10000 5/8

        The glances around us became consumed with more concern as Chase finished his depressing rant. I had to respond strongly or I was fairly certain Chase was going to take his life right then and there. The stakes could never be higher.


        “Chase, life is like a choose your own adventure game. There is many paths that you can take. There’s dark futures. There’s bright futures. But you’re never confined to one narrative. You don’t have to hate yourself, because you can change yourself. And I know this sounds cliche, but you are truly looking for a permanent solution, in a temporary problem. We’ll all go off to college soon, and that’s when you can change your narrative. That’s your moment to choose your path, and pick your adventure. Life doesn’t stop in high school. The path’s only get wider and more decisive. You have plenty of time to change it, don’t stop now. I didn’t come with you to this party to gain pity points. I came with you because I saw myself in you. I saw the insecurity, search for identity, and pain in your unbroken eyes. You gave me hope in myself, I hope in what I could be, never forget that. You are Chase Lentil.”


Chase stood there for a second holding back his tears and staring at me in the quivering October wind. I felt his shutters a mile away with his pride in his fists. He escaped from the crowd to the smaller side of the roof in the back where nobody was at and presumably he jumped off. I don’t know if he killed himself, or landed on his feet and ran away. I like to think he ran away due to the size of the roof but I had no time to contemplate as kids were sprinting full fledged with the presence of cops arriving only a few moments later. Ryan, Miranda, Veronica, and I got away safely at a nearby IHop but I heard from Veronica that the triplets weren’t so lucky and ended up with three identical minor in possession tickets. Veronica called us a regular sized Uber back to Veronica’s house and passed out on the couches.







Journal Entry 265
Axel Martin
11/20/2016
10:01PM
Crush.
        At the party, I felt something raw. Something that hit me like a semi-truck in the middle of an empty road at a forgotten forest. It was the emotion of Miranda making out with that football player. My mind and my heart felt polarized when taking the incident in context with our infamously platonic relationship to Miranda. I felt embarrassment progress to anger and then to sadness that night. But why did I feel this way? The dynamic between Miranda and I feels the same as it was since we were 10, and surely she’s had boyfriends or boys in her life that didn’t make me feel as strong as it does now. Since the party on Halloween, I avoided her every attempt to hangout. I think she’s starting to know the real reason why I’ve been avoiding her. Do I even know, though? I’m not entirely convinced, that I have feelings for Miranda. But I know my heart has been hurting after I saw her with that football player. Maybe it was the feeling I felt after defending her honor against another football player objectifying her, and then subsequently proving him right. Making me look like a clown in return. That conclusion might be a little unfair to Miranda. She has a right to makeout with anybody she wants to. I’m not her Dad. Who am I to say her making out with that boy justified the sexist comments of some football player. Good for her, maybe she found a good guy. All while Veronica expressed some sort of feelings for me while she was drunk. Veronica is considered to look way better than Miranda anyway, why should I be worried about Miranda? Although, I can’t say clearly either way about that. Veronica was one, pretty drunk and two, extremely vague. The triplets telling me that Veronica “wants me” was pretty ambiguous. I mean, she was in need and I am her best friend. She probably wanted me because she needed help navigating through a pretty messed up night. At the same time though, when I saw her it seemed like she wanted to kiss me. Until we were interrupted by Chase’s event. If I told myself back in eighth grade that Veronica wanted to kiss me, I’d probably check myself into a mental hospital. Now, it actually was a possible reality. Maybe this is what  Chase was talking about, my life might be great. Speaking of Chase, where has he been? I haven’t seen him since the party. Rumors are he moved out of town to escape the suicide scare that happened on Halloween. I say good for him. Feeling ashamed is good. Means he still cares about life.


Fin
Axel Martin
12:26 PM




It’s a Family Affair
        Usually the day before Thanksgiving, Veronica hosts a “Friendsgiving” where we give each other gifts and eat dinner at Veronica’s house. This year, I told them I couldn’t attend. The truth was, I didn’t really want to. I felt too annoyed at Miranda, and for the whole month it has been awkward between Veronica and I. After Veronica invited the triplets to fill the void I left, Ryan opted out of Friendsgiving too. We spent our Friendsgiving watching The Godfather series at my house and eating Jet’s Barbeque Chicken Pizza.


        “You know, Miranda really misses talking to you,” Ryan chirped up randomly.


        I stared at the screen for a little bit before I responded to Ryan.


        “We still talk,” I said blandly.


        “That’s not true,” Ryan said.


        I didn’t say anything this time.


        “I think you’re doing this because of Miranda kissing that dude at the party,” Ryan inferred.


“So what if it was, it doesn’t matter. I’m not her boyfriend,” I said stiffly.


“That’s not fair to her Axel, if you like her you need to just tell her,” Ryan said raising his voice.


“I never said I liked her,” I said quickly.


“It seems like it! You’ve been ducking your feelings for her since middle school,” Ryan said.


“Since when are you so interested in my love life,” I snarked.


“I’m not. You’re just being selfish. You’re ruining our friend group,” Ryan snapped.


“Oh really, is that right now. I’m the one who’s ruining our friend group,” I said facetiously.


“Yes Axel, you are. Look at yourself! Distancing yourself from us because you’re too afraid to be a man and admit how you feel to Miranda,” Ryan said.


“Well you’re here now, aren’t you? Talk about distancing, you’re never around anymore! You are always at baseball. Baseball this, baseball that.  It feels like you’re a stranger to me,” I replied.


“Are you genuinely trying to compare my SPORT to your unfair grudge that you’re holding against Miranda,” Ryan questioned.


“Who do you think you are? Sure, you do your little sport. I am a fucking national award winning poet. I’m not bragging but at least I don’t sit around with my idiot jock friends all day doing nothing but talking about sports in replace of the friends that actually have been there for me,” I yelled.


