Jeremy

My name is Kyle.  I’m sixteen.  For now, that’s all the personal details you need to know.

When I was thirteen, I was going to school like any other kid.  Football was my life at the time.  I was very popular with the girls in our class, and was part of the ‘in crowd’.  My friends were all jocks, and we all acted like it.  They were bullies, and so was I.  I can say that now, three years later, but at the time?  No way in hell.

I had average grades, good enough not to be stressed out that I wouldn’t be able to play, but not much better.  My parents were always on me to get my grades up, but they were too proud of the fact I was starting on the team as a freshman to do anything about it.

I’m not writing this to tell you about me.  Well, okay, I am, but I’m not the main reason.  You’ll learn more about me later on.

There was this kid in our class: Jeremy.  He came to public school our seventh grade year.  Looking back, there was nothing wrong with him, he was just... different.  We, my friends and I, ripped the kid apart every day.  We harassed him in every way imaginable.  We called him names.  I don’t think I ever called him ‘Jeremy’ once.  It was always “Jermie,” or “shrimp,” or something else to let him know how much we hated him.  It wasn’t hate, of course; It was asserting our supposed authority over him.

 Sometimes, we would physically push him around, make him drop his books or lunch, or even rank him out to beat the shit out of him on general principle.  He only fought back once, and he paid for it later.  Usually, he just curled up into a ball and took what we gave him.  We stopped beating on him, because it wasn’t any fun.  He didn’t resist.  It was like kicking a log.  After the fourth or fifth time, we just quit.  We didn’t stop harassing him, though.

Jeremy was a good looking kid.  He wore wire rimmed glasses, had blond hair and startling green eyes the color of pine needles.  He was shorter than I was, but almost everyone was then.  I’d say he was about five-five then.  He was wiry, and pretty strong.  I remember seeing him benching at least one-fifty.  I remember because it surprised the hell out of me.

The teachers didn’t like him much.  He was always drawing in class, not paying attention.  They would go out of their way to ask him questions when he wasn’t paying attention, and would try and embarrass him into being more attentive.  The thing was, after he heard the question, he always had the answer.  Even so, they sent him to the office more times than I can count, and that’s just in the classes I had with him.

Jeremy’s brother, Jordan, was two grades ahead.  He was a super jock, excelling in football, wrestling, and soccer.  He acted like he was ashamed of Jeremy, and would put him down every chance he got.  One day, I happened to see Jeremy and his family out in town.  Jordan was yelling at Jeremy, telling him what a dork he was, and that he was a loser because he didn’t play sports, and cuffing him on the head for being stupid.  His mom and dad seemed to think this was okay, because they just let it continue. 

I remember Jeremy’s face that day.  He was completely emotionless, staring forward, acting like his brother didn’t exist.  When Jordan would hit him, Jeremy would pretend it hadn’t happened.  When we called him names and made comments, Jeremy would give us that same expression, and his eyes would go flat, like he was dead.  He never got angry.  He never cried.  Even when we had broken a rib during one of the beatings, he just pretended it didn’t happen.  I never saw a single tear.

What’s shown below is third hand.  After everything that happened, I need to explain some.  I got this from Paul, one of Jeremy’s few friends, and I pasted it in here.  Thanks again, Paul, and I’m sorry for everything.

I met Jeremy a couple of days after he came to school for the first time.  Kyle and his buddies immediately took out after him and didn’t let up.  Being an outsider and sometimes target myself, I decided Jeremy and I could both use a friend.

He was shy when I approached him at lunch that day, acting like I wasn’t even there, and I wasn’t talking to him.  When I finally got his attention, I was surprised.  He seemed indifferent to my presence.  His expression was blank.  I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“You’re Jeremy, right?”  No answer, he just continued to stare at me.  “I’m Paul.  We have a couple of classes together.”  Again, the silent treatment.  “Mind if I sit down?”  He shrugged.  Yes!  Communication!  His expression was still blank.  “Thanks.  Lunch sucks today, doesn’t it?  I hate Thursdays.  I wouldn’t feed this crap to my dog.  My sister on the other hand....”  He gave a slight smile.  “What do you think?”

