Chapter 2: Living on the edge
A month later, and it seems like a crazy bad dream. At least, that's what the 14-year-old keeps telling himself. Haruto Sakaki and his mother have been going to back-to-back funerals for his friends, and it seems like the world he once knew is a joke, a movie prop to cover the real craziness that lies beneath. He tried telling his mom, but she merely shook her head, thinking he was still stressing out about his friends' "tragic accidents." He wonders why the police have written it up like that, but nobody takes a teenage skater punk seriously at the police station to bother answering. His father, on the other hand, is despairing, thinking that the deaths have permanently made his son into a juvenile delinquent. Haruto doesn't bother correcting his father, a high school science teacher, since the old man's the high-strung type.
He still hangs with the other skaters, but lately, he's been going off on his own tangent, skating in subway tunnels, through busy intersections, or through shopping malls. He knows he could probably score some serious drugs to self-medicate and take away the pain, but it won't take away his knowledge. Besides, lately, he wants some faster wheels, maybe a downhill racer or a motorcycle. Something with some serious wheels and deadly speed. Expensive, yeah, but at least it would be legal, mostly.
"Do you have a death wish or something?" his father hisses one night after he pays for his son's bail. "Maybe I should just leave you in jail!"
Haruto shrugs. "Whatever," he says, bolding looking in the faces of the curious passersby.
His father, on the other hand, is already cramming the low brim of his hat even lower, ashamed of his son. "One of these days," he starts, annoyed when his son joins in, "you're going to regret your shameful behavior." He halts, and so does the boy. "And you'll have an accident just like your friends," he says, unable to stop himself.
Haruto looks up at his father. This is a new one. "It wasn't an accident," he says quietly.
"I read the news," his father growls, pushing him into the car, "I've talked to your mother."
"They don't know anything," the boy says, looking out the window.
A slap brings him face to face with his father. "Don't you dare insult your mother like that!" the older man yells.
Haruto rubs his cheek, but it's nothing compared to the wipeouts he's had lately. "I wasn't," he says, "I'm just telling the truth."
Another slap, and now Mr. Sakaki starts the car, practically breaking the key in the ignition. "You little liar," he grits between his teeth, "you no-good, stupid punk."
Haruto says nothing, staring outside, wishing he could be driving the car, in charge and in control. No, forget a car, that's too removed, like his dad. He wants a motorcycle, with the same need for balance to go with the extra speed. He wants to be far, far away from everything.