Unforgettable

I sat at a small imitation wooden desk in a stuffy classroom with a few other kids I had never met before; we were all taking a test to get into the same college. I glanced sideways at the classic black and white clock on the wall to my left; one and a half more hours to go. I sighed heavily before turning the page of seemingly endless test and reading the next tedious open-ended question. It read;
“Write a short narrative on a single day that changed your life forever.”
A mix of emotions surged throughout my body, a tsunami of memories flooding my brain and drowning my other thoughts. I could feel myself bubbling up with anger, as I tried to push the vivid images out of my head, but failed. Finally, I gave in the powerful recollections of that terrible day and let myself remember what I wish I did not.
It was a fairly warm October morning; I recall my mother telling me I would be cold going to school in just shorts in a t-shirt, but I ignored her. When I walked outside, I felt a cool breeze of my neck, tickling my bare legs and arms. It was around 7 o’clock in the morning when I met up with my best friend J.T. Stevensen in his small apartment. We lived in a small town in New York, so I didn’t mind walking a few blocks to meet him. I never appreciated that small walk to J.T.’s apartment enough. I opened the door without hesitation, knowing his father and mother were already at work and his sister away at college until late June. J.T. was sitting on the ratty old couch in front of his small TV when I walked in.
“Hey, Brooks.” He said when he saw me.
“Sup, J.T.?” I asked, rhetorically.
Without any further conversation, J.T. pulled out a small tin filled with Marijuana. We both took a hit, our daily routine since the beginning of last year. Get high before school, get high after school, do it all again the next day. We were perfectly aware that this would impact our life forever, but we were young so naturally, it didn’t bother either of us. Nearly an hour later, we walked to school like we normally would, making crude remarks at the freshman girls and fearlessly threatening the boys. I guess you could call me and J.T. the “bad boys”. The ones who carelessly cut class, smoked pot, took advantage of girls; name a crime, we’ve done it. We were two of the most intimidating guys in the entire school, until that day.
When we walked into school, the excruciatingly boring principle’s voice came on the loudspeaker, reciting the morning announcements.
“Today is Tuesday, October twenty-fifth, two thousand and eleven. There will be no chess club after school. Auditions for the school play will be during second period on November twenty-ninth. There is a mandatory cheerleading practice during fifth period today. Have a nice day.”
I sat through my four morning classes unwillingly, not even bothering to copy down notes or listen to a single word any of my teachers were saying. J.T. had suggested that we cut fifth period to catch the cheerleaders in their “mandatory practice” and of course, I agreed. Who would pass up on a chance like that?
We were standing near the boy’s bathroom, our noses pressed up to the glass windows in the gymnasium doors, excitedly watching the girls kick and flip. It was like Christmas morning for us, our stocking filled with eye candy. Suddenly, I jumped as the sound of a locker slamming broke me from my fantasy. I turned around first to see a shaggy haired boy I recognized as Richard Johnson trying to scurry away before I could see him. I laughed loudly before saying;
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite freshman.” Richard stopped in his tracks, as if his legs refused to let him continue walking. J.T. turned around to see for himself, a broad grin spreading across his face. J.T. and I had always picked “favorite freshman” which were usually the scrawniest nerds in the freshman class; the weakest links, our prey. Richard glared back at us as his glasses slid down the bridge of his freckled nose, sweat beading in his crinkled forehead. He knew what was coming next; I pushed his pale, skinny body into the row of puke green lockers behind him, his head making a loud smacking sound as it crashed against the cheap metal. J.T. cackled and knocked Richard’s glasses right off of his face. I picked up his large, wired glasses and gave J.T. a look.
“Catch.” I said as I tossed the glasses right over Richard’s head. They landed perfectly in J.T.’s arms. We played “monkey in the middle” as Richard helplessly tried to jump up and grab them for a few minutes before throwing his ugly spectacles across the hallway and walking back to our posts at the gymnasium doors. Again, I heard the small close of a locker and immediately turned around to see if anyone else was in the hallway. Richard was standing at his locker, his glasses back on his face as he slipped something into the waistband of his pants. He turned to stare straight at me, uttering two small words from his lips, just barely audible.
“Screw you.” Without hesitation, I charged toward him, slamming him against the lockers once again. J.T. saw what was happening and came over to join the action.
“Who the hell do you think you’re messing with?” I demanded. Richard was sweating profusely, yet he continued to glare at me.
“I’ve had enough of you; both of you.” He spat.
“Oh, poor little Richie!” J.T. mocked, “Suck it up, queer.” He pushed Richard into the boy’s bathroom and pinned him against the wall. I punched him square in the nose and he yelped, oddly reminding me of the small dog I ran over with my car a few weeks ago. I punched him again and he cried out once more. Blood was seeping into his white, cotton shirt, turning it a bright scarlet color. J.T. released his grip on him, and we began walking away, triumphantly. We were halfway out the bathroom door when Richard screamed;
“Wait!” We had no time to prepare ourselves for what was about to happen. The moment we turned back around, Richard pulled out a small gun and pointed it directly at my face.
