In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. "Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."
But I say fuck that, because I've criticized everyone I possibly could. My name is Edwin Cuevas and let me just say that I have experienced a situation with the assholes to end all assholes. Not only did they make fun of me every chance they got, but it drew me out of Jew York City for the rest of my life.
And yet despite the unpleasant experience I had, I cannot help but feel nostalgic every time I think of the situation.
One day, I decided that the freshmen of Clanta Serita were becoming a bit too dry and needy, and I needed even fresher meat. So I fled from the boring place to Jew York City, the site of drugs, whores, and terrorist attacks.
Lucky for me, I had a good friend, Trent, who lived in the city as well. I hadn't seen him in a little while, since he moved out here with his new friend Jesse four years ago, but we still kept in touch via Skype and TTT.
I lived in West Egg, and across the bay was East Egg, which is where Trent and Jesse lived. My first night there, they invited me over to dinner, so I decided to take the opportunity and visit.
I wrote my bike up to the big black house that was blasting punk music as loud as it could. It was even more massive than I could've imagined. I knew Jesse and Trent made it big after forming their punk band Jiter, but I couldn't imagine it being this enormous. It's been four years since they broke up, for fuck's sake, and yet they were living like kings.
I knocked on the massive door, and Trent came and answered. Gosh, I missed his curly hair and neckbeard. Yet even after receiving all this money, he still dressed in a white Black Flag shirt and ripped sweats.
"Heya, faggot," he said to me. "So I heard Eggwin is now living in West Egg."
"AY," I said to him. "WHY YOU TRIPPING?"
"Shut the fuck up and get in here," he said.
I entered the massive house which had autographs of rock stars hanging everywhere. They even somehow managed to get Darby Crash to sign an album somehow.
Anyways, the house was rich with dust and it smelled like shit. They fired their maid after they found out she liked All better than Descendants.
I entered the living room and saw Jesse sitting on couch quietly in the corner talking to somebody. He was wearing his punk jacket and boots, just as I remembered.
"Dude, Edwiiiiiiin," he said, and got up to greet me.
"AY BUDDY," I said. We bro hugged it out, and then I pointed to the stranger who was in layers of make-up. "Who's that babe sitting over there?"
"Oh, him?" Jesse said. "His name's Adam."
Oops.
"Hiya," he said to me. He got up and walked over. He was wearing a black button-down shirt unbuttoned to show his chest and had a cross necklace dangling down. He was the strangest looking human being I've ever seen with his bangs hanging down over his face and the rest of his hair shaved off, but I couldn't help but feel attracted to him.
"Heard you're new to JYC," he said to me.
"Oh, uh, yeah," I said. "I lived across the bay."
"What a cheapskate," he said back. "It's all about the Soho scene."
"Adam owns an apartment near Central Park," Jesse said.
"I see," I replied to him.
"Me and Jesse work on films together," Adam said. "I need someone to operate camera, after all. He just goes along with all of my movies."
Jesse laughed. "You're movie suck."
Adam laughed. "I just like to challenge my audience, you unsophisticated bastard," he said half-jokingly and half serious. Ohhh, I get it. He's an "artist."
"Hey, faggots," Trent called from the other room. "Get in here for dinner."
We all sat around the table and ate Amici's Pizza. Trent talked about how he moved into folk music and how Jesse helped Adam with Indie movies. Trent and Jesse mixed the profits and bought this palace of a house, while Adam decided to live in his Soho home of cocktails and hookers.
Anyways, after a while, Jesse offered me a ride home, so I got in the car, and we drove chatting but passed West Egg and began traveling into the city.
"Jesse, uhmm, buddy," I said. "You missed my turn."
"Oh, we're not going home quite yet," he said. "We have somewhere to go."
We drove for a while, across the Brooklyn Bridge, and entered the city, and stopped at Ground Zero, the halfway point between Jesse's house and Adam's house. Jesse's old bandmate, Karl, lived across the street. He spent all his money on pot so lived in this shithole of an apartment across from the final resting place of the World Trade Center.
Jesse doesn't tell Trent when he goes to visit Karl because the two of them have been in a feud since Karl sold out because he needed pot money, but Jesse still liked hanging out with him. So he sneaks out everyone in a while and goes to visit Karl.
