- Chapter 13 -
I was supposed to be kept in the ward until I was ready to walk. Max and Drew are always around now. Max didn't dare to call Maddie yet. And since Maddie wasn't informed of my current condition, neither were London and Mr. Moseby or even Mom and Cody. Good ol' Cody. And I couldn't hurt Mom again. But sooner or later, they'd know. They always know. Max brought a whole ton of books over. She told me to read them over and over again. I tried to. I really did. But the scariest part was that I just didn't get it. I really didn't. I'm not an idiot, but I couldn't understand what I was reading. I think that really upset Max. Drew, he doesn't talk much. He doesn't tell me stories about his grandparents or the good old days when we used to drink and eat good food together, and be bon vivants. I don't think he thinks they were so good anymore. He doesn't tell me of his days he spent going in and out of juvenile correctional facilities, hospitals, and rehabilitation centers. He just sits in the chair beside me and reads the books I'm not reading, thinks the things I'm not saying, understands the pain I'm not revealing.
I remember when I was young and stupid and tried to hit on chicks I never stood a chance with. Drew never partook in that kind of merriment. He was always smarter than me. I was never close with the party crew I rolled with; Drew was as close as it got. But then again, him and I weren't even that close to begin with. I just lie in bed, pretending to read books but really reminiscing. I remember Drew when he got back from juvenile hall. He didn't want to do anything with the stuff I was one. He never chilled with us, not even when there was a party or girls involved. He told me once, straight to my face, You know who you are? You're white trash, just another fuck up, you know that? You think this is what life's all about? You're in the slums, man. And you're never getting out. And I, drunk as ever, challenged him, Is that who I am? You think I'm just another case? He sized me up then. That's exactly who you are. Hey, I knew. I know. And I'm sorry.
He had tired eyes now, different from what I can remember. His hair has gray strands. He was always older than the rest of us. Now I know age had nothing to do with it. At daytime, I could barely stand to look at him. I couldn't even look at myself. But one night, when nobody was around, I called out into the darkness, "I'm sorry." And I heard nothing, not even the slightest motion that Drew acknowledged my apology. But it's enough. I know it's enough. And I'm sorry.
A few days later, I was released from the hospital. I still didn't tell anyone about why I was in there. I told Mom that I was sleeping over a friend's house. She nodded, tired as usual. I didn't tell Maddie either. But she doesn't see you like that. I know. But she couldn't take that. Max, for the most part, left me alone. I couldn't deal with that kind of pressure every day. But I swallowed those pills, just like I swallowed my whole life, down the drain, and I didn't think much of it. I kept myself distanced from Maddie and London, even from Mom and Cody just like back in the days. On the nights where I was feeling the loneliest, Max and Drew took me away to a better world. But it wasn't good enough. I didn't see as much hallucinations as I thought I would, but when I did see one, it was almost always severe and resulted in a seizure or me passing out.
One night, when I was feeling particularly down, I wandered out the streets without the two guardians hovering on my back. I passed by quite a number of bars and old time joints where my friends and I used to hang, and I was definitely tempted to enter them again. I just needed out. Right before I reached the door handle, I felt a touch on my shoulder. When I turned around, I saw Maddie. She said softly, "Come on, Zack. Let's go." And I was glad. I followed her out. She, as mature as she was, seemed like a child then. I must've seemed like a child as well. She asked me, "How are you faring, Zack?" Could be better, could be worse. Are you sober? Somewhat. Can't you look at me? Can't you at least look at me? No. Why not? Because I will lose myself again. I just found myself. I cannot lose myself again. She looked at me with wide eyes. She tried to grin, tried to play it out, like, "Do you dodge bullets like you dodge questions?" But I saw the concern in her face. I wonder to myself, Did Max tell you? Did Drew? But in the end, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm still the one left wandering.
I tell Maddie, "You saw me when the world didn't." She only shook her head then and replied, "That wasn't me. That was you." But she knew. She knew. She knew that my life was limited. Max tells her. I don't mind though. She hangs with me sometimes. Perhaps she was hoping to let me be a part of her world. Nevertheless, she's there. Sometimes Max's with us, sometimes she's not. Sometimes Drew's not. When Max's not there, I guess I'm more prone to outbursts. So I wander, forever wander, like the ronin. I've always wondered what it felt like to be lonely and not have a friend in the world. But that was me all along, wasn't it?
Someone told me once, but I do not remember when this was or who was the source, that Rick was killed. He was run over by some drunken teenage boy and his girlfriend in a Chevy Impala. I don't think I ever got over that. When I saw Rick lying at the hospital, the same damn hospital, I almost lost it right there. I had absolutely no self-control. When I saw the punk ass and his chick walking out of the car accident scot-free, I almost killed him. And it was someone else who pulled me back, yelling out to me, "Just let it go, Zack! Let it go!" Damn, what was I supposed to let go? "You're part of this conspiracy, you know," The same voice would hover around me. "You follow this routine that they've brainwashed you to follow from day one. You're too stiff. Why do you have to be all tense and have all these emotions all the time?" He'd tell me in a frustrated tone, "Why can't you just let go?"
I went to Rick's funeral. Damn, that sounds like a heresy. I was dragged to the stupid funeral. I hated funerals. I went to so many, for friends who have died before their time. And for what have they accomplished? I sat in the pews of another church, listening to people speaking words of condolence to the grieving families. Can they seek comfort in that? To know that their children are dead? To know that their children can never return, even if they would give up their lives for them? I didn't know Rick too well, but he reminded me of the people who went away. That was why my life was so cold and the road I walked in was so desolate. Am I supposed to cry with you? I cannot. Alas, I cannot. I cannot bring myself to do such a thing like that anymore.
"You have no idea," I reminded myself as I walked down the dirty, snowy sidewalk. Nobody was out; nobody in the right mind would be out this time of night. "You just don't have a clue. The only thing you know is a world that you've already left behind." I absentmindedly kicked a can across the street. "You're just this picture of perfect complacency, aren't you?" I snapped back in attention. "Well, you're not," I admonished myself. "You're nothing at all. Stop wishing. Stop lying to yourself. Just let it go." I felt a soft hand on my shoulder, a soft touch to my nerves. I instantly jerked away from the hand and screamed at myself, "Just let it go, Zack! Let it go!" It was like an echo. I've heard this before. Over and over again. Zack, oh Zack. Wide eyes, anxiety, stared back at me. Oh, Maddie. My arm throbbed suddenly. A new voice filled inside my head.
Oh, Tim.
Tim?