“Whoa, man.” J.T. gasped. I just stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights.
“This is for making my life a living hell.” Richard stuttered. His hand shook violently, though he still held the gun. Time seemed to slow down as he loaded the gun, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. When a bullet is coming straight at you, the entire world stops as your entire life flashes before your eyes, reminding you of both good and bad times, regardless of whether or not you want to remember it. Your vision goes blurry, your hands go numb, and your legs feel immobile. However, I felt no pain. I abruptly snapped back into reality to see Richard still standing there, eyes closed. I looked to my right to realize that J.T. was no longer standing beside me. I felt something warm and wet seeping into my shoes; I looked down to see J.T. lying motionless on the white tiled floor, his blood pooled around my feet. A small scream escaped my lips as a wave of terror enveloped me in complete panic. I turned to run for help and heard the reloading of a gun behind me. I tried to run faster, but I was too late. I fell to the floor in defeat as my right leg seared in pain as I slowly lost consciousness.
I awoke to a bunch of obnoxious beeping noises I assumed were only in the dramatic movies. I was lying on a small hospital cot, and I could not feel either of my legs. As my vision focused, I could see my mother sitting in a small leather chair beside my bed, tears spilling down her face.
“Jimmy!” she cried as she realized I was awake. The last time I had seen her cry was when my father left us twelve years ago.
“I’m okay, Ma.” I told her, but she just cried harder. A few minutes later, a doctor entered the room.
“Hello, Jimmy. Great to see that you’re awake.” He said cheerfully.
“Yeah.” I muttered.
“Do you remember anything that happened yesterday, or no?” He asked me. I had been asleep for a whole day?
“No, it’s all a blur to me.” I confessed. “What happened?”
“Well, Richard Johnson claims you and another boy, J.T. Stevensen were bullying him.” The doctor paused as if waiting for me to confirm or deny that allegation.
“Go on.” I urged.
“Apparently, you and Mr. Stevensen pushed Mr. Johnson too far, and Mr. John-“
“Can you call them by their first names?” I blurted. I couldn’t help but be irritable.
“Sure, I apologize. Richard claims that you and J.T. pushed him too far so he lost control and shot the both of you. As you were trying to run away, he got you in the right leg.”
“What happened to my leg?” I asked eagerly. I tried to move my right leg, but I couldn’t. Then I tried my left and failed once again. I assumed they had both of my legs numbed for some reason.
“We got the bullet out, but…” The doctor began. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother begin to cry again, making my heart race.
“Jimmy, I’m sorry… you’re paralyzed from the waist down.” I expected J.T. to jump out and yell “Just Kidding, you’re perfectly fine! I paid him to tell you that!” I waited a few moments only to be greeted by the uncomfortable silence that now hung over the room.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated. I ignored him. My hands began to shake as my palms started sweating, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Where is J.T.?” I asked. The doctor shifted awkwardly and looked away. I turned to look at my mother, who was silent, avoiding my gaze.
“WHERE IS J.T.?” I yelled. Tears began spilling down my face as the unthinkable became reality.
“Honey…” My mother started. Tears were now hitting the cheap cotton sheets that covered my now paralyzed legs.
“J.T. is dead.” I began crying harder. I screamed, in complete and utter mental pain. All of a sudden, right then and there, it hit me; Richard had his gun pointed at me, not J.T. J.T. had dove in front of me and took the bullet to save my life. My best friend sacrificed himself for me.
After that day in the hospital, I vowed to change my ways in J.T.’s memory; to this day, I have not smoked a thing since before school on the day he died, I have not committed a single crime or caused harm to a single soul. I started concentrating more on my schoolwork and now, I was applying to colleges I would have never thought I would even qualify to apply for.
“Jimmy Brooks?” A woman’s voice said. Slowly, my vivid reverie began to fade as I was brought back into the small classroom, my test in front of me just how I left it. I looked around to see that I was the last student left. The teacher watching us take our tests was standing above me with a concerned look on her face.
“All you alright?” she asked “Everyone left around twenty minutes ago.” It was then that I realized I had been crying.
“Yeah, I just had a flashback. Is it okay if I finish the test tomorrow?”
“Of course.” She replied. I gave her a smile before I kicked the switch on my wheelchair that kept it from rolling all over the place and rolled myself out of the room, not even caring that I didn’t finish the test. Without thinking, I rolled on over to the eerily familiar boys bathroom I had not been in since I had become paralyzed. I sat there for what seemed like years, just thinking about how much regret I felt for that small moment in time that meant so much to me.
“It should have been me.” I said out loud, “It should have been me.”