then I told him the story. Every bit of it. When I was done I looked up at him. I was surprised to see something different, something I had been wanting to see in someone’s eyes, anyone’ eyes for so long. Understanding.



John looked at me with an understanding that calmed me. Then he smiled. “Thank you for telling me.” he said. “Now I have a question, do you think it’s your fault Greg died?” he asked.



That caught me off guard. No one had come out and asked me that. It was something that loomed over my head, but never really came out. I looked at him.



“Yes. I think it’s my fault he died. I can’t blame it on anyone else. No one.” I said.



John looked at me. His smile unwavered. “No. I don’t want you to tell me what others think. What do you think? And be honest. Reach into your heart, and think about it. Just think.” He said.



I looked at him in shock. And then admiration. He was right, for all these months I had gone by what people said. I looked at him, and for the first time in months smiled. It was small, but still filled with joy. He nodded his head in approval and then walked away.



When I got home, I went straight upstairs to my dad and said “Hey dad. Wanna play some football?”



He looked at me in surprised. Then smiled and said, “Sure son, sure.”



Son, I had been yearning to be called that for so long. “Okay, let me go change. Be right back.”



I went upstairs, and changed into my shorts. Then I walked out of my room, and suddeny stopped. I went back in side, and got a piece of paper and pen, and wrote this:



Hey John,

What’s up? What you said to me is right. I have been going by what people told me for all these months. Now, I know it wasnt my fault. Call it faith, destiny, or unluckiness but what happened happened. It’s not my fault it happened. I’m not a criminal. I didn’t have any wrong intensions. Yes, we shouldn’t have been playing with the gun. But if I hadn’t done it then someone else would have. Things happen in life, and we have to learn to deal with them. That’s the only way we can learn the true meaning of living. I still probably get nightmares like I always do, but it won’t be as bad. Everything happens for a reason. We can’t stop living, can we? I have really started living now. I guess I was never really “born” for I didn’t know the true meaning of life. Everyday of our life is an obstacle, and when we overcome them, we become a better person. Someday I will probably look back, and think. Think of what being a better person really means. I will be forgiven someday. When I have become a fully better person, I will be forgiven. For now it’s good to know, that I have forgievn my self.

Thanks,

Adam



P.S. Want to sit at lunch with me tommrow?



Then I took the note and out it in my binder to put n John’s locker tommrow. Then I went outside to play some football, and truly start living.