Part Five

Back to How it Was?

Are you... sure?



Within the week I was back to school. All my family said to just get back into everyday life and don't worry about what happened. Yeah Right. Most people were under the impression my brother and I were in a street fight. Obviously, John took the brunt of it. Story goes that he returned from his “trip” just in time to pull me out of the clutches of a hyperactive taser.

But having an alibi made the truth simply dig deeper into my skin, infecting my dreams almost every night. I couldn't walk anywhere by myself, for fear of it happening again. The facility we were taken to became completely void of any soldiers, doctors, or General Tufftisses (I still couldn't laugh at that name), making matters ten times worse.

I got out of the hospital two days ago, but John... no one knew when he would be able to leave. Every time I visited him with my mom or Em or someone, he had a smile. His mouth showed excitement at the visit, his eyes shone darkly with a weight I wasn't allowed to know yet.

That same Saturday, six of John's friends came over, to visit ME. Trev said he was going to supervise my training until John got back, which confused the heck out of me. Before I got in one question, though, Mom shooed everyone out, saying I wasn't to leave the bed for a week. I thought that was harsh. Because they left the room and went downstairs, I didn't get to hear the argument. A few minutes later, Grandmom came to my room. She told me I could get out of bed, but that my mom wouldn't let me do physical activity.

She wouldn't answer any of my questions either.

Finally, Rosa came back upstairs, but all she said was, “I'm sorry. Again.” Then she placed her hand on my forehead and left.

So here I was, Monday morning, staring at the junior high's entrance. Students bustled all around me and in the halls beyond the glass doors, but I was a statue. The memories were too fresh for me to go back to “normal.” I just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide for the rest of my life. Or at least until John was discharged for real.

‘James, you're too young to give up.’ It was John. Since he had nothing better to do, he often popped in on me. ‘Just take a step. A tiny little step. And again and again until you reach the doors and push them open.’

‘I don't want to,’ I replied half-heartedly.

‘I know, but you can push through it.’

I growled. I was tired of everyone saying they knew how I felt. How could they know? They weren't kidnapped and electrocuted!

“James! You're back!” Desire, one of my friends from seventh grade, ran at me straight from the bus. “You got out of the hospital! Are you okay? How's your brother?” She gave me a hug.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” I said all melancholy-like. “John won't be out for a while.” I felt like a robot, and I knew that wouldn't be the last time I said those words.

“Aw, that's too bad. I hope he gets better quickly. C'mon, let's walk to English before the bell rings.”

Dezzi dragged me through the halls. I hardly paid attention when other friends, some old, some I didn't even know, asked and said the same things over and over again. No one even noticed that my replies became more and more monotone as the minutes wore on. As it turns out, Dezzi and I didn't make it to English on time. For once I was glad I sat in the front, away from all friends.

By lunch, nothing had changed. Nobody let up. I managed to get away by saying I had to talk to teachers, and that I could do it myself. I hitched up my backpack and escaped to the chilly field behind the school. Though it was perfectly warm a week ago, leaves had already started deserting the trees.

Finally, all was quiet. I pulled my lunch out of my backpack (my mom packed it) and let my mind wander freely.

About halfway through my clichéd pb&j, I heard the crunching leaves of someone's approach. I decided to act cool and just keep eating, but I couldn't help but look at who was coming.

It was someone I didn't know. Great. He was probably another well-wisher. I thought for sure the whole school had already “paid their respects.”

“Um, hi,” he said before I looked away. “I'm Tristin.”

“Hi Tristin,” I said exasperatedly. “I'm James, as you probably know.”

“Hi James, and I didn't know,” Tristin said, sitting in the grass beside me. “What's the matter? You seem as low as Death Valley.”

“You haven't heard of me? ‘James Fletcher, the kid who got saved by his missing brother’?”

Tristin nodded absently. “Oh, I'd heard of something like that. You're the kid that everyone wants to meet today. That's gotta be rough.”

“It is,” I answered firmly. We didn't say anything for a while, and Tristin had his own lunch out, so the two of us just sat in silence, eating, watching the clouds scuttle above the field.

“I would hate it,” Tristin continued. “Too much attention for one guy. Sometimes I just need to breathe.”

“Yeah,” I nodded contently. “That's exactly it.”

We munched on.

“Hey, do you wanna hang out some time?”

I was back in elementary school, where you could hang out with anyone of the same gender. It felt good, fresh.

“Sure. The park three blocks down? In Catalina Heights?”

“Really? My family just moved in there. I'm a new student, actually. As of last week.”

“Cool. I'll see you then?” I said as the bell rang. I cleaned up and noticed Tristin's hand in my face. He smiled. I smiled. I took his hand and he pulled me up.

“I'll be there,” he answered.



I had... a new friend. ...?