We rode the elevator high up into the apartment and entered a really, really shitty apartment that had the wallpaper peeling off and it smelled of old, smoked marijuana. Karl sat on this beat up couch smoking a doobie. He and Jesse only get together when Karl's roommate Vince is out spitting fire at a recording studio in Soho, probably near where Adam lives. Vince can't stand punk music like what Jesse listens too, nor does he like Karl's hard grunge. When Vince isn't home, Jesse and Karl toke it up and watch hours of Alice in Chains concert movies.
I sat their awkwardly rejecting their pot offering, and after hours and hours of them giggling and feeling paranoia, Jesse finally took me home.
He dropped me off in front of my West Egg house, and I walked in feeling exhausted. But I had this odd sense that somebody was watching me from next door.
I lived next to this giant house, much bigger than Trent and Jesse's, but it had a rich Liverpool look to it. Every night there was a giant party that played British music really loud. All I knew about the house was that it was owned by a man named Gibson.
This happened every night for a week until one day I heard my doorbell ring. I went and answered it. I thought there was a chimp standing at the door, but it ended up just being a black man with long dreadlocks and a nametag that said "Braxton." He wore a suit that was stained with what looked like Hot Cheetos.
"Ayyyyyyboi, iGotThisInvititation from mahh boi Gatsby next dooreeee," he said to me in some kind of weird new language. He gave me a letter. I opened it:
"My nigger,
You are formally invited to a party hosted by Gibson next door tonight at 7 PM.
Dress nice and have fun!
Sincerely yours,
Ryan Gibson"
I looked at the letter for a little while, and then the colored fellow spoke to me.
"So U comin' er wat?" he said.
"Oh, uhm, yes, yes of course!"
"Eright, eright, I'll seeee u tonite then buh bye," he said, and turned a walked away, back towards the giant palace.
I watched him leave, then turned to go upstairs and get ready.
The nicest close I had was a button up blue shirt and a clip on tie, so I put it on and walked over. The house was already packed. There were people of every ethnicity dancing to the sounds of "Twist and Shout" by the Beatles blaring through the windows. I entered the house and there were people packed to the brim. I could barely make out the beauty of the house, which looked rich and glamourous.
I walked around looking for a computer to sit at and I found Adam, the weird looking dude from Jesse's house. His hair was messy and his make-up was smeared, but he looked sober, unlike anyone else at this party.
"Edwin!" he yelled to me from across one of the rooms. I approached him. "Since when did you start visiting Gibson's parties?"
"This is my first one!" I said to him over the loud music. "I got this invitation this morning!" I handed him the invitation. He looked at it confusingly.
"That's weird," he said. "Nobody ever gets an invitation to Gibson's parties."
"Really?" I asked.
"Yeah. People just kind of show up. I've been coming here for months. It always has the best music. Come on, let's go grab a drink." We walked over to the bar and sat down. He ordered an Amy Winehouse, and I ordered a Skrillex. It tasted zangy and stale.
"Who is Gibson, anyway?" I asked.
"Nobody really knows," he said. "I heard he's a former musician."
"I heard he's a closet furry," this blonde lady who was sitting next to him said. She was on her phone. "The Wi-Fi in this house sucks! I can't even get on Tumblr!"
"Well," this kid said behind me. I turned and looked. He had on a fedora and had a My Little Pony blanket tied around him like a cape. "I heard he was actually one of the early investors for Tara Strong's masterpiece 'My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.'"
"Everybody has a theory," Adam said. "But nobody knows for sure."
He drank his drink, and the colored fellow from earlier approached him from behind.
"Ayy, u weird looking boyo," he said. "Mah boi Gibson needs you upstairs for a second."
Adam looked confused. "Uhm, okay," he said. "I'll catch up with you later, Edwin." He got up and left.
I wandered around the house. I saw everybody there! My old Econ teacher was better money on the tables and losing but she thought she knew everything there was to money and kept going. There was my hot Bio teacher I hadn't seen since she left my school to teach Christians, and my old Earth Science teacher who was playing Dungeons and Dragons in the corner with a bunch of greasy haired white kids.
I decided to go down to the DJ and ask him to play some trap music, but he said trap was for fags and instead played "Wonderwall." Everyone in the house started bowing down, except for one figure standing high up on the staircase. I didn't like this sound of epicness, so I went back up and stood next to him.
"Not a fan of this shit either, huh?" I asked him.
"Nonsense," he said. "I just hear it every night, my nigger."
