Chapter 6

"Nostalgia and Remorse"

The last class of the day came to an end and the students of Bullworth scurried off to their own personal business. The bell was obnoxious, but it released relief along with the blaring sound. I rose from seat, swung my bag over my shoulder and walked out the door.

"Yo Elisha, me and the guys are gonna' hang. Wanna' join?" Asked Zoe as she rushed to walk beside me.

"Naw, can't. I have practice back at the ring." I lied, partially. I could've ditched a day from boxing practice and the guys wouldn't even notice my absent. I just wasn't feeling it.

"You're still hanging around the high-class jack asses? What happened to hanging with us or at least those brainless bulldozers?" She began to chuckle, I didn't reply, for I had no answer.

"All-righty then. Catch'ya later, I guess." Said Zoe. She ran down the halls, to the staircase and out the door as I continued to trudge through the school.

The school, still different, was still the same. The bullies still bullied; the preps still boasting'; the greasers carried the same conversational topics; the nerds still spoke in their own language that no other clique could comprehend; the jocks still gloated over their balls and jewels; and the rest just kinda' did their own thing. That was the difference. Every clique was doing their own thing and took no effort to cross the borders. Hatred was no longer from discrimination, though a few still hung on to that ideal, and for me, I had no opinion.

Practice was amusing to either watch or to actually have a part in it. The adrenaline and meaningless anger of, 'you punch me and now I'm going punch you even harder' was what fun was, but a year in the asylum brought solemn and soberness in to my own interest in it. Now I have none. I refuse to slip the gloves back on and step in to ring in fear of trigger that blows the bullets out of the nozzle of an old gun that hides in the attic of man who brought honor to his own country and suffers of PSD, causing eruption and disturbance in his household that bares the arms of his loving family rather than the brotherhood that bears the weight of their country's freedom.

I remember the sharing laughter as we spoke of the lesser. Throwing punches at one moment and then throwing ourselves in to the arms of those who wore Aquaberry. After we parted during those evenings, I would return to my old friends and share a bottle or two and return to my dorm with the help of a sober friend back in the Harrington House, stupefied and numb.

I'll wake up half-dead and then continue my slumber. I would then catch up with an old friend that I had always yearned to spend time with. The yearning would be unbearable enough for me to become even more foolish as I already was; it was a desire I didn't want. I have no desire for such closeness. He was crazy, and I had enough insanity in me to be infatuated by it.

And that was my nostalgia and remorse that this change has creates and revoked within me.

"You going in for match?" Asked Gord. I snapped back in to reality.

"What?" Unsure of what he asked.

"A match. Are you going to-" I cut him off, knowing what he was going to ask me.

"Naw, it's fine. Not feeling it today."

"Same story all week. Are you okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine." I shook off the low gray cloud that hung around me and smiled as if it was nothing, as if I was just tired.

Gord took in a deep sigh and said, "U-huh". I had nothing to say in reply. We both continued to the watch the fight in silence, it was Bif against Bryce. It wasn't entirely a fair fight but if they use the right tactics, the fight could become unpredictable and interesting. Bryce was skilled in headfirst offence, as Bryce was swift on his feet.

"You look lovely, by the way." Gord stated without leaving his eyes off the fight. I cleared my throat and glanced over at the clock behind us. I felt awkward by the compliment even though I was well aware that was one of his phrases he uses to get out of certain situations, due to his great interest over clothes and physical appearance.

I jokingly punched him on the shoulder lightly as I laughed a bit. I turned my head to him. "Thanks. You look lovely too." He began to chuckle from the silly simple compliment.

"You seem quite off lately, that's all. If there's anything there I can do for you don't hesitate to ask me. Remember, we're still here for you,." He stated. I smiled.

"Thanks." I said. We fell in to silence.

"Bryce Montrose!" Derby yelled, announcing the winner. You could hear a few of the preps complain about Bif's failure as others congratulate Bryce for his win.

The evening slowly drifted in to the night, we then left as Derby closed the Glass Jaw Boxing Club.