I had never given Bob much a thought - I hadn't had time to think.
But that day I wondered about him. What was he like? - The Outsider, Chapter 11
If you really want to know how my life started, it began in the summer of 1966 with nothing but a blue second-hand Mustang and a 3,000-mile road trip directing west. By that time I was at the unstable age of 19, not knowing what the fuck my life had been up until that point, having no clue what to believe in. And I ain't talking about religion.
To be honest, I never bought any of the crap that was shoved down my throat during the Sunday services my parents dragged me to. I mean, how could a kid? Especially if every question they asked about God was received with a smart smack to the head? For my parents' sake, I'd pretended to be the good diligent Christian boy they needed me to be. But how could I stay being the boy my parents wanted me to be with all the shit and storms life had thrown me before I'd even turned 18?
I mean, people told me, time and time again, that 'life's tough' and sometimes 'we've just got to deal with all the things that come in our way'. But no one had the right to tell me that. No one had the right to tell me that I had to get on with my life because they thought they understood what I meant when I went through my tough times. In fact, nobody should determine for others how they should deal, because we all have had the strangest and most fucked up lives that isn't comparable to anybody else's.
So, I guess this is my turn to speak the truth about my life. But I'm not going to splurge out my sad life story like Great Expectations 'cause firstly, it ain't so great. Secondly, I can barely remember anything before I was eight, and thirdly I only want to talk about the most confusing years of my life. My years of highschool. But don't expect any miracles like those John Hughes movies to happen. Because if I had it my way, I would've wanted my life to be a John Hughes movie.
But instead, I went to highschool in the small dingey city of Tulsa, in dingey ole Oklahoma. But none of that mattered at the time, because I thought I was invincible. I was Randall Geoffrey Adderson. My dad's paycheck made sure of that. All I cared about was basketball, being a privileged boy in the South, and the one person in the world who knew me better than myself.
My best friend.
Bob Sheldon.
The best buddy anybody in the entire world could've asked for. And I loved him more than anyone I'd ever known. I grew up with two elder brothers but I can still tell you till this day that they don't amount up to a hill of beans when it came to the brother who I found within Bob.
It wasn't until it was too late for me to have known that but then again, that's life. It's given to you then snatched away.
Death doesn't care whether you're a boy or a girl, negro or caucasian, young or old, and it especially doesn't give a crap whether you were a Greaser or a Soc.
And nobody should've had to have learnt that the hard way, as we did when we were just young boys and girls, high with the thrills life had to offer us. Nobody.
But then again, we were all bound to lose our innocence to the ugliness of the world someday.
And so, this is how it all ended for me, Randall G. Adderson of Tulsa, Oklahoma.
And honor of my own memory, I have an obligation to tell everything that had happened which led to his death before the summer of '66.
Which means everything from '64 till the end of '65.
AN: I apologise for the offensive terms used above, but it is purely to contextualise the story. Pls don't hate me but I'd love to hear your opinions xx