12 Bullets to the Head

The large gray tour bus came to a lurching halt at the stop light, almost crossing the white line painted on the ground. The driver silently cursed the quick stop light, hoping that everyone was alright and that he didn't damage anything by stopping so suddenly because of the light. The drive had been long for him as they were traveling by night and the inhabitants of the tour bus were fast asleep.

None the less, magazines littered the once clean floor, along with two Matchbox cars, a few scattered nearly black paper, and some pencils and pens that had rolled of the small table. Because of the small floor space, the bus looked a mess. But it was pretty spotless when every one had turned in for the night.

Currently, 12 Bullets To The Head were on tour with Devten . Technically the tour hadn't even took off yet, as they hadn't played a show. But traveling from Ludington, Michigan to Detroit took longer than was necessary. And because the band decided that traveling the night before rather than the day of would be better for them, the bus driver found himself having a pretty easy going drive until he hit the outskirts of Lansing.

Ryan, Levi, Brenden and Aiden recorded their second album, Heading Home For A Last Time, they pushed themselves to the max, testing their abilities musically and mentally. Because of this, they almost broke up due to the high tensions, amount of stress and responsibility placed on each band member.

Shortly after the album was finished, Reprise signed them to their label, making the guys switch from Warner Bros., and almost immediately put them on tour with Devten as the headliners. They were to meet up with the band shortly after they arrived in Detroit that morning.

Aiden sat at the small peach table, his head resting against the cool tinted glass, watching the trees, buildings, and free cars they passed on the highway. He was in his own little world at that moment, thinking about his childhood and how he came to be sitting on this tour bus now, looking out of this window. It all seemed to happen for a reason. He was meant to drop out of high school, join this band, create the music he had.

He didn't notice the tears that began to form at the edge of his blue-gray eyes from the memories of his past. His vision blurred, beginning to see double. But Aiden was stuck in remembrance. He was reliving one of the most painful memories of his life.

The recess bell rang at eight thirty on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, signaling the time when all of the students in the school would rush out of their classes and head out to the playground across the closed portion of Foster Street.

The elementary school on the south side of Ludington used to be the high school for the town. But when the city built another building on the other side of town for the junior high and high school, the school was turned into one of the three elementary schools.

The students ran out onto the grounds and into the street to play. Some headed to the Baseball field to play soccer, football, kickball or tag. Others ran to the playground that was next to the field to play basketball, to swing, go down the wobbly metal slide, play house in the wooden house (or add more to the graffiti), or, if you were in sixth grade, hand out on the monkey bars underneath the massive tree that stood in the middle of the wood chiped playground.

Most of the third and fifth graders played in the road; some jump roping to songs they had heard on the radio or rhymes that had been around for years before them, while other drew with chalk on the pavement to play hopscotch or trace their bodies. The fourth and sixth graders mainly played on the playground or basketball court.

There were a small group of kids who didn't play at all. They sat on the wheelchair ramp all recess talking about bands and the latest episode of Invader Zim. They were considered the outcasts of the school. They rarely talked to anyone other than themselves and always wore whatever they wanted, not caring if it was in style or not.

Four students sat in a circle on the cold cement of the wheelchair ramp. They all seemed to match, though they had separate personalities and styles.

Aiden had short black hair and blue-gray eyes, a cute face, and he was the shortest of the group. His black and pink shirt clung to his slightly chubby body, matching the belt that held up his black jeans with cherry blossoms at the bottom of the legs. He loved the jeans, although they were girls'. He never could find a pair of boys pants in his size, he was too skinny. A pair for black and pink skater shoes adorned his feet.

On Aiden's left sat Buddy, who was a year younger than Aiden. He was a bigger kid with dark brown eyes and a short brown mo hawk. He wore a simple black shirt, blue jeans, and old beat up shoes. A brown jacket with many racing patches kept him warm.

Next to Buddy was Avalon. She had long black hair with light brown highlights that came down past her waist, brown eyes that sparkled in the morning sunlight, green painted nails and a light amount of makeup that made her look older than she was. Her green shirt matched her nails and the butterflies on her overalls. Her jean jacket also matched her overalls.

Ryan sat between Avalon and Aiden. His black hair was messy and almost unruly. His green eyes were like Avalon's as they sparkled in the sunlight. His clothes were the most mismatched of the group for his camouflage shorts and red shirt didn't go well together. Nor did his emerald green trainers, though they did complement his eyes. Because he was the eldest of the group, he was like the leader. He would protect the others from the bullies and the ridicule from he other students from the way they would dress and act.

They were all discussing ICP's new album that Buddy had bought last night. They made plans to listen to it after school tomorrow at his house. Just as they did so, the bell rang and the aids whistles blew, telling everyone on the playground to go inside again. The four friends stood up and walked into the old brick school, laughing as a kid was tripped by a sixth grader.

Foster school had two wings: the east wing and the west wing. The east wing was on the right side of the school and the third and fourth graders had their classes. The west wing was on the left side, closest to the lake, and the fifth and sixth graders had their classes.

Avalon, Buddy and Aiden parted from Ryan, who went to the west wing, while they went to the east and into their respective classes. Aiden and Buddy went to Mrs. Murphy's classroom just to see Mrs. Lacombe and Mr. Moss standing next to their teacher, all with their hands over their mouths and watching the TV in horror.