In a voice that could barely be heard, he said, “Yeah.  Tastes like shit.”  He dropped his eyes to his plate.  He seemed embarrassed that he spoke to me!

“That’s why I usually skip lunch on Thursday.  Looks like I should have today, too.  What class do you have after lunch?”

Again that quiet, nearly inaudible voice.  “Math.”

“Me too!  Did you get yesterday’s homework done?”  He nodded.  “Can I borrow it?  I forgot to finish last night.”

Wordlessly, he reached below the table, came up with two sheets of paper, and handed it to me.  The writing was small, so small I had a little trouble reading it, but the work was neatly done.

“Thanks; you’re a lifesaver!  I’ll give it back to you when class starts.”  He glanced up at me for a second, then went back to pushing his food around his plate again. He hadn’t taken a bite since I spoke to him.

At that moment, Kyle came up behind him and slapped him on the back of the head.  His friends laughed, but they kept walking.  Jeremy seemed unaffected.  He didn’t turn his head or anything.

I said loudly, “Kyle, you’re an asshole!”  to his retreating form, but they just laughed and continued on their way out of the lunchroom.  “Are you okay, Jeremy?” 

He shrugged, saying, “It doesn’t matter,” and then put his fork down on the lunch tray.  Gathering his books, he stood.  “I’ll see you in class, okay?”  He shrugged again, picked up his tray, and left.

As time passed, Jeremy actually began to talk with me in more than one syllable.  We shared four of seven classes, including PE.  I found out quickly that he was a much better student than I was, and even excelled in PE.  He was much stronger than he looked. 

A couple of times during the year, we played a game we called Poison Mat.  What it boiled down to is one person was put in the middle of the room with a big gymnastics pad.  Everyone else was put on one side of the room, and at the coaches whistle, ran to the other side.  The man in the middle had to take someone down and make them touch the pad, then the two of them were in the middle.  The game continued until only one person was left, then they became the middle man.  We played it with wrestling mats covering the floor.

Every time that Kyle or his friends were in the center, they would seek out Jeremy, and literally slam him to the floor, or into the wall, only to let him go, so they could do it again.  When they did take him down, they drug him to the center mat, doing whatever they could to inflict pain. 

One time he walked out of the room after taking a particularly vicious attack from Kyle.  I followed him out and watched him collapse against the wall, breathing hard.  I asked him what was wrong, and he said he just got the breath knocked out of him.  I don’t know about that, but for the next two weeks, he was very careful how he moved.  He also came out of that incident with a black eye from “accidentally” hitting Kyle’s knee with his head.  The coach let him sit out the rest of the day.  All Kyle and his cretin friends did was point and laugh.

I invited Jeremy over to my house about three weeks after I first talked with him.  He gave me the longest, hardest stare I ever remember getting, even from my parents, before agreeing.  It was like he could see the darkest secrets of my soul.  It was very unnerving, and took all of my willpower just to keep eye contact.

When he got there, he went into his shy mode, hardly looking up at all.  My younger sister was six, and she asked him what was wrong with his neck because he didn’t look up!  Mom said hello to Jeremy, and he responded with a, “Hi,” of his own, but that was it.  She gave me a look, like she wanted to know what his problem was.  I shrugged and led Jeremy back to my room where we did our homework, and then I taught him how to play Command and Conquer. About six, my mom asked Jeremy if he was staying for dinner.  He shrugged, as usual, and I told her he was.  She asked to see me outside, so I set Jeremy up to keep playing and followed her into the kitchen.

“Is there something wrong with that boy?”

“He’s just really shy, mom.  Give him a chance to get used to you.”

She pursed her lips, thinking.  “All right, Paul.  I’ll give him some time.  Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you met his family?”

“I know his brother.  He’s a senior, and a real asshole.”

“Jeremy, language please.”

“Sorry, but it doesn’t change the fact.  His brother treats him like he doesn’t exist.”

“And his parents?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t met them.”

“Hmm.  Okay.  Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.  Does he need to call home and check with his parents?”

“I’ll ask.” 

I walked back to my room and saw Jeremy was doing well.  He had the hang of things.  “Do you need to call home to make sure you can eat here?”