"So have you met this Gibson guy? He seems really mysterious. Like, I'm the only one who has ever been invited to one of his parties."
"Oh, I guess I haven't been a very good host," he says, and he turned to face me. He had these crystal blue eyes that pierced into my soul, and a smile that was one of those smiles that you see only once in a lifetime. He was dressed suave as fuck and raised his glass at me. "You see," he said, "I'm Gibson."
I lowered my jaw.
"You're… you're…"
"Yes, yes, I know," he said. "Surprised no one recognizes me here."
I knew who he was now. Ryan Gibson, the greatest guitarist in the entire world. He played with all the greats: McCartney, Bowie, Yeezus, everybody you can think of, but he's been out of the public eye for almost four years.
"Follow me, my nigger," he said to me, and we walked into the library, which nobody was in because libraries are for nerds.
"I can't believe I live next door to you!" I said.
"I'm sorry if my parties have been keeping you up at night, my nigger," he said, and sat down, smoking a pipe. "Please, have a seat."
I sat down.
"So what's Ye like? Is he as big a God as everyone says?"
"Even bigger," he replies. "If I had to say anything, I'd say he's the most impactful artist of this generation. He is Shakespeare in the flesh. Say, my nigger, can I get you a drink?"
"Oh, I've already had one," I say. "Actually, may I use your restroom?"
"Of course," he says. "Right down the hall, passed the Abbey Road record on the wall."
I left and sure enough, there was an Abbey Road record framed and on the wall, signed by all four Beatles. I could've sworn there were six of them, two named Pete and Stuart.
Anyways, I took this massive shit and to my surprise, there was no trash can for me to throw my toilet paper away in. So I rubbed my butthole and realized it wasn't that dirty, so I just flushed and left. When I got back to the library, Gibson was no longer there. I walked back out into the party and saw everybody leaving, and I saw Adam leaving in the middle of the crowd. He saw me and began yelling at me.
"Edwin!" he yelled. "Edwin! I have it all figured out! It all makes sense! Call me in the morning!"
He was lost in the crowd, and I decided to go home and play Minecraft.
The next morning, I called Adam, and I rode my bike into the city and met him at a restaurant on the corner of 42nd street. It looked like the same one from that shitty Seinfeld show.
"So Gibson knows you're friends with Trent," he said to me. "I remember now that I have met Gibson, long ago, when I was still a musician. After I was fired from the band, Gibson came in as the new guitarist. They were really successful for a while but tension grew between him, Jesse, and Karl. They didn't think he was edgy enough and kicked him out too. He was mad and decided to just go his own way, but he became much more successful then they could've dreamed and now he's the richest man in Jew York. Anyways, he retired in hopes and seeing his best friend Trent again. He throws all these parties hoping he will show up one day and they will play Dota again."
"So why did I get an invitation?" I asked.
"You moron," he said. "He wants you to invite Trent over for food. Gibson will come over and they can hang out once again!"
"Ahhh, okay, I get it, I get it."
We spent the rest of the day walking around the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but it was really boring and I hated hearing Adam talk about how beautiful everything was. He stopped every couple of feet to cry. Anyway, I got home at about 10 PM and was stopped by Gibson while I was walking in the door. There was no party tonight.
"Hello, my nigger," he said.
"Oh, hi!" I turned and shook his hand.
"Care to come over for a swin?" he asked. "Maybe some Dota or Beatles Rock Band or TF2?"
"Not tonight, Ryan," I said.
"Are you sure? I can start up the PC and we can build something in Minecraft or-"
"I have plans already tomorrow, sorry," I said.
"Oh," he said. "No problem."
"But I accept."
He looked confused. "What do you accept, my nigger?"
"I'll invite Trent over tomorrow morning."
He began to become coated with sweat and started to sound frantic. "Oh, no, no, you don't have to do that."
"Adam told me everything," I said. "I'll just invite him for food tomorrow and you'll be here waiting, alright?"
"Uhm, okay," he said. "Okay, sure. Well we both better be getting some sleep, my nigger. I'll see you tomorrow." He shook my hand, which was clammy and moist, and turned to his house.
I went to bed, and the next morning I was awoken by the sounds of my door knocking. I got up to answer (after taking a shit, of course), and Braxton came in holding this giant new computer. It must have cost thousands.
"Where should i put teh PC, b0ss?" he said.
