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- 10/27/2015
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
18 Weeks of Twoey - 28. Week Four Sunday September 28, 2014 Unfulfilled Dreams
At death, your unfulfilled dreams fade away.
The alarm buzzed at 6:30 for my run. I smashed it off. There would be no run today. In fact, I probably only fell asleep an hour ago. I had cried all night. Cried until I couldn't understand how my body could still produce tears.
At fifteen years old, your life is said to sprawl out before you. Many paths diverge from where you now stand. Each entices you with its own possibilities. Each frightens you with unknown dangers. Each confronts you with unique challenges. A myriad of paths, endless possibilities and countless universes await us. It is our future.
At fifteen years of age you are supposed to have a future. Now, sadly, I’m beginning to understand something only too well. Life is a crapshoot. Nothing is supposed to happen. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it ends. I can't get my head around such a brutally harsh truth. Not even close. My friend is dead. He has no future paths to walk.
I think a large part of my world is now forever dead. This new hollow feeling has attacked me, injured me and won the battle. I’ll never be the same again. It hurts too much.
No one knows what happened yet. Well, I'm sure someone knows, but nobody’s telling us. All we know is the horrifying results. It hurts so much.
We warned Twoey not to go there. My warning wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t forceful enough. In the end, I guess, it simply didn’t count for much.
I’m hollow inside. I’ve heard that phrase before. I knew what it meant, but never truly understood the feeling it tried to convey. I wish I still didn’t understand. I’d give anything to not understand it’s meaning again. But I can’t go back. Nobody can go back. If I could have gone back, for even a few minutes, I would have slapped Twoey so hard he’d finally have understood our warning.
There is a list of things I’d do over. There is a list of actions I should have taken. There is a list of things I’ve done wrong. There are so fucking many lists in my mind right now. But there is only one list which actually means anything at all. Only one list left to ponder. Only one list that matters. Only one list that is stamped on my brain forever: the casualty list.
Danny is dead.
Danny's father is dead.
Twoey is in intensive care. He’s gonna die too.
I rolled over and cried yet again into my pillow. I never went back to sleep. I guess I’ll have to operate on one hour today. Maybe I’ll nap later. When I heard my family stirring, I made my way to the bathroom, got in the shower and stood there, under the hottest water I could bear, and cried more. After drying, I threw on some sweats and left my room bumping into Tommy in the hallway. We hugged tightly and both cried into each other. Everybody loved Danny and his freckles. Our bubbly little redhead. How could someone with endless quantities of life, suddenly have no life at all? How does that even work?
I picked at some fruit but couldn't really eat. I even drank coffee for the first time. I hate the taste of coffee. I think I’ll drink coffee from now on. I need to do things I hate. I need it for my sanity, to feel anything again. At least I can feel the coffee.
Tommy's mother and my father got ready to go to church but even they knew not to ask us kids. We stayed home. I got a call from Kathy wanting to know if it was true. I got a call from Gary saying the gang (only four of us now) was going to meet at Sam's house. Well, why not? Maybe Sam knows something. Although somehow I don’t think this is something even Sam would know about.
After dressing, I went over to pick up Gary and we walked to Sam’s. It was eerie. We could see Danny's big house a few doors down from Sam’s. There it stood, everything well painted and trim. The hedges and lawn looked perfect. The only thing that didn’t fit the spit and polish image was the yellow tape all around the porch, as though it were a crime scene. Well, I guess it was a crime scene.
We gathered in Sam's room and tried to make sense of what had happened. No way could we understand it, not even Sam. He told us his neighbor said she heard a shot. Shortly, she heard another shot. It's when she called the police. Now we were trying to figure it all out. I mean, if somebody shot a gun, it was probably Danny’s father ...right? But if Danny's father was dead, somebody shot him. And how did Twoey fit into it? And why would Danny's father shoot his own son? Nothing was adding up. And where was Danny's mother in all of this? And where was she now? Was she in jail? Did she shoot Danny’s father?
We were throwing all this wild stuff around. In the end, we weren't any better off than when we were each trying to figure it out on our own. But at least I wasn't crying anymore. There were no tears left in me anyway. From seeing all the red eyes, I hadn't been the only one crying all night. We sat and talked all day. Sam's mother brought us sandwiches and other food but I hardly ate. I may never eat again. One thing we decided was no way were we going to school tomorrow. We'd meet at Nels's house tomorrow at 10 am. Maybe someone would know something by then.
I walked home with Gary but we hardly spoke. I entered my house, which suddenly transformed into out-of-focus tunnel walls, leading me straight to my room. I stripped, took another long hot shower, dried off and sat naked on my bed. I sat there, alone in my room, and became lost in thought. At least I wasn’t numb anymore.
I thought of Twoey. I’d only known Twoey for a few weeks, less than a month. I recalled the first and most unforgettable day. I remembered how his green eyes captured me; how I ran home in panic. Those four intervening weeks were chuck full of emotional highs and lows for me. I realized, finally, I was beginning to connect with him. It was getting to be like we had known each other for years. Our friendship was on the cusp of blossoming. I was starting to have warm feelings when we spoke. We were becoming comfortable with each other ...good friends. The stunning green-eyed boy from Syracuse who dropped into our lives as his closest friend dropped out of his. Twoey.
I thought of Danny. Of course I had known Danny for almost my entire life. When you grow up close to someone, there is a familiarity which doesn’t have a name or a definition. You learn their character, their moods, their spirit. Animata, I once read somewhere. You can sense things about them, things others cannot feel. You can sense they’re lonely. You can sense they suffer. You can sense they are depressed. You can sense they only smile on the outside. You can sense their longing. You know they are forever sad ...our Danny.
When you’re 15 years old, you have a lot of dreams.
Some are very specific. Places you want to see, things you want to do, experiences you want to ...experience.
Others are not quite clear or defined. Maybe marriage, maybe kids, maybe grandkids!
You want to go to college, but it’s too early to even think precisely where.
You want an amazing job, but it’s too far off to know exactly what it will be.
You dream of silly stuff, unattainable stuff: a huge mansion, a Lamborghini, Olympic gold in ...surfing or something.
These are your dreams.
No one else shares this exact same group of dreams.
Twoey had his set of dreams.
Danny had his dreams too.
And today there’s a huge mountain somewhere.
I don’t know exactly where it is, but I know it does exist. I know it exists like I know I exist.
It’s the mountain of their unfulfilled dreams.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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