“No,” he said immediately.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?”  He just nodded, concentrating on the game.  “All right.  It’ll be on the table in about fifteen minutes.

“Okay.  I should be done by then.”

We sat in silence as I watched him clean up the last few Nod units left on the map.  When mom called us to the table, it was all over.

My mom is a single parent.  She and my dad couldn’t get along any longer, according to her.  I think it was because my dad was sleeping around, but I can’t prove it.  In any case, I very rarely saw him since the divorce, which came through when I was seven.

Jeremy loosened up a bit at dinner, telling her about schoolwork and grades and stuff at her prompting, but he clammed up when she asked about his family, evading her questions as best he could.  He would change the subject or ask me a question.  He even talked to my sister for awhile, trying to keep mom from asking any more about his family life.

After dinner, we went back to my room and played Warlords III as allies.  About eight, mom came in and reminded us it was a school night, and it was time for Jeremy to go home.  For just a split second, so quickly I could have imagined it, I saw panic cross his face.  Then his expression went blank.  I walked him to the door.  Mom asked him if he needed a ride, but he shook his head and thanked her for having him over.  I said goodbye, and then he was gone into the dark.

Jeremy only invited me over to his house a couple of times, and his parents were conspicuously absent both times.  His brother wasn’t around either.  His room was rather spartan.  There was a twin bed, a nightstand, and that was about it.  There were a couple of posters on the wall from a few concerts he’d been to:  Pearl Jam, Incubus, Fuel.  A shelf on the wall held a couple of trophies from Little League.  There was a team picture from some soccer team that he’d played on.  Other than that, the room was bare. 

His closet was arranged neatly , clothes hung in order, pants and shirts by color and type.  He changed out of his school clothes and put on a pair of faded jeans and a Nike t-shirt, then put his school clothes in a hamper in the bathroom, which was immaculate.  The whole house was that way.  Even the refrigerator was organized.  He took out a couple of sodas and rearranged the remaining cans before closing the door.  He asked me if I wanted something to eat.  When I said, “No,” there was tangible relief in his face.

We sat at the dining room table to do our homework, which took us longer than usual, because he had to teach me the math lesson all over again.  He glanced at the clock every so often as we worked, making me nervous in the process.  It was like he was expecting his doom to swoop down on him at a specific time.

About five forty-five,  he stood up and started ushering me out the door, saying he had to be somewhere and couldn’t wait any longer to go.  Being used to his neuroses, I didn’t think anything of it, just accepting it as another part of Jeremy. 

As I walked down the street, I saw a car race past me, stopping in front of Jeremy’s house.  Jordan got out of the car,  coming home from football practice, still wearing his pads.  He walked into the house.  Even one hundred yards away, I could hear Jordan yelling at Jeremy.

The year went on.  Jeremy became a nearly permanent fixture at my house.  My mom seemed to like him, and my sister hated him as only a sister could, but secretly, I think they liked each other.  Their bantering was good natured, at least.

Mom seemed to accept that he didn’t want to spend much time at home after I told her what I’d seen.  That he would stay for dinner was a given.  She didn’t even ask after the first couple weeks.  It was understood.

One spring day in April, Jeremy was supposed to meet me at my locker after school.  He didn’t show.  I looked around for him, but I never found him.  I caught sight of Jordan and asked him if he knew where Jeremy was, and he responded, “Who?”

“Your brother, Jeremy?”

He looked incredibly annoyed.  Sneering, he answered, “I don’t know.  It’s not my year to keep track of that worthless little fuck,” and pushed me out of his way.

I finally found him in the band room, laying in a ball in a corner.  As I moved toward him, I could see some blood under his head.  It wasn’t much, but it scared me.

“Jeremy, are you okay?”  He groaned and levered himself up to his knees, grimacing in pain.  His face had several cuts, and a huge bruise on his right cheek.  “Oh, God.  Let me get the nurse!”

“No!  No teachers.  I’m okay.”  He tried to stand, but I had to catch him when he nearly fell over.  He took a sharp breath when I put my arms around him to steady him.

“Please, Jeremy, let me get the nurse.”

“No.  I’ll be all right.  I just need to go home.”

“Let me call mom and give you a ride, at least!”

