16.

Friday, April 13th

"I don't even count, right? I could disappear forever

and it wouldn't make any difference ..."

– John Bender

Friday the thirteenth.

There was a big party that night, at Harvey Crawford's house. Correction – Harvey Crawford's mansion. It was a 'theme' party so everybody had to wear black. Claire could imagine it now: mostly seniors would attend, plus some college people. Music playing at top notch, people diving in the pool while fully dressed in their all-black attire … and Harvey would be at the centre of it all. Had there been no John Bender, no Breakfast Club, Claire would be right there alongside her former friend mixing with the in-crowd. Batting her eyelashes at somebody like Andrew Clark or Todd Dale. Somebody her popular friends would approve of.

But there had been a John Bender, and a Breakfast Club. Claire wasn't going to leave her house for anything that night – not that Harvey would want her showing up anyway. Not even a natural disaster could stir Claire from her bedroom window, as she overlooked the street outside and anxiously counted the minutes until eight-thirty.

He was there.

He was ten minutes late, but he was there! John was standing outside Claire's house on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette, and wearing a black leather jacket. She opened the window.

"John!" she hissed loudly, trying to get his attention. On the alert, John looked up to her. "The gate's open!" Claire hissed again.

Flicking his cigarette to the pavement, John came through the gate and across the lawn, until he stood directly beneath Claire's window and Claire.

"What's the best way in?" he whispered up to her.

"I can't let you in through the front door," she whispered back. "Sophie's cleaning the foyer and my mom's hanging around downstairs … could you climb up?"

"Climb?" echoed John incredulously. Rose-lattice trailed the wall leading to Claire's window on the second floor. "Didn't you hear? My stunt double couldn't make it tonight!"

"You said at lunch you'd sneak in through my window, remember?"

"I wasn't being literal, Claire!"

However, despite John's objection, he gripped hold of the lattice and began to climb while making comments along the way.

"So Rapunzel wants me to climb the wall, does she? … Ouch! … Fuck this shit!"

"I got you," said Claire, reaching down and grabbing John's arm and helping him hoist himself over the windowsill. He landed in a heap on her floor; breathing hard, lying on his back.

"You okay?" Claire asked, breathing quite hard herself.

"Peachy," huffed John. He sat up. "Any more requests? Maybe there's something on the roof you'd like me to get for you?"

"I'm sorry," apologised Claire. "There was no other way inside!"

"Don't sweat it princess, I'm only fucking with you," he said casually, as he stood up. "I've climbed a wall or two before to break into a house. 'Bout two years ago … I think it was on this street come to think of it. Large brick house on the corner, looks like a church?"

"The Kawolski's house?" said Claire in plain shock. "You broke into the Kawolski's house two years ago? You?"

"Me and some friends."

"Their TV was stolen!"

"I know. It's in my buddy Gavin's basement."

Claire had to bite her tongue from reprimanding him. John's colourful history of burglary was not what she was longing to hear from him that night.

"Man, I can't believe we got away with that one!" He was still talking about breaking into the Kawolski's house. He also proceeded to inspect Claire's room: the framed pictures on her walls, the photos surrounding her mirror … pacing about like somebody observing rare artifacts in a museum. The History of Claire Standish: former high school princess-snob. John had been in Claire's room before but last time he hadn't had the opportunity to soak up the atmosphere. Claire had to fight another urge to reprimand him when he began touching her things scattered on the dressing table. He sprayed her Chanel perfume into the air and smelt it. "Oh yeah," he said with a grin. "That's you all over."

"John … "

"I was so stoned when I climbed that wall," he went on – still talking about the Kawolski's house. "It was so fucking funny when – "

"John!"

John was avoiding talking about the very thing he was obligated to talk about. Claire could only take his evasive attitude so long.

"You owe me an explanation," she said to him softly, but sternly, as she walked up to him. John had just been observing her print of Chagall's La Mariée with some interest.

"You've got so much French shit in your room … "

Claire narrowed her eyes at him. John got the hint.

"All right!" he gave in, walking towards her bed and sitting down. "But you're not gonna like it. "

No shit.

Claire went and sat beside him patiently. In the warm glow of her bedside lamp, she noted the tired circles etched beneath John's eyes were still in tact.

"Gavin just bought a new VCR off the black market to go with that stolen TV … "

"John!" Claire was exasperated. "Would you just tell me – "

" … I should know," John went on, as if Claire hadn't interrupted. "I've been hiding out in his basement for the last week."

This made Claire go quiet. She shut her mouth and listened as John continued.

"It was routine. Well, it used to be anyways. Whenever my old man got how he gets I'd always go to Gavin's … until I was about fifteen or so. When I hit sixteen I was sick of running. I figured I'd stand up to the asshole from then on. Take whatever he had to give, fight back. He'd have to kill me to get me out of his face … " John paused to chuckle. "He'd have to kill me! The dumb shit. See, he usually just slaps me around. Some bruises here, a black eye there. Whatever, I can take that. He didn't want me going out last Saturday night, the night I was meant to hook up with you. Mom had gone out to buy milk. As I was heading for the front door he starts loading on me, giving me the standard drunken bullshit: 'you retard piece of shit, where's this weeks rent? Why haven't you fixed my car?' What wasn't standard was the gun he pulled on me."

