STRANGER
Agnes Lamb
At the time, I was fifteen years old. I was a sophomore at Castle Heights just outside of Luttrell, TN. My father, Mike Kyle, owned a restaurant called 'Mike and May's,' named after him and my mother.
I stood in the bustling kitchen of 'Mike and May's,' and I was looking out a sparkling clean window, onto the old faded basketball court on the back lot of the diner. I remember all the awesome times my twin-brother, Grady, and I had spent there playing together. He was gone now though, and there was no one to share the memories with. Not even my parents. Those memories were just too painful to speak of, or even write about. Sometimes, even thinking about them would bring wishful tears forced to be silent, willing Grady to come back to earth and take me away.
Now, on this basketball court, there were about four or five teenage boys that could be maybe seventeen to nineteen years old. The obvious leader of the gang was a teenage boy, whose fragile frame had tattoos consisting of every color in a Crayola Crayon Box of two hundred- totally covering his arms, hands, chest, abs, and even his neck, with two smaller ones on his cheekbones. He had black hair, too black to be natural, which was just a tiny bit past his shoulders and he had side-bangs which completely concealed his forehead and one of his stone cold ice-glazed eyes. He was skinny, and it was really surprising that he had enough muscle to push another guy around. There was another boy of the same sort of image, but he was a little shorter with charcoal colored hair and eyes as dark as the midnight sky. He was a humorous little fellow, and usually tried to hide that comedic pleasure when his 'leader' was around. The two other boys looked as if they could be brothers. They were both a dirty blonde, with the same mannerisms. One of them was more built and muscular- obviously the strongest one of the group, and the other was skinnier than his assumed brother, but not as thin and fragile as the two boys. Both boys were tall, around 5'9 or so, but there was something special about the stronger one. His eyes. They were such a deep, frozen ice color; I shivered when ever I happened to lock eyes with him. They were just like the Arctic Oceans, with a little more turquoise, and gray flecks hiding their need for immediate help. There was a short, muscular teenage boy, wearing a tight black t-shirt, white jacket that was half-zipped, and red skinny jeans with a Miraculous Medal around his neck. He was standing in the middle, while the other teenagers formed a circle around him.
They were just talking at first, obviously getting into an argument. The boy covered in tattoos began to push him around, and threw him toward the strongest one like the shorter teenager was a ragdoll. Obviously, this had gone on for a while, because his jacket and jeans were very dirty and ripped in a few places like he had fallen on the hard asphalt numerous times. The strongest guy had taken a few steps back, letting the victim fall while the boy and the others laughed at him. This happened a few times, as I was standing there watching. The third time he was pushed, he finally got up, took a swing at the tattooed boy, but he ducked and another boy came up and punched him in the back so he would fall. As the boys stood there laughing at him, he lifted his head, which took tremendous effort, only to look at me with the most pained expression possible about 15 meters away inside, safe.
"Grady, what should I do?…I have 2 distract those boys. I obviously can't take them on…What would you do…?"
I swung the door open and walked outside. The boys stared at me, wondering what the heck I was doing there. I looked over at the one on the ground, and he was smiling now. I walked up to the tattooed boy and said:
"Do you guys want something to eat? My dad prepared something special for ya."
It was a total lie, but the whole gang ran inside, completely forgetting about their victim, who lied there, still looking up at me. He smiled at me, as I walked toward him, and told him to come with me, so those boys didn't come back and beat him up again. He agreed, and as I helped him up, he whimpered and winced a little. He was not able to walk on his own, so he put his arm around me, and with most of his weight on me, he limped. We walked to my house which was only a few hundred feet from the restaurant, where he cleaned up and I gave him some of Grady's old clothes.
When I went to retrieve them, I was a little shaken by walking into Grady's old room. It hadn't changed since the accident. It was the same room- navy blue walls, with hardwood flooring and a black carpet about 5x5 in the middle of the floor. In the lower right-hand corner, was his bed, covered with the all-important favorite Steelers bedspread. The football team's pillows on his bed sat there, arranged the way mother always fixed them. She gave him such a hard time with that every morning before school, yelling at him to set them properly. Those fluffy pillows held so many memories of the pillow-fights we had, and all the forts we made. His dresser, which was still full of his clothes, had not been touched and was in the middle of the left wall. Next to his dresser, he had the suspended bubble chair filled with black and gold Steelers pillows, with a bookcase in between that and the window. His desk, which was very rarely in use, lined the wall at the end of his bed. It was natural oak, with a swivel chair that was never in its place. It was facing the door, as if someone was sitting there. On the desk, was a piece of paper, folded in half to stand up. I walked over to the desk, and picked up the note. I was wondering why I hadn't seen it before. On the front, it said 'Megan-' I opened it up, and here is what it said.
1-15-00
Hey twin-sis,
I know I'm gone, but I'm still with you. I'll never leave you, and just call me when you need me, and talk to me, cuz I'll always listen. I'm glad you haven't forgotten about me, but don't cry when you think of the fun times we had. I know I'm always happy when I remember. Just call me whenever you want to, because I'm with you. It may not seem like I'm there, but I am.
Love,
Grady
P.S. Say hi to Mason for me.