"Over there," Gibson followed him in, pointing towards my dining room table. "Good morning, my nigger. Sleep well?"
"Yeah, I guess," I said. I noticed he was all dressed head to toe in a lavish Sgt. Pepper outfit. His hair was spiked and he must have taken hours getting ready. "What about you? How did you sleep?"
"Oh, who needs sleep when we have all this excitement, my nigger?" he said, and sat down in my living room.
I went to my phone, and called Trent, who said he'll be over in an hour. That'll be plenty of time for me to order a pizza and take a shower.
"Okay," I said to Gibson. "Trent said he will be arriving in about an hour."
Gibson looked at me, terrified. "Great," he said. "I can't wait."
I went up to take a shower, and when I got out, it was pouring rain out. I came downstairs and saw Gibson sitting in the same spot, unmoved. I looked outside and saw Braxton chained to the mailbox and playing on his phone. Then I saw a hybrid pull up with Trent at the wheel. He honked.
"Trent's here!" I said, and went to answer the door.
I opened it, and he came barging in.
"Oh, thank God you opened up," he said. "I thought that monkey outside was going to attack me. Hey, where's the fucking pizza? I'm starving."
"It should be in the living room. Ay, did you get the pizza?" I called to Ryan, who was no longer in the living room. The pizza was, though.
Trent ran over and started devouring the pizza, and I looked around the house for Ryan, and then I heard the doorbell ring. I walked over and answered. Ryan was standing there, his hair soaked and dripping over his face, looking as paranoid as ever.
"What are you doing?" I whispered to him.
"This was a mistake!" he said.
"Shut the fuck up and get in here." I grabbed him and pulled him in, and pointed to the living room. He pushed his hair back and walked in. Trent was already on the computer Gibson bought him.
"Thanks for the computer dude, by why isn't it a PC? I hate Macs; PC master race," he said, and turned to look at Gibson. He stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes got big. "Ryan?"
"Trent?" Gibson said. They ran towards each other, shook hands, and exchanged a "hullo."
"Holy fuck," Trent said. "How long has it been?"
"Like four years," Ryan said. "Since I was fired from Jiter."
"I haven't heard from you in forever! You should use social media, bro. Come on, let's play some TF2."
They sat there and played and laughed and they looked happier than I'd ever seen anyone. I felt like a third wheel, so I sat down at the table and played Trivia Crack. Fucking Adam kept beating me.
Soon enough, Trent had to go home, but it was hard to leave.
"Take the computer," Gibson said. "It's yours."
"Thanks, bra," Trent said. "You're the true MVP."
They shook hands, and Trent left. Ryan put his arm around me.
"Well, my nigger," he said. "I must say this is a day well spent. Thank you for this. I owe you."
"Don't even worry about it," I said, and we sat down to play Dota.
Trent and Ryan kept seeing each other behind Jesse's back. He hated when Trent wasn't writing music, and video games were Trent's only distraction next to Manga's. After a couple of weeks, I received another invitation to one of Gibson's parties, his first since before he and Trent were reunited.
This time, I wasn't the only one invited. Trent, Jesse, and Adam were invited as well, and we were invited to meet in Gibson's library.
"Ew, I hate libraries," Jesse said. "Libraries are for nerds."
"Hey," Trent said. "Having fun is not that hard when you have your library card."
We entered and Gibson was standing in the center, smiling and looking suave as always.
"Hello, my nigger," he said to me. "And the rest of you. Welcome."
"This library is amazing!" said Trent.
"You have every book I can think of!" Adam said after Trent.
"It's alright," said Jesse.
"Oh, my nigger," Ryan said to him. "This isn't THE library. THIS is THE library." Ryan walked up to the bookshelf and pulled off the copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, a book nobody would dare read without being in a class, and the bookshelf opened to show a giant warehouse full of vinyl's packed from the floor to the ceiling. Adam and Trent were blown away, and Jesse was at first, until he realized there was no punk.
We spent the rest of the night playing various records and playing Apples to Apples, when Ryan said that he wanted to speak to Trent privately. They left, and Jesse looked suspicious.
"Where are they going?" he asked.
"They're probably just reminiscing," Adam said. "They've been friends longer than anyone can remember and this is their first time meeting in four years. Give them some time alone."
We sat and continued playing but it got awkward, so I left to search for them. Sure enough, they were in the master bedroom playing TTT.