“She’s working. I can manage.”

“Jeremy...”

“Look, are you gonna help me get home, or do I have to go on my own?”

Defeated, I said, “Of course I’ll help, bud.  What do you want me to do?”

“Go to my locker and get my math book.  The combination is sixteen, thirty-five, twenty-eight.”

“Okay.  Anything else?”

“Help me over to that chair?”  I half carried him and sat him down gently.  He was sweating a lot, and the sweat had to sting his cuts.  He sat there without complaint and motioned me to go get his book.  I was torn between doing as he asked and staying with him, but I ran to his locker and ran back.

 He was obviously in a great deal of pain.  He was as white as a sheet, and breathing shallowly.  “Please, Jeremy, let me get you some help.”

“No,” he said breathlessly.  “Just help me get home.”  He stood with my help and we managed to get out of the school without any teachers seeing us.  Plenty of kids saw us though, so the rumors would be flying the next day.

How we got him to his house is something I’ll never know.  He couldn’t really walk, so he leaned on me for the most part.  I’m not a very big guy, and I was at the limit of my strength by the time we got him to his bed.  He told me to go home, but I couldn’t.  I just had to stay with him. 

I cleaned up his face as best as I could, and got him undressed.  When I took his shirt off, he yelped as he bent his back to let me pull it off.  Tears filled his eyes and he collapsed back onto his bed, his breathing quick and shallow.

“Jeremy, please!”

“No.  I’ll be okay.  All I need to do is rest.”

“You’re hurt!”

“Yeah, well, that’s nothing new.  Thanks for bringing me home, Paul. You’re a good friend.  You better get going.  My mom gets home early today.”

“I’ll stay and tell her what happened.”

“It’s okay, Paul.  It doesn’t matter.  Just go home, okay?”

“All right.  I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“No, that’s not a good idea.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You better, or I’ll come over here.”

He gave me a weak grin.  “Thanks.”

I squeezed his shoulder gently, and went home.

I told mom that Jeremy had been in a fight when she asked where he was.  I didn’t give her any details other than he had a black eye and a couple of cuts on his face.  She dropped the subject when it was obvious I wasn’t going to say any more.

The next day, Jeremy didn’t come to school.  I spent the whole day impatiently waiting for the last bell to ring.  I almost ran to his house.  There was a car in the driveway that I didn’t recognize.  Swallowing, I knocked on the door.  A man in his late forties answered the door.  He looked harried and exhausted.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Paul.  Jeremy’s friend?”

“I wasn’t aware he had any friends.” 

“Yeah, well...  He wasn’t at school today.”

“He’s ill.  I don’t expect him to return until the middle of next week.”

“Can I see him?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.  He’s sleeping.”

“Could you tell him I stopped by?”

“I’ll tell him.”  He shut the door in my face.

I told mom that Jeremy had stayed home from school that day, and that his father said he’d be out until next week.  She responded by asking, “There’s more you’re not telling me, Paul.  Spill it.”

“He asked me not to tell anyone, mom.”

“There’s a time when you need to tell, Paul.  You know that.”

“He’s home with his dad now,” I hedged,  “He’s going to be okay.”

“What- happened?”

“I don’t know for sure.  I didn’t hear what the doctor said.”

“Paul, if you don’t tell me right now, so help me...”

“Okay, okay!  I think he’s got a broken rib.  When I took off his shirt, he almost screamed when he bent to help me.”

“So he wasn’t really in a fight then?”

“I didn’t see it.  I just found him curled up in a corner.”  I told her the rest of the story.  “Mom, please don’t tell anyone.  I promised I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll do what I think best.  Do you know who did this to him?”  I hesitated.  “Paul...”

“I don’t know for sure.  I have my guesses.”

“What is Jeremy’s phone number?”

“You can’t call over there!  Jeremy made sure I never met his parents or his brother.  If I wasn’t so worried, I wouldn’t have met his dad today!”

“The number?”  Sighing, I gave it to her.  She immediately dialed the number as I retreated to my room, feeling I’d betrayed my friend.

The next Wednesday, Jeremy returned to school, his usual taciturn self.  I went right up when I saw him and began apologizing, but he told me not to worry.  His dad hadn’t even mentioned the phone call, or the fact I’d dropped by to see him.

