It had been four months since my father's funeral. Four months since my mother, sister, and I put the empty black lacquered coffin in the ground over at St. Raymond's cemetery in the South Bronx. Four months since the church full of family and friends mourned the death of my father. It rained that day, like they always did in the movies. Everyone huddled under umbrellas on that cold April morning in the gray rain. Everyone wept for the death of a great man and father while I stood emotionless, staring into the six-foot hole in the ground.
It all went down in March, what day I wasn't sure, its all a blur. Partially because it all happened so fast; my transformation from plain, nerdy Chris D'Amico to suave, cool Red Mist, my betrayal of Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl; Big Daddy's death and the death of my own father. If only Big Daddy's death had been so swift, maybe I wouldn't feel so bad as I contemplated Hit Girl's situation in the back of the black Buick of the motorcade for my father. It was still raining. I didn't think it would stop.
Another reason I don't remember was because I shot myself in the stomach with one of Hit Girls guns that she had dropped to cover up that I was Red Mist. I woke up in a hospital bed a day later. My costume was still hidden underneath a floorboard in our old house, covered in blood and sweat. It's been a little more than four months since they hoisted my sorry bleeding ass onto the gurney, into the ambulance, and into the ER of NY Presbyterian Hospital. Its been a little less than four months since I was released with the only thing left from that night being a small round scar a little above and to the left of my belly button.
But it did stop raining and now it's hot and sticky in the middle of August. Sure, the new penthouse we moved into had air conditioning, but I was sitting out by the garden and pool staring into space. The small pool and rooftop garden were nice upgrades from our last house. I sat for a few hours baking in the sun, sweating off the sun block I so liberally applied, I though about this next school year. My senior year at East Side Preparatory, my last fucking year at that miserable school.
My last 180 days sitting in the blue blazer, crisp periwinkle shirt, red and blue stripped tie, khaki slacks and matching loafers staring at the clock and waiting for the day to end. I hated it there, everything about it… My sister interrupted my thoughts, I moved my sunglasses to talk to her.
"Mom said to go inside, she said you're going to burn." She said with a slight lisp, probably genetic. She pushed her index finger into my chest. "You're already starting to turn red. Plus, lunch is ready."
I got up off of the lawn chain, it stuck to my back and tip toed inside, careful not to burn the bottom of my feet on the concrete, like Dianna (my sister) had at the beach last summer.
The new house we lived in was much to my mothers liking, more so than the previous one that had gotten all shot up. It was painted warm, earthy tones and wasn't as large as the previous. The kitchen was still huge, the way my mother liked it. There was no random ass modern art on the walls here, instead there are family photos on the wall, the old D'Amico family portrait from when my sister and I were babies, our school pictures, sports pictures (I played golf and my sister cheered), and a lone picture of my mother and father on their wedding day. It was sad really. It was strange seeing my dad with hair.
The cool marble tiles felt cool on my feet as I padded up to the island were my plain turkey and white American cheese sandwich was sitting along with a bottle of water. No soda on days this hot, my mother insisted that we would get dehydrated. Still so concerned with her baby almost 18 year olds. She would still watch my sister and I eat, talking to us, mostly asking if we were excited to get on with a new school year. My sister, ever the perky cheerleader, was, I was not however. I didn't want to go back to the stark classrooms, still accepting condolences for the death of my father.
"Chris honey," my sweet mother cooed "will you be alright going back?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" I played it cool, smiling at her.
"You've just been quiet since…" she trailed off, probably trying to think of the right way to phrase 'since you dad was shot out of a window with a bazooka by a boy in a green scuba suit…' "since we moved." She forked some macaroni salad into her mouth. Good save mom.
"I'm just nervous about senior year Mom. Don't worry."
I finished my sandwich and put the plate in the sink, the housekeeper would wash it later. I walked down the carpeted hallway toward my room. The walls were a dull blue gray. The wall opposite the door was my desk, littered with water bottles, drawing paper and scorecards from the country club. My bed was adjacent to the door, black comforter with red sheets and a small flat screen hooked up to an Xbox opposite it. My computer sat on my bed, so lonely, the little green light on the Mac book glowed in anticipation. I would shower first, the computer could wait.
I walk to my bathroom and turned the shower on. Cold, cold water would feel nice on a day like today. I kicked off my swim trunks and stepped into the freezing stream of water. The feeling of the cold water was reminiscent of nights and afternoons I would think of Johanna, the girl who sat next to me in AP physics that I had a thing for, and not have time or energy to manually get rid of the erection. The cold water was soothing on my slight sunburn and I regretted turning the water off and grabbing a towel from the cabinet under the sink and wrapping it around my waist.
I hadn't checked Red Mist's MySpace since the morning my father died. I was curious to see how many friend request and wall posts had accumulated over four months. I didn't care. I tried to resurrect Red Mist in light of my fathers' death. I had a revelation that I wish I had four months before, I am not my father. I never will be. I'm not a ruthless killer, I'm no genius leader, and I couldn't outwardly hurt someone. I'll never be Frank Anthony D'Amico, I could never fill his shoes. Red Mist was hung from the top bunk of bed when a pathetic teenager in a green scuba suit blasted Frank D'Amico through the plate glass window.
I turned on my Mac anyway, I had to check the Facebook to see if anyone of my few friends (other rejects from ESP) wanted to hang out. I hope they did, I've been stuck in this house for the entire summer. Even Pandora radio online is getting old.
It turns out there was something going on. There was an event notice…exciting. Usually it's something stupid like "Use 50 Cent Lyrics in your status day". Ignore immediately. This was different, apparently there was a new girl going to the school. Graduating with us, she was from Ireland. I hope she has red hair. Anyway, she apparently is very good friends with my friend Jane Tock and Jane was taking her "out on the town", whatever the fuck that meant. They were meeting at Atomic tomorrow morning at 10 for coffee. I hit accept, hoping this wasn't some stupid joke.