"Pssst, Trent!" I said. "Jesse is getting suspicious!"
"Alright," he said. "Give me a second." He was hunched over Ryan's shoulder staring at the screen. And then Braxton walked in.
"Ayyy, Gibson," he said. "Ye iz on the fone askin' 4 a reunion album."
"Alright, I'm coming," Gibson said. He got up and left. Trent and I followed. Gibson raced down the hall and accidentally bumped Jesse, who was walking down the hall, following me. "Pardon me, my nigger," Gibson said to him.
"Okay, Trent," Jesse said. "It's time to go home."
"Alright, alright," Trent said. "Hey, Edwin, why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow?"
"Yes," Jesse said demandingly. "Why don't you? In fact, bring Gibson and Adam with you. I'll order a pizza."
"Uhm, okay," I said, sensing a disturbance. "I'll tell them."
Trent and Jesse left without another word, and Ryan came back up to the room soon after.
"Where did Trent go?" he asked me.
"Jesse took him home," I said. "But he said to come over tomorrow for dinner."
"Alright," he said. "I suppose we better get to bed then. I will see you tomorrow, my nigger. I'll pick you up."
"Alright, sir," I said. "Bye."
I left the room and walked downstairs where the party was dying down. Adam was nowhere to be seen. I suspected he went home with Jesse and Trent. I walked next door to my house and got into bed, but I had a feeling something bad was going to happen. But then I realized I just had to shit and then I felt better.
I had the weirdest dream that me and Trent were staring at each other masturbating, and then when he finished, he gave me a thumbs up and said "GG." I dunno what this has to do with the story, but I'm telling you, anyway.
As he said, Gibson picked me up in his white car that evening. For such a rich guy, he had a pretty generic car. The only thing that stood out was the license plate frame that said "I'd Rather Be Playing Guitar."
We drove up to the dark mansion and went inside. All of us sat in the living room awkwardly, just staring at one another, until the doorbell ring.
"Pizza's here," Jesse said. "Everyone get to the table."
We all got up and sat at the giant table. Jesse put on the radio that was nearby. It played Fall Out Boy, and he knocked it over and kicked it until it broke. Something was up with him today.
"Jesse, you alright, buddy?" Trent asked.
"Yeah," Jesse said.
"Just tired?" Trent asked.
"Yeah," Jesse said.
Trent shrugged and ate some pizza. Adam just stared at it.
"Not hungry, Adam?" I asked him.
"I'm just tired of pizza, ya know?"
"Yeah, I get ya," I said. Me and him just sat in silence.
"So do you like games, my nigger?" Ryan asked Jesse.
"NO," Jesse said. "I HATE GAMES. THERE'S NOTHING EDGY ABOUT THEM."
"Okay, alright," Ryan said. "I'm sorry, my nigger."
Suddenly we heard the Sailor Moon theme playing. Trent answered his phone, and the song stopped.
"Hello?" he said. "Yes, this is dog." He put the phone down laughing.
"That's not funny," Jesse said.
"It's a MEME, you dip," Trent said to him. Jesse scowled and glared at Gibson, who looked uneasy.
"Not hungry?" Jesse said to him.
"Oh, uhm," Ryan said, realizing he hadn't put any pizza on his plate.
"I don't think he's in the mood for pizza either," said Adam. "It seems like that's all we ever have."
"Well, what do you want, my nigger?" Ryan asked him.
Adam thought. "I can go for Everest right now, but its way down in the city."
"Yeah, that's too far," Trent said.
"No, actually," Jesse said. "That's a great idea!" He slammed his hands on the table. "Let's go to down. Get dressed Trent."
Trent ran upstairs, put a pair of shorts on, and his beanie, and they all met out front. Trent and Ryan road up together, while me, Adam, and Jesse road in Jesse's car. It was a quiet drive.
Finally, we reached the Dakota and got out. We asked for a private longue in the VIP floor, Everest, and we went up.
We all ordered French fries, except for Jesse. He had a chicken sandwich.
"So Trent," Jesse says. "I've noticed you haven't been home the last couple of nights."
Trent looked around the room in a panic. "Me and Adam have been working on a script for a movie. I've decided I want to write something else."
"Really?" Jesse yelled. "Then explain this!" He laid a paper on the table. It was a letter that said Trent's subscription to TF2 was running low and he had to renew it. "Have you been playing games?!"
"No!" Trent yelled.
