Running Scared
Part 2 of a Singin' in the Rain fanfiction by Liz Alper
From the diary of Cosmo Brown
She chose him.
I hate him. I hate her. I hate my life.
You understand though, right? You get me, right? You know that I had no choice. I had to kill them. To put them out of their misery. To put a bullet in their heads.
I watched the gun drop from my hands, which were covered in blood, and hit the floor of Don's living room. The smell of sulfur hung in the air.
I stared at the stone-cold faces.
I fired six times.
Six times, man.
I want to die.
I don't belong here. Everyone hates me.
I'm just gonna run for the rest of my life and hope my heart will give out.
Fuck.
I just started running. I didn't care where I was going or where I ended up. I just needed to get away.
I ran past Don's house. It was literally a brick. I could see the bodies through the window, just laying there. I wanted to TP the stupid son of a bitch's fucking house. He was dead, what did it matter?
I am a sick, twisted psycho.
I just kept running. I ran past my house. My Volvo that used to be my mom's was in the driveway. I could see the bumper sticker that my mom had given me. It read "My child was caught showing good behavior at Clayton Elementary." I can't believe she kept that stupid thing after all those years. I got it in fourth grade after I passed out glue or some other stupid school supply to all the kids for arts & crafts time.
I wondered what Mrs. Newman would think of me now. The Class of '81 reunion was at Oliver High tonight, and she always goes to the reunion parties because most of the kids, including me, had her for fourth grade homeroom at Clayton. If they didn't have her for homeroom, they had her for music. I had her for both, which means I virtually never had to leave my seat to go to another room when I was in fourth grade.
Be jealous.
Anyways, do you think I was gonna go to my high school reunion? Hell no. High school reunions are for the nerds who think they're popular now but really they're too wimpy to tell anyone they had no friends in high school.
I should know. I was one of them.
Anyways, I couldn't go because Mrs. Newman would see me. And then she'd lift her glasses up and look straight into my eyes (I used to have a crush on her when I was nine) and say, "You're not a man. You're a murderer."
She sees right through you so well you feel like a ghost. It's scary.
I stared at my house a few minutes more and I realized what I had to do.
I had to leave town. No way I'm staying here. I could go to jail.
So I ran. Like the little bitch that I am.
To be honest, at this point I couldn't care less whether they find me dead or alive.
I kept running, past Oliver High, that fucking shithole where I wasted four years of my pointless life, and where absolutely no class taught there was useful for the real world.
Okay, yeah, fine, EVERY high school kid thinks their classes aren't useful, but I'm twenty-six and I'm still thinking that. That must mean it's true.
The high school was next to Columbus Middle School, where I spent my hellish adolescent years. High school sucked, but middle school was a crock of shit too. Twelve and thirteen and fourteen-year-olds should not have to be subjected to such pain.
I was in band. I played drums. That always makes me feel a little better. Kissed my first girl. Okay, middle school wasn't THAT bad.
I kept running—I had no desire to look at those piles of shit any longer—until I got to the Y.
The Pittsburgh Y on West North Ave.
The only good thing about my childhood.
Don and I used to take swimming lessons here when we were kids. And of course the fucking fence surrounds the pool, so I was staring right at my childhood.
Regret washed over me, so I tried rationalizing. The ambulance should be there by now. They'd be saved. Believe it or not, while I was blowing their brains out, I actually was remembering all the good times me and Don had, so I only shot him once. He'd be saved.
But that bitch Kathy…I wanted to make sure she ended up in Hell for what she did to me.
So I shot her five times.
That fucking bitch.
I hope they can't save her and she dies. She deserves it.
Bitch.
Why am I such an asshole?
I pulled my hood on my Pittsburgh Penguins sweatshirt over my head and banged it against the chain link fence.
I was crying.
I wish Don were here.
I know how it would go down. We wouldn't yell at each other or anything. We'd just talk about it and I'd tell him I didn't mean anything I did and we'd hug it out and go on being best friends.
I couldn't pray. There was no hope for me, even if I said the Rosary a hundred times. Even if they survived, I had committed a mortal sin and I was going to Hell.
I sat down on the ground, wrapped my arms around my legs, buried my face in my knees and cried.
I didn't care if I didn't mean a word of what I said if I ever saw him again.
I just want my best friend.
And my mom and dad.
When I was little, I used to go and sleep with my mom and dad in their bed whenever I was scared.