Jeremy confirmed my guess of a broken rib, and a couple of cracked ones around it.  He showed me his wrapping in PE, and he sat out while the rest of us played softball.  I watched Kyle and his groupies closely that day.  I saw them point and laugh at Jeremy, who had buried his nose in the homework he’d missed.

After school that day, I asked him over, but he said he had to go home, because his dad was waiting to take him back to the doctor.  “I’ll come over tomorrow, if it’s okay.”

“It’s always okay, Jeremy.  You don’t need to ask.”  He smiled and walked away.  Before he’d gone two steps, his face reverted to that deadpan stare.  One of Kyle’s buddies pushed Jeremy as he passed, causing Jeremy to stumble.  I saw him to gasp and grimace for an instant before he righted himself and continued down the hall.

That Friday, Jeremy seemed more withdrawn than normal.  He went through the day barely acknowledging me. Until the end of school, when he showed up at my locker without a word, carrying a back pack.  We walked home in silence neither of us saying anything.  When we went into the house, my mom greeted him as she always did.

“Hello, Jeremy.  How are you feeling?  Are your ribs okay?”

“They’re fine, thank you.”

“Hungry?”

“A little.  The pain pills make me sick to my stomach.”

“Okay.  I’ll make some soup then.  You boys go finish your homework before you get on that computer.”  She turned for the kitchen.

“Yes, mom.”  I started for my bedroom, but Jeremy stood rooted to the spot.  “Jeremy?  You coming?” 

Mom looked back.  Seeing his troubled face, she asked, “What is it, honey?”

He stared at his shoes for the longest moment.  I knew him well enough at that point that I could tell he was fighting with himself.  “I have to ask a favor.  I don’t know where else to go.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”  Jeremy had never asked to sleep over.  I’d always had to ask him, and mom knew that.

“Why?”

“Mom!”

Jeremy looked like he wanted to run away, but he stood his ground.  Still staring at the ground, obviously ashamed, he said, “My parents are having a party.”

“I don’t understand.  You have a room at your house.”

“Geez, mom, give him a break!”

“I want to know the answer before I say yes or no, Paul.”

Sighing, Jeremy said, “They kicked me out for the weekend, so they can use my bedroom for company.  Mom said I was an embarrassment.”

“Oh, Jeremy....” 

“It doesn’t matter.”

Mom wrapped him up in a gentle hug, and then raised his chin so he’d look in her eyes.  “Of course you can stay here.  And tomorrow night too.” 

“Thank you,” Jeremy said in that soft voice of his.

“Think nothing of it, honey. You’ll have to sleep on the couch or in Paul’s room.”

“Paul’s room, if it’s okay with him.”

“Sure is.”  It was hard to keep the excitement out of my voice.

 “Go get yourself settled in.”  That was how he ended up spending more time at my house than he did his own.

Jeremy and I were inseparable the summer after our seventh grade year.  He would always be over at my house the moment I awoke, and wouldn’t leave until my mom kicked him out on the rare occasions that she did.  It wasn’t that she didn’t like him or grew tired of him, she just thought he needed to spend some time at home, hoping the situation would improve. 

I went over to Jeremy’s place one morning shortly after school got out.  His brother answered the door and slammed it in my face.  A few seconds later, Jeremy slipped through the door carrying a backpack, closing the door quietly.

“Morning, Paul.”

“Hi, bud.  How are you doing?”

“Rough night.  Mom and dad were fighting with Jordan all night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, man.  You want to go back to my place and crash for a while?”

“Naw.  I’m too on edge right now, okay? But I would like to drop off my back pack.”

“Sure.  No problem.  You still want to go out to the mall?”

“Yeah, later.  I have a few bucks I stole from my mom.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Nope.”

 “Why did you do that?”

He shrugged.  “Where else am I gonna get money? My dad?”  He snorted.  I dropped the subject, and we continued on our way.

On the way to my house, Jeremy told me about the argument that had kept him awake most of the night.  Apparently, Jordan wanted his parents to buy him a TV and VCR for his room.  Somehow the conversation got around to Jeremy, and all three of them agreed he was a worthless piece of shit, but they couldn’t do anything about him.  Jordan ended up getting the little money his parents had put away for Jeremy’s college fund to buy what he wanted.

