31
Day of My Death
Did I hate Daniel? No. I loved the guy. He’d been my best friend since I was three.
But already I’m lying. Lying about Daniel is a bad habit of mine. I stop, pose the question again. Everything rides on it. Did I hate Daniel? I want the truth this time.
I construct arguments one way and another, not getting very far. Then I remember. My mind, with all its hidden agendas, doesn’t know the truth, and I move to my heart instead. I’m hardly there a second when I’m watching myself the year before, leaving school the first day back after burying my dad.
It had been rough. Everyone avoided me. At least I think they did. Truth was, I refused to look anyone’s way. I figured I was doing them a favor. If I caught someone’s eye, they’d see what was in mine, the hell burning away in there, and that burning was so bad their eyeballs might just melt out of their heads.
I know this old scene well. I’ve cued it up more than once to prove Daniel loved me and that I loved him in return. But I have a feeling there’s something I’ve missed, so I decide to replay it, watch more closely this time.
As I come out the front doors, Daniel is at the entrance with his buddies Jackson and Wyatt. I spin around like I’ve forgotten something, but Daniel yells, “Dumbshit, where’re you going? I’ve been searching for you all day.”
I shout over my shoulder, “Left something in my locker.”
“No you didn’t. Get your ass over here.”
The guys are shooting him desperate looks, like what in the hell does he think he’s doing? Usually they pretty much ignore me or treat me like a highly scorned mascot. They’re probably thinking they can’t get away with that now.
Daniel and Wyatt are sitting on a low retaining wall, and as I come up, he shoves Wyatt over a place, tells me to set myself down. I do, dropping my backpack at my feet. I don’t want to be there and definitely don’t want to talk, but once Daniel decides something’s going to happen, it’s going to happen, and any energy spent resisting is energy pissed away.
Daniel, he tugs on my flannel shirt, an old one I’ve had for years, says, “Where’d you get this piece of shit anyway? I want to make sure to stay clear of the place.”
Jackson and Wyatt shoot more glances over my head, like I don’t see them doing it, but Daniel keeps it up. “Where do you get your fashion advice, dumbshit? Old Man Weekly?”
Then Jackson, getting into it, says, “Cut it out, Balch. You know his little sister dresses him, and if you can’t trust a middle-school girl for manly cutting-edge style, who can you trust?”
It went on like that awhile. They joked around like this with everyone. It meant you were one of the guys. A week back, Jackson was claiming Wyatt’s grandma dressed him.
Wyatt ended up rubbing my head like I was his lucky charm, knuckle-burning my scalp, asking if I’d learned to cut my own hair on YouTube. Finally Daniel shot his own look at Jackson and stood. Then the other two got up, and Daniel said, “Gotta run, bud. See you later, okay?”
I was alone then, watching them striding off toward Wyatt’s Jeep. A few stragglers pushed through the school’s front doors, walked by me as if there wasn’t anybody sitting on that low wall.
When the scene stops, my mind starts right in explaining. Daniel knew I wanted him to be his usual assholey self, wanted things to be normal. He knew I’d hate him getting all serious on me, didn’t want to risk me losing my shit in front of them.
And the thing is, he didn’t have to call me over, he could have ignored me like everyone else. Anyone could see how he was taking a risk with the other guys. But he did call me like he always had, and he got them acting like they always did. And for a second there, I almost did feel normal. Like I said, just one of the guys.
But my heart’s calling bullshit. It keeps taking me back to the look Daniel flashed Jackson at the end, the one he made when he thought I was distracted by Wyatt’s assault on my skull. I give Daniel this, he tried to hide it from me, tried to spare my feelings. He caught Jackson’s eye and shrugged, raised his eyebrows with a smirk, like he was saying, Okay, okay, yeah, you’re right, he’s a pathetic loser. We’ve done our duty here, so let’s get the hell out.
I’VE NEVER BEEN ONE OF THE GUYS. Not before my dad died. Not after. I’ve always known that.
Did I hate Daniel?
No. I loved the son of a bitch. I really did. I would have given anything for him to love me back. And what do you get with all that love and all that wanting love?
You get a powder keg. That’s what you get.