"Answered the question!"
"Yes," Gibson said calmly. "Yes, he has."
Jesse glared at him. "Oh, I see. So I guess Gibson is your new friend now!"
"Trent has always been my friend," Ryan said. "He was never your friend. Tell him, Trent."
Trent looked puzzled. "Well…"
"Well what?" Jesse yelled.
"Well… it's not true!" Trent said. "I was always friends with Ryan but I was friends with Jesse, too!"
"Come on Trent," Ryan said calmly. "You always knew you were a gamer and not an edgy kid like Jesse. You just didn't fit in."
"Well of course, I will always be a gamer," Trent said. "But I was edgy once, too. Me and Jesse saw Filmage together and it was great! But I never didn't miss playing games with you, Ryan!"
"So you are a gamer!" Jesse said. "That distracts you from being a musician, you know that!"
"There's more to life than punk, Jesse!" Trent yelled.
"And don't act so innocent, my nigger," Ryan said. "I know where you've been going every other night. You've been going to Karl's house and smoking weed, so don't act all innocent!"
Jesse snarled and sat down.
"Jesse…" Trent said. "I hate Karl! How could you-?"
"Karl is my friend and I don't care if he's an asshole!"
"You know what?" Trent said. "I'm done." He got up and stormed out of the room.
"Trent!" Ryan yelled. "Trent! Trent!" He followed him.
"Good riddance!" Jesse yelled. Me, him, and Adam all sat in silence. It was then that I realized something.
"Wait," I said. "I just remembered something."
"What?" Jesse asked.
"I don't give a shit about any of this!"
Jesse was quiet. "I'm glad you aren't," he said. We were quiet for a little while. "Come on, we should catch up to them."
It was a quiet drive. Jesse stared straight ahead, Adam sat in the backseat and when I looked at him, he shrugged, indicating he didn't know what to do. Then when we were passing Ground Zero, we saw a blonde guy laying in the street dead and covered in blood. There were cops everywhere, and a man who looked like Jay Z was answering interviewers. I then realized it was the Notorious Ol' Dirty MF A$AP Mena, an underground rapper from around this area. It was Vince, Karl's roommate. We pulled over and got out. The blonde guy laying in the street was Karl.
"MAN I TELL YA WE WERE FIGHTIN' ABOUT HOW HE RUINED MY NEW HOT MIXTAPE WITH HIS GUITAR PLAYIN' AND I SWEAR O LORD I SWEAR I WAS REAL PISSED BUT THEN HE RAN OUT AND THEN I WALKED OUT AND SAW HE WAS HIT BY A CAR," Vince said to the interviewers.
"Did you see the car?" asked one of the reporters.
"YEAH MAN IT WAS A REAL CAUCASIAN CAR IT LOOKED REAL CHEAP AND HAD A LICENSE PLATE FRAME THAT SAID 'I'D RATHER BE PLAYIN' MY GUITAR' WHICH DISGUSTED ME AND IT JUST DROVE OFF AND I REALIZED KARL WAS DEAD."
The interviewers went over to the body and began taking pictures of it.
"He was so high," a doctor said, "that he probably didn't even feel the impact."
Vince sat down on the curb and looked at his dead friend. Jesse stared at the body for a couple of minutes and then sat next to Vince.
"I know who owns that car," Jesse said.
"AW MAN WHO WAS IT I SWEAR I'M GONNA KILL WHOEVER IT WAS WHO KILLED MY NIGGAH," Vince said.
"His name is Gibson," Jesse said, and got up. Vince was silent. "Come on," Jesse said, and we got back in the car and continued to East Egg.
We reached Jesse and Trent's house, and Adam and Jesse raced inside to find Trent and see what happened. I didn't go in because I figured it wasn't my problem anymore, but I saw Gibson hiding near the side of the garage. His car was behind him with a large dent and broken windshield.
"Psst!" he said to me. "My nigger! Over here!"
I walked up to him. "Gibson, what the fuck was that?!"
"Just listen to me—"
"You fucking killed Karl!" I yelled.
He shushed me. "I wasn't driving the car!"
I stopped in my tracks. Trent couldn't drive.
"What?"
"I said," Gibson continued. "I wasn't driving the car. I thought letting Trent drive would calm him down. But I didn't realize he didn't have his license yet and he hit Karl when he ran out in the middle of the street."
I was speechless.