Claire took a sharp intake of breath. Did he just say gun?

"First dad punched me in the eye, almost slicing my eyebrow off. He got me with his fake gold 'pimp' ring he got in town. That thing always fucking stings. I slam up against the living room wall, and the next thing I know there's a gunshot. For a moment I stupidly thought it came from outside, but then I turned to my right and there's a bullet hole in the wall an inch from my ear. I didn't even know he had that gun any more. I thought he sold it."

John almost died Claire couldn't stop thinking. John was almost murdered by his own father …

"So!" said John, clapping his leather-gloved hands together after an awkward pause. Acting as if he were ready to move on to much brighter topics of conversation. "I guess this means I'm the winner of the coveted crappiest parents award."

But Claire couldn't bring herself to joke along with him – not like this. John shot a glance at her sad face. "I warned you," he said seriously, looking away from her. "My stories aren't pretty."

"I'm glad you told me the truth," said Claire in a quiet voice. "It explains a lot."

She imagined John making a run for it to his car after his dad tried shooting him. Skidding onto the street at full speed, inhaling a joint or two (or more) to calm his nerves. He was lucky a cop didn't pick him up, or that he didn't crash into anything.

Of course, Claire only assumed this is what happened afterwards. But this was the most John had spoken about his life since … well, ever! She wasn't about to push her luck.

To her surprise, John had more to say.

"I haven't told you the part you'll like the least yet."

"There's something worse then you almost being killed?"

Now he looked at her, not joking at all. "Claire, I can't stay here."

She suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe. Her worst fear was about to be realised …

"I have to get out of here. There's this job, a carpentry apprenticeship in New York. It's through Gavin's uncle. He wants me there by the end of the week – "

"Stop!" said Claire over him suddenly, springing from the bed. "Please, just stop talking!"

She didn't want to face him. He spoke from behind her.

"I can't stay."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time!" Claire turned and snapped in response, not meaning to sound so bitter but she couldn't help it. "What … what about school! Graduation's less then two months away, couldn't you just – "

John laughed over her. "Claire, sweets – be real. The only way I'm getting out of high school is by walking out in advance. A damn shame, too. Harvard Law was so eagerly anticipating my application this year … "

"Can you not make jokes right now? Please!"

"Hey," said John to her soothingly. "You're one of the only people who's actually going to miss me around here. You know that?"

"Gee, that makes me feel SO much better!"

"For fuck sake, Claire! I'm doing this cause I want a life of my own!" said John passionately, walking right up to her. "I want out of this backed-up ass crack I've been living in. I wanna be able to make money and not have to give it to my old man. I wanna go somewhere until I don't hear his voice my head, and until I don't even remember what that fat fuck looks like! I won't stay in this town and end up like him. Marry some chick, have a kid, and then beat the soul of them! I won't!"

It was at that second, staring into John's impassioned face that Claire realised something.

John was saving his own life.

The guy who always thought he was the scum of the earth and was treated accordingly. The guy 'Most Likely To End Up Incarcerated' and didn't give a rat's ass. Mr. Self-Destructive. And she knew … Claire knew she had to let him go. It was so painful, but she had to. Taking her silence as a bad sign, John kept on talking. "I'm not leaving 'cause of you! I mean … you blew me in front of Vernon!"

Huh?

"What!" Claire said out loud, cutting off her train of thought. Why the hell would he bring this up now?

"Think about it!"

"No!" she responded harshly, glaring at him. "Don't you think that's kind of inappropriate at a time like this?"

"Claire," John endeavoured to explain, "I'm the kind of guy, as you well know, who if he were ever so lucky as to have his nuts serviced by one of the high school richies with Vernon only a couple of steps away, would then immediately broadcast it to his friends and anybody else who cared to listen! I would be a fucking god. Your prissy little reputation would be shafted, but I wouldn't care because I would be a god! But I said nothing. Not to anybody! It was so freakin' tempting but … nothing."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying I cared about you too much to do that to you!" said John, practically yelling at her. "And I've never cared about any girls before! Especially girls like you! Its – "

" – fucked," Claire finished for him resolutely. And then she said, with tearful eyes but an accepting smile, "you're right."

"I am?" said John, thrown off guard. He was expecting more drama. "About what?

"You can't stay here. I think you should go."

"You're saying … you're saying you want me gone?"

"No," said Claire, shaking her head. "I want you to stay here with me, but I can't ask you to do that. I think you should go … for you."

It was as if she'd spoken in another language. It was taking John a moment or two to decipher the words. "You're letting me go? For real?"

"Yes!" cried Claire – exasperated again. "I'm letting you go!"

"You don't hate me then?"

"No! I love you, you butthead!"

