Because I forgot to do this last chapter…
Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice. Or Mitch Albom's For One More Day, either. I think Mitch Albom does. I also don't own the phrase blundering back to God. That, I'm a bit ashamed to say, comes straight from the book.
And by the way, thanks to Shizuku Tsukishima749 for the review. You, my friend, are officially seven kinds of epic. =] And not just because he/she was the only reviewer. =P You have to check out his/her stories. They are simply amazing.
II: Commencement
When he went blundering back to God,
His songs half written, his work half done,
Who knows what paths his bruised feet trod,
What hills of peace or pain he won?
I hope God smiled and took his hand,
And said, "Poor truant, passionate fool!
Life's book is hard to understand:
Why couldst thou not remain at school?"
-Of One-Self Slain, by Charles Hanson Towne
Commencement
Normally, in the movies, when someone's about to die, there's always plenty of stormy black skies and pelting rain and thunder crashing in the background. In the more dramatic ones, there's violin music and drums and the crash of cymbals.
When I stepped onto the street, there was only a drizzle, and definitely no violins.
If I was bothered, I would've laughed at the irony.
There wasn't anybody outside, which in itself was a pretty rare occurrence. I never really admitted it to myself, but deep down, I was hoping that someone would rush outside and save the day, like Superman in the comics, or Batman or Wonder Woman or – or someone. I was hoping, just a little bit, that someone would come and stop me, that someone – anyone – cared.
That was stupid. No one did. This was a big block with lots of people and lots of problems of its own, and it could care less about people like me. It would function fine without a single suicidal alcoholic. It should've been obvious from the start.
We all have dreams.
And they all fall apart.
.
Next, I called my guardian. I called from a pay phone. He was busy working, late into the night.
"Why?" I said when he answered.
"Roy?"
"Why?" I repeated. Days of resentment and anger, days of driving myself insane with doubt, and that's all that came out. One word.
"Roy –" His tone softened. "Roy, I –"
"I couldn't even meet him? You couldn't tell me in person? Was I too much of an embarrassment?"
"I thought – it would be safer –"
"Safer? Safer? You thought I was going to do something?"
"I don't –"
"You couldn't risk it, that was it, wasn't it? Couldn't afford to ruin your image, could you? The famous Oliver Queen would never have such a disappointment as his heir, right?"
"It's not –"
"I'm a monster now?"
"Stop it. Roy, stop it."
"Stop what, Ollie? Or should I say, Mr. Queen? Can't take the truth, can you?"
"Roy, don't. I had too. You have to understand. He's –"
"Better than me? Oh, that's it, isn't it. Just like that, I'm – replaced?"
"Look, Roy –"
"Save it for the press, Queen. I'm sure they'll be delighted to find out what happened to Roy Harper."
"Roy – no, you don't understand, it's complicated – he needed –"
"Is there anyone else you'd like to tell me about? Anyone else you adopted and didn't bother to tell me about?"
"No, Roy, don't –"
"Forget it. I'm leaving."
I heard him exhale.
"Leaving where?" he said tiredly.
"You couldn't at least tell me yourself? You had to put it in a letter?"
A pause.
"There are times in life," he said eventually, "when there's nothing you can do to make things better. All you can do is make things worse. I'm sorry, Roy."
At that moment I felt lonelier than ever before, and that loneliness seemed to settle down in my chest and crush my breathing until I felt like I was being smothered. There was nothing left to say. Not about this. Not about anything.
"It's all right," I whispered. "I'm sorry too. Goodbye, Ollie."
Another pause. "Leaving where?" he said.
I hung up.
.
And then, for the last time, I walked down the street and got drunk. I paid for a couple bottles with the rest of my cash and downed several pints at a place called Ted's Pub, where the customers were either guys like me or moon-faced teens trying to pretend they were older than they were.
Drink up, kid, and then leave this place forever. Enjoy your time when your biggest worries were tests and grades, because growing up isn't as sweet as you make it out to be.
Trust me.
I know.
Later I went back to my apartment and drank some more. I knocked over furniture. I wrote on the walls. I think I tore the letter into a dozen pieces and threw them into the street, each fragment of paper fluttering down to the pavement like tiny white butterflies and soon turned into soggy grey flakes by the rain, lying on the sidewalk like so many bits of dreams.
.
Sometime in the middle of the night I stumbled outside, shoeless and with my jumper jammed lopsidedly on my torso. The smell of beer clung to my clothes and I stood in the middle of the rain, wishing, vainly perhaps, that it could wash away all my sins. The sky was gray and listless, and clumps of grass lay limply on the ground.
It was two hours to dawn when I lurched to the bus stop and bought a ticket for Lemony Beach, the summer house I used to spend my holidays at. I bought a one-way ticket. You don't need a round trip for a goodbye journey.
The driver looked at me strangely when I climbed on and opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it. What do you say to a suicidal alcoholic rambling around with no shoes and a half-on jumper?
The drive took thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of chugging sloppily along the wet concrete. I stared out the window, watching the grey landscape pass by. There was no sign of life save for the muted streetlights glowing yellow in the background, buildings just a few old blocks like a Lego stack, leaning tiredly on the ground.
There was a feeling of exhaustion in the air. It does that to you. Time, I mean. And life. Oh, once in a while, you see a few people who really shine and do something spectacular. But the majority of us spend our lives in a cocoon of sameness, every minute, every hour, every day. And some – some of us mess up, slip, make so many mistakes that we can't fix. I did. There's nothing I can do anymore. There's nothing anyone can do anymore.
Blundering back to God. Simple as that.
Author's Note: Sorry for the short chapter. Next one will – hopefully – be longer. =P