"Look, no one must know about this, okay, my nigger? I can't let Trent take the blame because he'll be in more trouble for not having a license."
"But you'll go to jail," I told him. "They'll hang you like a slave who didn't rake."
Gibson stared at the ground, then back up at me.
"Just don't say it was Trent, alright?"
"Fine," I said. "You know what? This isn't my problem anymore. I'm going home."
"Hop in, my nigger," he said. "I'll drive you."
I was hesitant riding in a car that a few minutes ago took somebody's life, but then I thought about how badly I just wanted to go home. Luckily, we got back with no disturbances. Instead of dropping me off, I told him I'll just spend the night with him, figuring he probably wasn't going to sleep, anyway.
We put his car in the garage, and we sat in his music library and he told me about how good of friends him and Trent, and even how he got along with Jesse and Karl. They would have the sickest jam sessions and sometimes Vince would spit hot fire and it sounded great. Everyone just became so full of themselves to the point where he just couldn't handle it, but Trent always was the link that bound them all together. He knew he was a fat loser, but he was a fat loser who respected everyone, which is why Ryan missed hanging out with him. Trent was entertaining, funny, and understanding, all at the same time, and Gibson didn't meet anyone else like that.
Me and Gibson sat, looking out at the bay for a few minutes in utter silence. Despite the situation of the night before, we felt unusually relaxed. Then, he spoke.
"I haven't used the pool all summer, my nigger. Want to go for a swim?"
I sat and thought for a minute. Then I thought about how I should go home and sleep.
"No thanks. I'm exhausted."
"Suit yourself," Gibson said, and he got up, left for a few minutes, and came back in swim gear. He was going out the back door to his pool, but before leaving, he turned to me and said:
"Thanks for everything, my nigger."
He then went out the door and jumped into his pool. It was the last I ever saw of him.
The next morning after I took a shit, I saw I had a voicemail on my cell phone, and I had learned the news that Gibson had passed away early in the morning. The police wanted me to come down to the station and identify the body. So I got dressed and rode my bike down to the city.
Passing Ground Zero, the scene was already cleaned up. The blood left from Karl's body was completely gone, and the same normal people were walking their dogs up and down the sidewalk.
When I got to the station, I identified Gibson's body. He looked the same except with some missing teeth. Then they showed me the surveillance video taken from one of the security cameras at the Gibson manor.
The video was really bizarre. I saw Gibson get out of his pool and Vince came up behind him.
"YOU KILLED MY FRIEND NIGGA IMMA FIGHT YOU FOR THIS," Vince said, putting his fists up. He started hopping around with his fists up. "SWING FIRST SWING FIRST I'M NOT GOING TO JAIL SWING FIRST NIGGA SWING FIRST." And then he just swung out and punched Gibson up the chin and he fell back into the pool and laid in there, blood beginning to form the top layer of the water.
Vince stared at him and starting to giggle. Then laugh. And then kek. He keked so hard that he ran out of breathe and passed away.
The police thanked me, and then sent me home.
A few days later, the body was brought back to the Gibson house and a funeral was held; Trent and Jesse didn't show up. They instead moved back to California and got an apartment Downtown. They both died in a mosh pit accident while seeing a Dead Kennedys concert that didn't have Jello Biafra.
I thought they were assholes for not coming, especially Trent. This man literally died for Trent's sins.
Adam was there, and we still hung out for a few months after that. He became a really successful filmmaker, and he invested a lot of money into fashion, but later took his own life for just not being pretty enough.
I don't even know what happened to Braxton. He just kind of disappeared. I just assume he still sits somewhere, deep in the jungles of Africa, reading gaming news on his cell phone.
So now, I'm the only one left. Jesse and Trent killed in a mosh pit, Karl run over because he was high off of his mind and ran into the street, Vince laughing himself to death, Gibson killed by somebody, Braxton disappearing, and Adam taking his own life. Who knows what my fate is?
And who would've guessed that Edwin Cuevas would be the last one? The one who took all the jokes outlived any of them, the ones with ambitions, the ones with good grades and talent and money. The one who survived was the one who they called "Eggwin" and "Faggot."
And even if they were my quote unquote "friends," I won't miss a single one of them. They're arrogance, greed, and gluttonous makes them all burn in hell, anyway.
Except for Ryan "The Great" Gibson. He was the true MVP.
Rip in pieces.
