I'm sorry I haven't updated Stand in a while, stupid writer's block. And in said writer's block I came up with this. It has nothing to do with Stand.
Disclaimers: I don't own anymore than the other fans. Just all the OC characters.
He was sixteen. Only sixteen. He was so young. Never left this stupid city. Never got to go see the country, or the Oceans or the Rocky Mountains.
I made my way through the cemetery, looking at the names carved in the tombstones as I passed them. I knew where I was going; I came here every Sunday after Church. He took me once. A long time ago. Him and his friend Ponyboy. I only got to go once, because my mother caught me with them and she disapproved. We are clean-cut rich types, and he's not. I didn't let that stop me, but we didn't go to very public places together after that.
It still hurt to think about him. It has almost been a year since the series of events that took him away from me. I tried not to think about it during the week. Its just on Sunday I let myself fall apart as I think of him, his big black innocent eyes, and his somewhat curly dark brown hair that always hung in his face no matter what he tries. How he always wore the same jeans jacket everywhere or how he slumped over when he was cold. Or how he stuttered when he was reading aloud or how handsome his smile was.
By time I reached his gravestone, tears were rolling down my cheeks. I stared at it for a moment, then kneeled in front of it. I added this week's red rose to the pile of other red roses and removed the dead ones. My mind was blank as I sat there. Nothing really seemed to matter anymore. I know I've got friends and family; I could go visit the Curtis's and the others after school. They could help me more than anyone else. But I could never forget him, no matter how much my mother or the girls she wants me to hang out with wants me to. I loved him. He was my best friend and someone I could always count on. No one could ever replace them, and I'd hate anyone if who tried.
I reached out and traced the engraved letters. J… O… N… A… T… H… A… N…. C…A… D… E…. I stopped at the dates. 1950-1966. Tear fell harder now. He was way too young. Far too young to die. I noticed a limo pull into the cemetery fallowed by a lot of other cars. The people who stepped out of the cars were dressed in black. The women were crying, the men looked grim and the children looked confused. I turned back to the grave before me.
"How old was he?" asked a raspy voice of a man from behind me. I looked up at him. He had receding, white hair and bright, lively blue eyes. His skin was slightly tanned and wrinkled and he was wearing a white collared shirt under a black jacket and a grey tie with black pants. I figured he was with the group of mourners.
"He was sixteen," I answered. My voice was weak; I haven't spoken a lot. My mother doesn't care, and the Curtis's don't need to listen to me cry.
"He was your brother?" he asked.
"My boyfriend," I responded, simply.
"What happened?"
"Fire. He went in to save kids. Stayed in too long. Burns." My voice cracked a couple times. I had to take a deep breath to steady myself and not to cry. I guess he didn't know what to say after that because he didn't say anything. When I looked back at him he smiled softly. I turned back to the grave. After a couple minutes, I looked back at him and he wasn't there. I was startled at first. Looking around, I didn't see him, nor was he with the group of mourners. No one could have possibly disappeared just like that.
I said goodbye to the gravesite and walked down the path. I heard the crying of the women and I paused for a moment and looked at them. I decided to walk by and pay respects. As I walked by the casket, I had to do a double take. The deceased, a man, who had receding white hairline and slightly tanned and wrinkled skin. I guess I stood there a while because a woman came up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder. She sniffed and smiled somewhat.
"How'd you know him?" she asked.
"We've met."
She sighed and laughed a bit. "He was amazing, wasn't he?"
"Something else," I said after a moment. The woman smiled at me and continued on her way. She seemed like she was handling the death well, however they knew each other. I watched as she left and looked around at the other people before looking up the hill at the grave I just came from and smiled.
"Where have you been, honey?" asked my mother. We look somewhat alike with blonde hair and brown eyes, but my hair was long and curly at the bottom and hers was cut short and styled. But that was where the similarities end.
"The cemetery, Mom. Like every other Sunday," I answered. She never cared about what I did, just my "perfect" older brother Daren. I don't know why I even bother coming back here anymore, but I guess its because I have no where else to go.
"Oh, why were you there?"
"I was visiting someone."
"Who? No one in our family was buried here,"
"Just because I'm not related to someone, doesn't mean I can visit their grave, Mother," She just doesn't understand me. She doesn't try to understand me.
"Well, ok, but who were you visiting? That North-Side hood? Well, that's just one less hood."
"Mother! Don't you dare talk about him like that ever again!! He wasn't a hood! He wasn't just some North-Side boy! He was something special…" I started remembering him again. How he liked sitting under the tree in the lot watching the stars and how he sometimes woke me up to watch a beautiful sunrise on the nights we slept at the lot or the Curtis's together. How he'd always fallow Ponyboy and Dallas around and how much of a JD he looked like when I first met him. And remembering him this time didn't hurt. I was still sad about his (and Dallas's) death, but I could finally think back about our time together without my chest tightening or that annoying lump in my throat. I smiled.
The next day, after school I bought two flowers at the local flower shop. One rose and one daffodil. I quickly made my way to the cemetery and stopped by the recently covered grave. Engraved in the stone was the name "William Martin" with the dates "1901-1966". I smiled and sat the rose on top of the pile of white ones. It stood out because it was yellow. I then walked up the hill and stopped at the grave I spend every Sunday with and placed the yellow Daffodil.
"I love you, Johnny Cade,"
Well, how was it? I basically wrote it in an hour. please reweiw and tell me what you think.