Unable to keep herself under control any longer, Claire began to sob. Embarrassed, she turned away. She didn't want him thinking this tear-fest was her way of manipulating him into staying.

"I'm sorry!" she sniffed. "Just ignore me … "

Without warning, she felt his arms encircle her from behind. Hugging her.

"I couldn't ignore you if I tried," he murmured in her ear, making her smile.

John stayed over at Claire's house Friday and Saturday night. Like newlyweds, they spent the weekend in bed. Talking, sleeping … making love. Making love. That was a newfound expression for her relationship with John, Claire thought. Their physical interaction so far had been more 'animalistic' in nature. Now they had gotten to know eachother – realised they actually liked eachother, god forbid. The tension was gone. They relaxed in eachother's presence and connected on a whole new level. Claire would always remember those days with John as some of the happiest of her life. Nothing like goodbye to make everything seem so much sweeter …

New York city. She could imagine John there for some reason. He was going by bus, leaving Monday morning before school. He wanted to get going as soon as possible he said, so he could start looking for a place to live.

Before Monday rolled by, Claire was thankful to have two virtually uninterrupted days alone with John. Sophie knocked on the door once on Saturday morning, to check if Claire was coming downstairs for breakfast. Claire told her she wasn't feeling so good, and that she was going to spend the weekend in bed studying. The biggest interruption of all had been Claire's dad. He knocked on Claire's door Saturday afternoon, asking to be let in. John – with the expert timing of a cat burglar, disappeared before Claire even got a chance to say "hide!". Claire quickly threw on her white dressing gown and unlocked the door.

"What is it, dad?" She did her best to look and sound ill.

"Honey, Sophie says you're under the weather again."

"It's fine dad, it's just a cough or something." Claire then made an effort to sound throaty.

"Your mother's worried about you. She wants to know if you want Sophie to take you to the doctor."

"Nah, that's okay. I've got some cough medicine in my room. I'm already starting to feel loads better."

"You shouldn't miss any more school you know … "

"I won't! Like I said, I'm already feeling better."

A noise came from behind her. The sound of something falling and somebody swearing hoarsely under their breath.

"What was that?" said Claire's dad, peering into her room over her shoulder.

"Nothing!" chirped Claire. "You didn't hear anything."

"There was a ruckus of some kind."

Claire had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling.

"Ah … something must've of fallen down in my wardrobe!" Claire explained. "I was in there before, moving stuff around. That's all it was."

Mr Standish didn't seem completely convinced, but he let it slide.

"Well … okay. Go back to bed honey, get some rest."

A few beats later, with Claire's dad good and gone, John emerged from within the confines of Claire's walk-in-wardrobe dressed in his boxers.

"What the hell is it with old people and the word 'ruckus'?"

"John!" Claire hissed at him. "Quiet much? My dad totally heard you!"

"It was dark in there, I got lost!" he protested. "Your wardrobe is like some neverending maze of clothes and shoes … "

They could've fought about this, but why bother? They didn't want to spend their last days together arguing about wardrobes and the use of the word ruckus.

"Get that robe off your wearing, it's a disgrace," John demanded teasingly. Claire smirked at him.

"Make me."

John cocked his eyebrow, and gave her a look that read: "Do you really want to go there, princess?"

"Ah!"

She yelped and laughed as he threw her over his shoulder like Tarzan, before heading back to bed.

Monday … Monday … don't think about Monday.

17.

Monday, April 16th

" … what is gonna happen to us on Monday?"

– Brian Johnson

They met at the bus station at 6.25 Monday morning. John's bus was leaving at 6.30. They both agreed they didn't want longer then five minutes to say goodbye. John had left Claire's house after lunch on Sunday. He said he had to go and sneak into his house – for what would be the final time, to get some of his things (and 'borrow' some money from his mom's purse). Then he was going to Gavin's.

Everything felt so mechanical. Claire's alarm sounded off at 5.00am. She woke up, brushed her teeth, washed her face, got dressed, ate breakfast and got in a taxi … like a robot. Like her body was doing all these mundane things on its own.

The taxi eventually pulled up at the curb of the bus station, arriving on time. Claire paid the driver and stepped out. There were a number of stations and buses. Lots of activity; engines running, hot steam rising off the pavement. Bus drivers darting back and forth, helping people load their luggage. People saying goodbye to eachother … a lot of them happy and all smiles. The one's Claire noticed anyway. Then she saw somebody sitting by himself on a chair, wearing a grey jacket and a red scarf.

Their eyes met. Claire walked over to him.

They stood in front of eachother, John's bus almost ready to leave. They embraced silently for two minutes. John removed the white beanie Claire had been wearing and kissed the top of her head.

"You'll be okay, kid," he said, looking at her.

"You too," she said.

Letting eachother go, John headed up the stairs and boarded the bus while carrying a rucksack over his shoulder. Claire watched him through the windows, walking alongside of him until he sat down in the very back. As the bus roared to life and backed out of the station, John wrote something on a piece of paper and held it up to the window for Claire to see.

'TBC' it said.

To be continued.