Bittersweet

Chapter One

"Friends, Death, and Other Things You Missed Out On"

It was cool out this morning. Not cold, but sort of a liberating, wonderful cool air that makes you want to fill yo lungs with i quickly before it becomes contaminated by cigarrette smoke and city pollution. It was near perfect weather, though a gloomy place for such a mood. A cemetery in lovely Detroit, Michigan. Not home, at least not anymore, but familiar enough.

Anyway, there I stood just staring at a tombstone of a friend. The headstone read:

Evelyn Mercer

1943-2005

Forever a Mother

To Us All

Tears formed in my eyes, remembering her, the time I spent with her, realizing I will never have another moment with dear Evelyn, only the unforgettable ones we shared; so many, still too few.

I don't think she ever forgot one child. She remembered and loved us all, I believe. I'm lucky, I know, because I got to spend more time with Evelyn than most do. She gave me my parents. They were practically neighbors. So, naturally, I liked to spend time there. Partly because of Evelyn, and also because, well, her sons. Oh, come on. Teenage girls would have to agree with me. Growing up around four very badass teenage guys is always fun. But something from the corner of my eye caught my attention. I almost didn't realize what was inscribed on the headstone not too far from hers.

At that moment, as I tried to process what I had just seen, it felt like my very breath had been stolen. I fingered the inscriptin in disbelief. "J-Jack..." I choked out as tears streamed down my face. I pulled my long jacket closer around me, now feeling the cold. I felt empty now, confused, hurt, and felt my jacket didn't provide the warmth, the comfort of the human contact I was desiring now. I had to get answers. I had to go back to my old neighborhood. I had to go see the boys.

"Bobby! Angel! Angel! Open the freakin' door, Bobby, we need to talk!" This was after seven minutes of patient knocking, and now I was banging the holy living crap out of the door, desperate for an answer. Their car was in the driveway. I don't know why I kept knocking. So I stopped, and sat on the steps, my head in my hand, running my fingers through my hair. Soon enough, however, a volvo pulled up, and three familiar faces piled out. They stopped when they saw me. I stood, looked them in the eye, and asked, weakly, "What the hell happened?"