As he related all this to me, his expression deadened, and his eyes hardened.  He spoke matter-of-factly, with no inflection or tone changes.  It was breaking my heart.

Jeremy and I spent the summer ranging around the neighborhood, playing in the woods or wherever else our feet took us.  He rarely went home, instead bringing most of his things and staying in our spare room.  As far as I know, his parents never noticed.

Sometimes, when we were out in the woods away from everyone, Jeremy would explode.  He’d curse his parents, his brother, and the world in general while kicking trees, pick up branches and break them against trees like a ball player swinging a baseball bat.  It was scary.  I didn’t know if he’d turn on me or what, so I kept a safe distance, but stuck around to keep an eye on him. Sometimes he would punch trees for moments on end, bruising and bloodying his fists.  It didn’t do the tree any good either.  I’d take him back to my house and get him cleaned up.  

After an episode like that, he was even more withdrawn into himself.  He wouldn’t talk to me, or even look at me.  When he was done cleaning up, he would wordlessly walk out the door, presumably going to his house.  The next day, or a couple days later, He’d come over as if nothing happened.

I found out Jeremy was something of an artist when I was over at his house one time.  There was a  scrapbook peaking out from under his bed, so I pulled it out to look at it.  What I saw frightened me badly.

The front picture was a pencil drawing.  It was dark, the sky a dark blue fading into a light blue and white in the middle of the page.  A black mountain was the focal point of the picture, with a figure standing on top drawn in a flesh color, it’s arms raised as if in victory.  The figure wore no shirt, and had red spots dotting it’s body.  The hands of the figure were also red, dripping red dots that could only be blood.  At the bottom of the mountain was drawn a scene of carnage.  Bodies were strewn about, some headless, some missing an arm, all with faces that seemed contorted with agony.  Blood appeared to pool beneath the bodies.

The next drawing was obviously a self portrait, but Jeremy’s features were grotesquely distorted.  He looked more like a demon than a human being.

I leafed through the drawings, and found them all to have similar themes.  One picture was actually a painting of some sort.  I’m not an expert, so I don’t know what he used.  The painting consisted of blood red splotches randomly distributed, the paint very thick on the paper.  Some of the splotches appear to have run on the paper, as if the blood were on a wall or something.

Jeremy came in the room at that time, and ripped the scrapbook out of my hands, rage etched on his face.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was peaking out from under your bed.  I had to look at it. I’m sorry!”

“What did you see in here?”

“About the first half.  You didn’t ever tell me you’re an artist.”

“I’m not.  Just forget about this book.  You never saw it.”

“Uh, okay, Jeremy, what ever you say.”

I don’t know why I didn’t tell anyone about the drawings.  If I had, things would be different. 

The next school year began, and Jeremy went back home at my mom’s urging.  He went reluctantly.  When I asked him how things were going, he said things were fine, and left it at that.  He didn’t come over much as the school year progressed.  We saw each other in the halls, but we only shared the last class of the day.

About two months into the school year, the unimaginable happened.  Kyle was picking on Jeremy as usual, but Jeremy didn’t just take it:  he fought back.  As Kyle was gloating over him, Jeremy threw a round house left and caught Kyle in the jaw.  Down he went.  Of course, his Kyle’s crew attacked Jeremy, but he fought back this time and at least gave back some of what he’d gotten.  All of them were suspended for a week. 

In January, Jeremy and one of Kyle’s henchmen got into a fight.  The recess monitors split them apart, but not before blood was drawn.  When the lady tried to restrain Jeremy, he went berserk.  He struggled and struggled, twisting in her grasp.  He turned so he was facing her and literally sunk his teeth into her chest.  She let him go, and he ran while blood seeped into the lady’s shirt from her breast.  He was suspended for two weeks for that one.

I tried to see Jeremy during that week, but he never answered the door.  When he came back to school, that deadpan expression was just a memory.  He wore his anger like a badge.  No one talked to him; no one messed with him at all, including me.  When I tried to talk to him , he just stared at me through his bangs, head down, looking every inch the psychotic killer.