Aiden was puzzled for a moment, staring at the TV, trying to process what it was showing. His mouth dropped as he watched a plane fly directly into the south World Trade Center, crashing into the steel structure and exploding in a burst of flames and debris.

Buddy's expression match his as he watched the news broadcast in sheer horror. Aiden gasped next to him, a wave of shock going through him as he realized who was in the south tower. The three teachers turned around as they heard the gasp, seeing Aiden standing there with tears filling his darkening eyes.

A fresh tear came wandering down his cheek, leaving a dark trail behind. Aiden stared blankly out of the tinted window, his mind working on overtime as he remembered every detail of that day and week. He remembered everything. The way he fell to the floor crying in school with Buddy next to him, holding him; the feeling of unknowing as he waited and waited for the workers to find his parents amongst the rubble at ground zero; the rage that filled him along with the sorrow when he was told that they had died.

Before Aiden knew it, he had fallen into a dreamless slumber with his head resting against the cool window, his arms wrapped around his skinny legs that were drawn up to his chest that rose and fell with every small breath he took.

Two hours later, Ryan stumbled into the front of the bus, yawning and stretching his black shirt clad arms above his head. He spotted Aiden sleeping at the table and sighed. Aiden was back into the routine of spending his days and nights at the peach table.

Ryan quietly picked up a few things that littered the floor and carefully took care of them before he stated to coffee and sat down across from the sleeping Aiden. Ryan looked sadly at his band mate, taking great notice of the black trails down his cheeks. He was worried about him. He seemed to be pushing everyone away lately and he wasn't as talkative or energetic either. Of course, Aiden wasn't talkative in the first place, but now he barely talked. And Ryan noticed greatly that almost every time a tour would begin for them, Aiden would find a spot, usually a table, and just sit there, barely moving unless he had to. He was always thinking or writing in a notebook of some color.

Ryan sometimes wanted to know what was going on inside Aiden's head. Maybe he could help him? But he needed to give Aiden space and time to think things through. Then maybe Aiden would come to him for advice on what he was going through. Maybe, just maybe, Aiden would put a bit more trust in him that he was giving.

But Ryan knew this was most likely not going to happen. Aiden was very independent and reserved.

Ryan sighed as Aiden mumbled in his sleep. Something about cows and crayons. Ryan stood up, ignoring Aiden's random outburst, and fixed himself a cup of coffee. He made sure not to wake Aiden. He really needed the sleep.

Ryan sat back down at the table, cradling a cup of fresh coffee in his hands, a very concerned eye on Aiden as he slept peacefully, occasionally twitching of gasping. Ryan was used to Aiden's sleeping habits, so he wasn't concerned very much that Aiden would stop breathing for a few seconds. If Aiden's stopped for any longer, he would be worried. It was scary enough the first time, there was no need for it to happen a second time.

Aiden's head slid an inch or two down the glass, causing him to suddenly jolt awake and sit up suddenly. He looked around, taking in his surroundings and trying to figure out where he was. His blue-gray eyes fell upon a boy in his late teens, his black hair going in almost every direction possible, his green eyes staring back at him with concern. His attire was wrinkled and what he obviously slept in. A cup of coffee was cradled in his hands, the aroma of the sweet blend filling Aiden's nostrils and making him realize how hungry he was. After all, he hadn't eaten anything yesterday. But he pushed the feeling away and concentrated on more important matters. Where was he?

Aiden shifted slightly, feeling uncomfortable in the position he was sleeping in and being under the gaze of his band mate. His arms slipped from his legs and onto the seat as his legs outstretched and his feet touched the floor of the bus. His trainers were still on from last night as he fell asleep with them on.

"Good morning, Aiden," Ryan said, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a drink of its hot contents.

In response, Aiden groaned and brought his hand up to his eyes to rub the sleep out of them. He laid his head on the table and groaned once again, but this time because of the new headache he had acquired because of refusing to leave the comforts of a dreamless sleep.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, knowing not to be loud for the hurt in Aiden's groan.

Aiden mumbled incoherent words, standing up and rushing to the bathroom down the hall. He fell to the floor, hunched over the toilet as the contents of his stomach came up. Ryan knelt behind him, rubbing his back in a soothing way only a few had.

Aiden's head was spinning, his vision slipping in and out of focus and he felt weak, as if he was immobilized. His stomach ached and he felt as if he was about to up chuck his insides. Ryan wet a rag and rested Aiden against the opposite wall, feeling his head. Ryan immediately noticed that he had a fever so he pressed the cold, damp rag to Aiden forehead while the took a paper towel and cleaned up the vomit from around Aiden's mouth and the bit that somehow got into his hair.

"Where am I?" Aiden asked quietly, as his eyes slipped shut.

"On a tour bus heading to Detroit to meet up with Taking Back Sunday," Ryan explained, taking the cool rag from Aiden's head and holding it in his hand as he helped Aiden stand on shaky legs before leading him to his bunk.

"Oh," Aiden replied softly, his throat burning like an intense fire fueled by an oil mine as he collapsed onto the bed, curly up into a ball. "Ow..."

Ryan placed the rag on his forehead again, pushing his hair away from the damp cloth and helping Aiden get underneath the warm blankets. Ryan placed Aiden's 'Town Blanket' on top of him, smiling softly as Aiden snuggled into it. He left Aiden, getting a glass of water and aspirin for him before bringing them to him and forcing them down his throat.

"You'll feel much better, Aid."