I've never been so scared before in my life.
I want them to magically appear on either side of me and tell me everything is going to be all right.
I wish none of this had ever happened.
I wish I wasn't so stupid.
I wish I wasn't such an asshole.
I want a hug.
I want a shoulder to bury my face into and cry.
I want a grave in the cemetery.
I looked up at the pool. The water was clear and still in the moonlight. I could make out the exact spot where I had nearly drowned when I was five.
It was a bright, sunny Friday afternoon in April of '68. Clayton had early release days at 12:15 on Fridays, so Don and I had swimming lessons at one o'clock. We were in kindergarten. Our instructor at the Y was teaching us how to do backstrokes. It was my turn. I was really nervous. I could see Don on the other side of the pool cheering me on. I dived in, just like my teacher had taught me. I was doing a pretty good job, judging by my instructor's praises. Then I don't know what happened. Towards the end I guess I got cocky or something, and I started swimming really fast, and the next thing I knew, I was underwater. I screamed, but all that came out of my mouth was a swarm of bubbles. I paddled and kicked, but I was going nowhere. I felt my eyelids start to droop and I began to fall on my back. All of a sudden, my eyes popped open again and I was being lifted up forcefully. I took in big breaths as my vision cleared. I was above water, and everyone's eyes were on me, concerned. I looked around for the person that had saved me. It was Don. He was watching me with big brown eyes. He was pretty ripped even then. His small muscles gleamed with water in the warm sun. "Are you okay, Cos?" "Yeah. Thanks!" I said back, a little too cheerfully. He smiled, and we both got out of the pool and the lesson continued.
Looking back, I couldn't help but think, "Well, of course it had to be in the deep end."
I climbed over the fence into the pool area. I walked around the perimeter of the pool, keeping my eyes fixed on the spot that had almost taken my life. I got done walking and realized that I needed to look at myself. I went inside the boys' bathroom, which was never locked, for some reason, and walked up to the mirror. I took off my sweatshirt and my Barry Pederson Penguins jersey and looked down at my body. I breathed heavily, thankful to be out of the cold.
I looked in the mirror. I looked like shit. My eyes were a dull blue, my red hair in bangs on my forehead, and I had scratches on my face from where I fell running through the middle school parking lot.
I leaned on the sink and thought seriously for the first time that night.
I'm crazier than Dwight Frye as Renfield in the '31 Dracula, I thought to myself. They're not gonna put me in jail. They're gonna put me in a loony bin. Like R.P. McMurphy.
That was the only good thing about high school. Reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest junior year in American Lit. McMurphy was my favorite character, but as much as I admired him, I had no desire to live his life.
I don't want a lobotomy.
Someone.
Anyone.
Just press rewind on this whole thing.
Do something.
I put my clothes back on, shoved my hood over my head and went back outside into the cool night air. I climbed back over the fence.
I don't know, I like to climb things. As long as you don't look down, it's fun.
I had no clue what time it was. I guessed around one AM.
I wasn't running anymore. I was walking.
A few blocks past the Y, it hit me.
I knew who I needed to see.
I needed to see Amanda.
Amanda was my older sister, but more importantly, she was my rock, my other best friend besides Don. My female best friend, if you will.
She would always be at the Y promptly at six when she got off work to pick Don and I up. Sometimes she'd take us to Crazy Cones on North Ave. for a scoop of ice cream. I would always get a frap. It's when they take the ice cream and blend it so it's like a milkshake. It was delicious. I could really use one now.
Amanda would pick me and Don up from everything. School, soccer, the Y, whatever. If we needed a ride, she was there. And she didn't even drive a van. Now that's classy.
When I was five, Amanda was nineteen. She was a cheerleader at U Pitt majoring in Electrical Engineering. You don't see too many cheerleaders studying Electrical Engineering.
I went to U Pitt too. Full ride speech and debate scholarship.
What was my degree in? A Bachelor's of Science double major in Biology with an emphasis in Ecology and Chemistry and a minor Bachelor's of Arts in Political Science.
What have I done with it? Absolutely fucking nothing.
Don and I partied our way through college, pledged Phi Delt together, dated pretty much every girl in KD and made our RA's life a living hell.
Yeah, we were roommates. I was one of those frat guys who somehow managed to get good grades despite partying till two AM every morning. Don, however, was the typical frat guy. That is, until he met Kathy.