Ryan stood up abruptly and gave me a hard look up and down.


“You need help, Axel. When you get your shit together then maybe text me. I’ll be at Veronica’s… where you SHOULD be,” Ryan said as he stormed out the front door.


I finished the movies by myself, until my mom came in with her wine glass and told me that we were going to my grandma’s house.


“Do I have to? She’s coming over tomorrow anyway,” I pleaded.


She took a quick glance around my room and noticed the empty pizza box and ice cream cartons in the room.


“Well… it looks like you’re not doing anything particularly important. I think it might good for you to go,” she observed.


        “Well… if I have to,” I joked.
       
        I got up and brushed the pizza crumbs off my shirt. I knew I had a choice. My mom didn’t force me to do much in life. But usually her advice often proved to be the best decisions I’ve made.


        We got in the car at around 6, and it took us about an hour to get to my grandma’s house. She lived in a secluded area that she shared with my grandfather before he died. I always wondered if she felt lonely by herself in the middle of nowhere. I certainly would. But she always seemed preoccupied when we walked in the door, almost as a front to mask her loneliness. Today was no different, when we walked into the door she was half vacuuming, half dancing to music she had blaring in the background. I have to admit, for an 82 year old woman, she sure had some moves.


        “Well look who it is, my adorable family,” my grandma exclaimed cheerfully.


        “Hi grandma,” I said with a smile.


        “You look famished young man, come eat,” she said.


        “I actually just ate pizza grandma,” I assured her.


        “Pizza? No, no, no. That’s not a proper meal. I keep trying to tell you kids that. What has Patricia been feeding you,” she lectured.


        “Mom…,” my mom said while blushing.


        There’s some kind of weird beautifulness about an old white woman born in the 1930s that looks at her undeniably black grandson with love. I wondered if she ever expected something like this in her 20’s. Probably not. Apparently she never had anything against black people like most of her peers did. Which makes sense because she adored my father. My mom’s grandparents however hated black people and often referred to them as “niggers” which is to be expected I guess. They died before they had a chance to condemn my mother’s interracial marriage. It’s just interesting how that none of the hate from her parents ever stuck with my grandma.


We all sat down at the dinner table and marveled at my grandma’s ham, ribs, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and mashed potatoes. The meal was going well until my grandma brought up my dad. It was odd that she felt so close to him even after he left. You’d think she would hate him for breaking her daughter’s heart.


“So Patricia, have you read Stephen’s new book,” my grandma asked.


My mom’s eyes never left her plate and chewed on only waiting a few moments before answering.


“I have not,” my mom said.


“Well, I think you should… it’s very well written and it’s very interactive with the reader,” my grandma elaborated.


“Oh, that’s great for him,” my mom said still not looking up.


My grandma turned to me and asked if I ever read my dad’s books.


“Can’t say I have,” I admitted.


“Axel, I want you to have something,” she said as she got up to go in her room and retrieve something.


She came back with a old dusty poem book labelled “Dreams” the author was Stephen Allen. My mom’s eyes finally peered up from her plate.


“This was your dad’s first book, Axel. It was a book of over 200 poems,” she said.


I took the book from her, and held it like it was the first dinosaur fossil ever discovered. 


“Thanks Mom… but no thanks, we have too much junk lying around the house,” my mom interrupted.


“Yeah… she’s right. I don’t know if I should take this,” I said giving my grandmother back the book.


I never saw more sorrow in her eyes. She stood next to her chair in a cold silence. So many questions filled my head in that instant. What was in the book? Why’d my grandmother keep my abandoned dad’s book? Why won’t my mom let me read?


“Oh okay…,” my grandma said depleted from her efforts.


“I’m going to go out and do some errands. I’ll be right back,” my mom said as she got up and emptied her plate in the trash.


My grandma and I watched her leave out the window to what seemed to be an eternity. All the plates were put up and we stared out the window for a second before my grandma spoke up.


“Have you tried meeting your dad, Axel,” my grandma asked me quietly.


“No,” I responded.


“Your mother carries a lot of angst against Steve,” she said.


“Yeah, with good reason,” I said matter-of-factly.


“Maybe. But a child should meet his father. I can see the hatred for him in your heart. It’s eating you apart,” she said carefully.


“Grandma, I appreciate the concern but my feelings towards him are very minimal,” I said earnestly.


“Well, maybe that’s not right. I think you could learn a lot from him. You remind me of him. You too were just alike. Smart, calm-minded, and well spoken,” she reminisced.


“Really? I remind you of him? That’s interesting,” I said curiously.


“Yes, where do you think all that poetry of yours came from? The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, and you’re no exception. I tried to convince your mother to try and reconnect with him when you were little. But she always became defensive when I prompted the idea. She didn’t even want to get child support or legally divorce him. Technically, your mother is still married to you father,” she told me.


“Why would she not file for divorce after he left us,” I asked.


“She said she didn’t want to be bothered with it. I think the real truth is that she secretly didn’t want to lose her ties to Stephen. He was a good guy. With a good heart too… he was just… confused,” she said.


“Confused? What does that mean grandma,” I asked.


This time she did not reply. Instead, her eyes squeezed together and she reached out. I think she was having a stroke. I called 911 as soon as I could but it was too late. Her lifeless eyes were staring back at me as I cried and waited for medical help to come. The moment felt tender but dark and sad. My mom came and picked me up promptly after a medical staff took my grandma from the house. We stayed up all night reminiscing alone eating cookie dough ice cream. The next day on Thanksgiving was short and stale. We ate, and went to sleep. Nothing felt fun anymore. Rest in peace, Grandma.