That Boy

I grab one of Dad's big fla

I can't do it any longer.

I run back into their room, throw myself across their big bed, and lose it.

I mean totally, completely, lose it.

I breakdown, and cry, and sob, and wail, like I've never done before. I have never, ever, hurt so much. I didn't even think it was possible to feel this much pain.

You'd think eventually my tears would run out, but they don't. I just cry, and cry and cry.

And cry.

I'm startled by a noise, flip around and see Phillip staring down at me.

He sits on the bed and shakes his head at me, as he gathers me into his arms. “I wondered when you'd finally lose it.”

I can't seem to choke out a response, so I just bury my head into his shirt and sob.

On Friday morning, I wake up feeling groggy. Finally took that sleeping pill.

I glance over at the clock and see it's nearly ten, so I go downstairs to the kitchen.

On the breakfast bar, I find a note from Phillip's mom.

It says, Had some errands to run. Back by two.

Four hours by myself.

What am I going to do?

Normally, I would relish having four hours of peace and quiet, or I would call and have Jake come over, but now? Well, Jake, although he did come to the visitation and was very polite, isn't an option, and I don't think I can relish the quiet.

I'll just feel lonely and start thinking about my parents.

Plus, I'm feeling edgy. Like I need to do something.

Like I can't sit here alone.

Maybe I'll go to school today. At least there's always a lot going on there. I've been feeling edgy since the funeral. It's weird, when I'm at home, home being Phillip's house for the time being, I feel like I need to go and do something. Then when I get there, all I want to do is come home. I feel like I should be out looking for something.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid what I'm looking for can't be found.

I can't have my parents back.

If I hurry and get ready, I can be at school in time for AP English. It's my favorite class. We've been reading the book, Our Town, in it. The main character, Elizabeth, dies, but she doesn't want to leave the living. One of the most important lines in the book, the one I quoted at the funeral is, “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it - every, every minute?” The quote is Elizabeth's way of saying we should put more emphasis on the value of daily life. After dying, she finds out that life's not just about special events or occasions. It's about seeing the wonder in daily life and not wasting opportunities.

You know, like stopping to smell the roses.

I wonder if I have been too busy living life.

Did I take my parents for granted? Probably, a bit. But as we tried to show at the funeral, my parent's philosophy on life had been to work hard and play hard. And we always did. Even when we were working on a project, like staining the fence, which is a really horrible job, we had fun. My parents always did a lot with me. Dad helped coach my soccer and basketball teams and always had time to play with me in the back yard. Mom stayed at home, and there were often warm cookies and milk waiting for me when I got home from school. I loved coming in the door after school and trying to guess what she had baked, based on the smell. She always talked to me about my day and gave me great big hugs for no reason. And they both told me they loved me, a lot. I think they lived life fully.

I make a promise to myself to try and always do the same.

And I guess that means getting back to living.

So I go to school. I manage to sign in at the office without attracting any attention and am early to class, the first one here. I slide into my desk and open my notebook. None of my good friends are in this class. They think it's stupid to work so hard your senior year, but I'm getting college credits for the class, so I think it's worth it. Besides, the teacher is great and even though the class work is difficult, she has a way of making it fun. I also love it because we read novels, and I love to read.

Because most of our class time is spent discussing the novels and because there are only eleven kids in the class, Mrs. Reece will often let us have class outside or in the commons area. A few weeks ago, we talked her into going to the bowling alley for lunch and checking out a slice of life in Westown. It was really fun.

The first bell rings, and the students slowly file in.

A man walks in and stands up front.

Great. Substitute teacher. That means today's class will be completely worthless. I so should have stayed home. What was I thinking?

After the tardy bell rings, the substitute, whose dress and actions are very stiff and formal, introduces himself as Mr. Gustafson.

He starts in a droning voice, “Today we are going to talk about the essays you will be writing regarding the book, Our Town, by Thornton Wilder. Mrs. Reece says that you have discussed how this book shows a slice of life, circa 1922. For your essays, you will write about a slice of your own life. Mrs. Reece wants us to use this class time for brainstorming that will help you decide what to write about in your essays. I'm going to ask each of you to share a slice of your life with the class. We'll cover sports, home life, friends, family, weekends, dates, etc. Lets start with something easy. Who would like to volunteer to tell the class about their weekend? Share a slice of your life? Anyone? Anyone?” he asks hopefully, looking around.