Kathy was a Modern Jewish Studies major. When I asked her why she was interested in that field, she said, "Because I'm Jewish."
Me and my Irish Catholic brain were like, "Oh."
They were polar opposites. He was just a partying frat boy, while she was in the Order of Omega, which only three percent of U Pitt students got into. They met in a poli sci class and fell in love. I guess she knocked some sense into him, because from that moment on, he matured day by day. He stopped partying and hooking up with girls every night. He had been Undeclared, but immediately after he met Kathy, he began exploring his interests. He finally decided on Humanities.
Love at first sight in a GE class. Makes for a great movie, doesn't it?
Anyways, back to Amanda. One Friday (Don and I always had swim at the Y on Friday afternoons) night it was especially hot, despite the setting sun. Don and I sat on the curb outside the Y wearing only our swimming trunks, exposing our bodies to the hot, muggy air.
It was the summer of '71. Eighteen years ago. It was the hottest summer of our childhood that we can remember. Don and I were eight years old and going into third grade at Clayton. Amanda was twenty-two and going into her senior year at Pitt. It was six o'clock and we were waiting for our ride. It never came.
Six-thirty came. Amanda didn't.
Seven o'clock came. Amanda didn't.
My anxiety started to kick in. I hadn't taken my meds that day.
"Let's wait till eight," Don had said, trying to calm me down. "If she doesn't come, we'll just walk home, okay? I'm sure your mom has something good cooking!" Don had always sounded very mature for his age.
Eight o'clock came. Amanda didn't. We decided to walk home. We put our wetsuits on because it was getting cold. We decided to continue our Friday ritual of Crazy Cones despite Amanda's absence. I figured maybe she had kept her cheerleading squad late after cheer camp because she was captain now and she needed to go over some stuff with them.
Finally, we reached my house on Drum Street., both of us sipping fraps and talking merrily as we traipsed up the steps and opened the front door.
Once inside, our smiles faded. My mother sat at the wooden table in the big all-white kitchen, a tissue in-between her folded hands, sobbing. My father held one hand on the sink to steady himself. He was looking at the tiled floor with a look on his face that told me he would be sick if he didn't hold onto something.
"Mom?" I asked slowly, my eyes moving between both of my parents warily. "Why didn't Amanda pick us up from swim today?"
I knew I had made the wrong move. My mom started crying hysterically.
Dad walked over to me. I knew what was coming, and I closed my eyes tightly, bracing for impact. No impact came. Instead, I opened my eyes to see my father's big hand on my shoulder. I looked into the eyes behind his golden glasses and saw tears welling up in them. He shook his head slowly.
"Amanda isn't with us anymore, Cos," he announced quietly, his voice cracking.
I was only eight years old, but I knew what those words meant. Tears jumped into my eyes and I ran into my room, leaping onto my bed and crying into my pillow.
I cried until my bedtime. My mom came in and sat down on my bed.
"God hates me," I mumbled into my pillow.
"Cosmo, honey, don't say that. God doesn't hate you."
"YES HE DOES!" I shouted, sitting up and bawling into my mother's nightgown. "Or else he wouldn't have taken Mandy away from us!"
"Cosmo, it's not your fault!" my mother cooed, rubbing my back, which was now covered by my pinstriped pajamas. "You did nothing wrong. None of us did anything wrong."
"Then why is she gone, Mommy? Why is she gone? Why did he take her away from us?"
My mother put her hand on my chin and raised my face to look at hers. She kissed my forehead and wiped the tears from my eyes. "Cosmo, there are some people in this world that don't care about what they do or who they hurt. The man that killed your sister is one of them."
"What happened to her?"
"She was on her way to pick you and Don up from swim," my mother took a deep breath and continued. "She was getting on the highway from Pitt when a drunk driver hit her from behind. She lost control and her car went off into the bushes. It hit a tree and she fell against the steering wheel and split her head open. The drunk driver is still alive."
"That's not fair!" I wailed.
On any other occasion, my mother and her Irish upbringing would have said, "Cosmo Liam Brown, do NOT raise your voice to your mother!" but instead she took me in her arms and lay my head against her breasts, rocking me, saying, "You're right. It's not fair. It's not fair at all." I could hear her voice cracking.
I wrapped my arms around her and the two of us cried silently. After a few minutes, she put her hands on my cheeks and raised my face to hers again and said, "Cosmo, no matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter what path you decide to take in life, I will always love you. You will always have your mother's love."