I smiled as I put the note back down on the desk. No wonder I hadn't seen it before. He just wrote it today. Usually, I would be creeped out by the fact I just received a note from a dead sibling, but before he left this world, he told me that he would always be with me, no matter what. I found it really cool and nice that he wrote that. I loved the fact that even though he was gone, his forever thirteen year old hand-writing still hadn't changed.
So after Mason had changed and cleaned up, we sat down and had a conversation.
"So, don't take this the wrong way, but who are you?"Mason asked as we sat down in the living room.
"I'm Megan. My dad owns the restaurant over there."
"Megan…that's a cool name."
"I don't like it. I've always wanted the name Kelsey."
"Hmm…Lemme ask you a question- if we don't know each other, at all, then why did you help me and bring me here, give me clean clothes and everything?"
"I was in the kitchen of my dad's restaurant, and I just happened to glance out the window, and saw you, and the other boys. I saw you were being pushed around, and a few times you fell. I knew that unless I did something, they wouldn't leave you alone. So I lied that my dad had prepared something for them, and yeah…here we are."
"Wow. Oh, hey, by the way my names Mason. Mason Crochetti."
"So, why were those guys beating you up?"
"I don't really know why. I was just walking by and they jumped me."
He lifted his hand and started rubbing the back of his head. "It hurt, too, haha."
"Haha got a headache?"
"Almost every morning." He said, still smiling.
"Hold on." As I left him to go to kitchen, I wondered what he meant by "almost every morning". But I decided to ignore it, and got two painkillers.
"WANT WATER TOO?"I shouted across the house.
"SURE!"
I walked back with glass of water and the medicine.
"Thanks. My head feels like a concrete block right now."
"Ha! Well this should help." I smiled at him.
So we talked for a while, sharing likes and dislikes, and surprisingly, we found we had a lot in common. We both loved playing guitar, and singing. We both loved going outside, and never had a passion to exercise.
"So, how old are you?"
"Seventeen. You?"
"Fifteen."
After we finished our conversation, we went back to the restaurant, and found that the boys had left.
"Well the guys are gone, so you're good for now."
"Thanks so much for everything. Can I get your number?"
"Oh, yeah sure. We should hang out sometime." I wrote my number on a piece of paper, and handed it to Mason, who folded it in half, and placed in the back pocket of his jeans.
"Yeah. I'll call you."
He started walking away, then turned around and walked back.
"And thanks for saving me. If you hadn't come, I would still be lying out there probably dead."
"Oh yeah, no problem. And just come by the house if you need someplace to go. Call me later."
"Cool. Thanks. See ya."
"Later, Mason."
As I was walking back to the house, I was trying to make sense of the whole incident that happened that morning. It all seemed like a dream. It didn't feel real- witnessing someone getting beaten up, helping them even if I didn't know the first thing about them, actually bringing them into my house, and giving my cell phone number.
Through the course of the day, I found myself thinking about Mason alot- thinking about what he's doing, where he is, and if I should even trust him. After all, I had just met this guy that morning, and I told him that if he ever needed a place to go, to just drop by! I wasn't sure why I was being so nice to him, but there was something about him that just made me so comfortable and at home. I kept replaying the conversation in my head over and over. Trying to remember every word he said and every move he made. I was in my room, lying down and about to fall asleep, when Fallin' for You by Colbie Caillat suddenly started playing from the small speakers of my IPhone. "I swear! I'm just about to fall asleep and then some bastard..."
"Hello?"I asked. My voice changed when I was tired, to a lower, monotone sort of murmur.
"Hey!" I recognized the voice, but couldn't think of whom it belonged to.
"Who is this?"I sighed, re-adjusting myself back on the bed.
"Guess."
"Tell me."
"Come on! Guess."
"Oh come on this ain't funny I hate playing twenty questions!"
"Guess." Was all the mysterious voice said.
"Fine. Do I know you?"
"I hope so! We just met!"
"…Mason…?"
"There ya go!"
"Haha hey! What's up?"My voice shot up to a regular tone, now happy and lively all over again.
"Nothing."
"Then why'd you call?"
"Just wanted to talk to you."
"Haha that's cool. So what'cha doin'?"
"Just lying on my bed, petting my dog."
"Yeah? Me to! What kinda dog you have?"
"Akita. His name is Vince."
"Vince?"
"Yeah. It's short for Vincent. I've had him for a long time. He was a stray Then he popped up on my doorstep one day and I took him." Mason explained.
"Aww. My dogs name is Jazz. Black lab with a tiny strip of white on her chest. Complete and total spazz. All I have to say. Haha."
He told me the boys' names that beat him up. JD was the boy with numerous tattoos. No one knew the reason why he was called that, and every one was afraid to ask. According to Mason, JD didn't even know his real name. The name 'JD' was just a nickname he got from his old gang leader. He kept that name, probably because everyone knew him by that, and he didn't even know what it abbreviated anymore. Anthony had the charcoal black hair and eyes the color of the midnight sky. He was given the nickname 'Ant,' so JD made sure he would never seem stronger than him, and to make sure Ant understood that he was not dominate in that gang. Blake was the oldest one in the group, who looked like his assumed brother Devon- the strongest and youngest of the group. Mason didn't know if they were actually brothers or not. He said that JD and Devon both did crack and smoked pot at least three times a week. On top of that, all of them smoked cigarettes.
We talked for a while, than decided to meet each other on the corner of Blue Jay Avenue to go for a walk around Luttrell.