In early March, a forest fire burned about fifty acres.  The place where Jeremy and I had gone to escape, the place where he vented, was gone.  I knew he set it, but the police never found out.

Then came the day that will always be embedded in my mind.  I remember every detail, even though I wish I could forget.

Jeremy was absent that day.  Class went on like normal.  In the middle of the last class, Jeremy walked into the room, his face blank, a terrible fire in his eyes. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, and no shirt.  His feet were bare, knuckles bloodied.  The teacher asked him what he thought he was doing, but she was ignored.  Kyle and his friends were sitting near the front row, calling Jeremy names and cracking jokes.

Until he pulled the revolver.

Everyone fell silent immediately. 

Jeremy stood there like a statue for five seconds, then pointed the gun at Kyle before raising the gun to his head.  His eyes bored into mine for a long second, before he pulled the trigger.

A stunned silence lasted about two seconds, then everyone freaked, including me.  Blood had sprayed everywhere, and on everyone.  The blackboard was covered in what used to be Jeremy’s head.  More than one person threw up.

The funeral was hard for me.  My mom went with me.  Besides his family, we were just about the only people there.  There was a five minute eulogy read by the funeral director at graveside, and that was it.  His parents didn’t even bother to get a priest.  The casket was certainly the cheapest they could find. I watched Jeremy’s family through the entire thing, and never once did they show any remorse or loss.  They really didn’t care. 

I cried as the words were said.  I cried for Jeremy’s life, and what could have been, if he’d had a loving family who encouraged and supported him.  I cried for myself  because I had lost a friend.  I cried for his family, who will never know what tremendous potential their second son had.  And I cried for the world, knowing that this could happen to a child.

All of us that were in class that day had group therapy for the rest of the year and well into summer.  Kyle and I actually became friends.  He’d been devastated by Jeremy’s suicide, feeling a tremendous amount of guilt.  Kyle believes he drove Jeremy to kill himself.  I don’t agree.  He had a part in it, yes, but there’s so much more to it, and everyone had a part they played.

Of course, Kyle’s buddies didn’t get it.  They felt that it was good riddance to bad rubbish, and couldn’t understand why Kyle was having such a hard time.  I overheard them calling what they saw in class that day ‘cool’.  They deserted Kyle shortly after everything went down.

It’s almost two years later.  I still can’t believe it all happened, like it’s all a bad dream I’m waiting to wake up from.  I ended up burning the clothes I wore that day, standing naked in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames, searching for a reason this all happened.  Sometimes I stand in the bathroom, washing my face over and over, like I’m still trying to get the blood off of me.  Other times, I lay in bed at night, unable to sleep, wondering what I could have done to save my friend’s life.  I don’t know.  All I do know is I wish I had told someone.

I wrote this as part of my therapy after that fateful day.  Kyle asked if he could use it for his piece.  I gave it to him without hesitation.

I was the only person who had been somewhat close to Jeremy, so everything I had to say was news.  People outright accused me of lying when I told them of his family life.  Kyle shed more tears in those sessions than I did, and I was Jeremy’s friend.

Kyle, you learned too late what your actions do to other people.  I hope that you’ve learned this lesson.  I know you have.  Rest easy.  I’ll be here for you when you get back.

I’m sitting at a computer in a hospital as I write this.  I’ve been here for almost a month.  I’m sixteen, and I’ve already had a nervous breakdown.  Never in my wildest nightmares did I think Jeremy would kill himself, and I never could have imagined how much that action would affect me for the rest of my life

I don’t know how to go on, here.  I mean, everything Paul said about me is right on.  I did all of that to Jeremy, and I did more to others.  I wish I could have looked into the future, to see what would happen.  I would have stopped everything I was doing right then and there.  The value of other people’s opinions, once so important that it drove me to torture, has faded.  So has the value of so-called friends who are worried about their social standing in school, and believe the only way to maintain is to pick on others.

I’ll be returning to school in two weeks.  I don’t know what will happen when I get back.  Learn to cope, I suppose. There is one thing though:

I’ve learned my lesson. 

I just wish the cost to teach me wasn’t so high.

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