And she hugged and rocked me, and I stopped crying and savored that fact, although here, eighteen years later, I couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't love me anymore.
I came back to reality and realized I had been standing on the corner of Marshall and Twain for twenty minutes. Had I really walked this far, lost in the memory of that painful day the entire time?
Uniondale Cemetery where Amanda was buried was right across from me. I made my way morosely across the street, hands shoved in my beige jean pockets.
The cemetery was a vast, sprawling lawn. Not too many people were buried there, so I found Amanda's grave easily. I had been there zillions of times already, and I always made sure to come on the anniversary of her death, which just happened to be today. Or yesterday, when I finally decided to check my watch.
2:09 AM.
It had been almost five hours since I had shot Don and Kathy.
Eighteen years later, Amanda's gravestone was littered with flowers and pictures from the girls on her old cheer teams at Pitt, and even the girls from the ones she had been on at OHS. I picked up one of the pictures from her cheer days at Pitt. Tears came into my eyes. She was just as I remembered her. Her hair was as red as mine, and her smile was as goofy as mine and my dad's.
At that moment, staring at my late sister in that photograph, I realized the true error of what I had done.
Yes.
Everything was starting to fall into place.
Ever since I moved away from home, I had been missing a woman in my life. Looking at my sister reminded me of looking at Kathy. She was so beautiful, and I realized that was what I had seen in Kathy all these years. I saw a sister and a friend in her. Not some cheap whore I could take advantage of sexually like I did, but someone I could trust. The sister that I had been missing. The hole that had needed to be filled for so very long. That was why I slept around so much in college. I needed a true female friend. Someone I could connect with. Not romantically, but a connection that only a brother and a sister could share. I slept around so much because I truly believed no one could replace Amanda and I was stupid enough to believe that Don and Kathy only saw me as a third wheel. That was foolish, my conscience now told me. She'd want you to find someone else. She'd want you to be happy. Everything was becoming so clear to me now.
I looked up. I could feel my blue eyes shining. There's still time, I thought. There's still time to save both of them.
I ran back to Don's house on Wilson Ave., just a short walk away from my house on Drum Street. I burst through the front door, still unlocked from when I had barged in like a raging bull five hours earlier.
They were still lying on the floor. I frantically ran over to them and fell to my knees. I pressed my ears to Don's chest. He's still alive, I thought. I tried not to let my excitement get the best of me. I was about to perform the same action on Kathy when I saw her eyelids flutter.
"Please wake up. Please wake up!" I whispered.
The eyes opened slightly and looked at me. I smiled with relief.
"C…Cosmo?" Kathy wheezed faintly. "Why did you come back?"
"I'll explain later. Can you move?"
"I…I think so."
"Put your weight on me."
I grabbed her outstretched arm and thrust it around my neck. With her light body resting on mine, I turned to Don. I remembered what he and I had learned in the CPR class that the Y gave out when we around fifteen. He was gonna pummel me for "kissing" him, but I'd keep saying that it was all for his good.
It took me about ten pumps to bring him back. He coughed and opened his eyes to look at me.
"You asshole," he breathed quietly. "You goddamn asshole."
I looked down at him, ready to take responsibility for my actions for once in my life.
"Thanks for comin' back," he smiled weakly and held up a fist.
"Don't mention it," I smiled back and pounded his fist. "How are you?"
"I'll live. That's what's important."
"I'm so sorry."
"Rage murder is not cool, bro."
I laughed. "Yeah, I know." I looked down and took a deep breath, ready to tell them. "I realized that…" I started over. "I went to the cemetery to see Amanda, and I looked at one of her pictures, and I saw you, Kathy."
Kathy looked up me strangely. I bit my lip and continued.
"I was wrong to use you the way I did. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," Kathy said, a feeble smile coming upon her face.
"Kathy, you're like a sister to me. You're the sister that I needed after Amanda…" I gulped. I didn't like to talk about it. "Well, you know…"
"Yes, I know, Cosmo," Kathy sat up slowly, rubbing her neck. "That's what I want you to think of me as. I'm here for you whenever you need me. And so is Don."
Don nodded.
"I know. I was being stupid, and I was stupid to shoot you two. I'm so sorry."
Don sat up and the two of them hugged me. I began to cry. I stopped and looked up smiling.
"So, does anyone wanna go to Crazy Cones?"