Status: Active.
Suburbia
Two.
It’s one week after Craig went and offed himself.
My mum insisted I stay off school for a bit and I had no objection. She probably would have had me stay at home for the rest of the school year, the rest of my life, if she could. But my dad insists I go back so that I can ‘re-establish myself into normal society.’
As always, when I come down the stairs for breakfast, my parents and my little brother are already sat down at the table. My dad looks up and the first thing he says to me is "How’re you feeling, bud?"
How are you feeling?
That’s all anyone’s been asking me since I found him. They all seem to expect different answers from me: some of them want me to break down in tears right in front of them; some of them want me to be angry and rage and scream at the world, at how unfair everything is. A few people seem to have been expecting me to say I wanted to jump off a cliff or something.
But, in reality, I feel nothing.
I know I’m supposed to and everything, I just don’t. My dad reckons I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder but I don’t feel stressed, and finding Craig wasn’t particularly traumatic either.
It was just an ordinary Saturday; I’d gone over to his house to play videogames, like I always did. ‘Hi, Mrs Harris’ I’d called to Craig’s mum as I went up the stairs and she’d yelled ‘Hello, Leland’ back to me from the kitchen, like we always did. I’d knocked three times before opening his door, like I always did.
And there he was. Swinging ever so slightly left to right, left to right...
I don’t really remember what happened after that, I think I sort of stared at him for a bit before I
quietly closed the door behind me and came back down the stairs. ‘Going so soon, Leland?’ Craig’s mum called from the kitchen. ‘Uh, yeah, bye, Mrs. Harris’ I called back, and then as an afterthought, ‘Um, Craig’s killed himself.’ Then I left and walked home without looking back and I didn’t have to deal with any ‘How are you feeling?’s until Mrs Harris phoned my mum in hysterics.
Everyone thought it was strange that I’d just walked away from him afterwards, but I guess I didn’t want to intrude, I knew that Craig’s dad wouldn’t want me to see him crying or anything.
How am I feeling?
"I'm fine, Dad." I gave him my usual answer as I set about pouring cereal into a bowl.
"You know you don’t have to go to school today, Leland, not if you don’t feel you’re up to it." My mum told me concernedly.
"Of course he’s going to school today, Martha, he needs to properly insert himself back into everyday life, I’ve already explained all this." My dad told her sternly.
"But, George, we can’t be expecting too much of him! Boys are very fragile at this age ordinarily; imagine how he must be feeling after his best friend’s s-u-i-c-i-d-e!" My mum has insisted on spelling out any words relating to Craig hanging himself, she said it was to prevent any relapse in my progress, but she seems to have forgotten the fact that I can spell.
"You can’t continue to mollycoddle him like this! He’s almost a man! Give him a bit of credit here."
"I will continue to go about my motherly duties for as long as I see fit!" my mum hissed in a scandalised tone.
"He needs to be around kids his own age, get to know more people, make new friends."
"That’s a long shot," my brother murmured from his slouched position halfway down the chair,
"Everyone at school thinks he’s nuts."
"Be quiet, Rory." My mother scolded him, "Your brother needs as much support as he can get at this difficult time in his life."
As my dad started to retaliate ("And he will be getting that support at school, with people his own age that he can relate to!"), I left my untouched bowl of cereal on the counter and slipped out the front door unnoticed.
My mum insisted I stay off school for a bit and I had no objection. She probably would have had me stay at home for the rest of the school year, the rest of my life, if she could. But my dad insists I go back so that I can ‘re-establish myself into normal society.’
As always, when I come down the stairs for breakfast, my parents and my little brother are already sat down at the table. My dad looks up and the first thing he says to me is "How’re you feeling, bud?"
How are you feeling?
That’s all anyone’s been asking me since I found him. They all seem to expect different answers from me: some of them want me to break down in tears right in front of them; some of them want me to be angry and rage and scream at the world, at how unfair everything is. A few people seem to have been expecting me to say I wanted to jump off a cliff or something.
But, in reality, I feel nothing.
I know I’m supposed to and everything, I just don’t. My dad reckons I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder but I don’t feel stressed, and finding Craig wasn’t particularly traumatic either.
It was just an ordinary Saturday; I’d gone over to his house to play videogames, like I always did. ‘Hi, Mrs Harris’ I’d called to Craig’s mum as I went up the stairs and she’d yelled ‘Hello, Leland’ back to me from the kitchen, like we always did. I’d knocked three times before opening his door, like I always did.
And there he was. Swinging ever so slightly left to right, left to right...
I don’t really remember what happened after that, I think I sort of stared at him for a bit before I
quietly closed the door behind me and came back down the stairs. ‘Going so soon, Leland?’ Craig’s mum called from the kitchen. ‘Uh, yeah, bye, Mrs. Harris’ I called back, and then as an afterthought, ‘Um, Craig’s killed himself.’ Then I left and walked home without looking back and I didn’t have to deal with any ‘How are you feeling?’s until Mrs Harris phoned my mum in hysterics.
Everyone thought it was strange that I’d just walked away from him afterwards, but I guess I didn’t want to intrude, I knew that Craig’s dad wouldn’t want me to see him crying or anything.
How am I feeling?
"I'm fine, Dad." I gave him my usual answer as I set about pouring cereal into a bowl.
"You know you don’t have to go to school today, Leland, not if you don’t feel you’re up to it." My mum told me concernedly.
"Of course he’s going to school today, Martha, he needs to properly insert himself back into everyday life, I’ve already explained all this." My dad told her sternly.
"But, George, we can’t be expecting too much of him! Boys are very fragile at this age ordinarily; imagine how he must be feeling after his best friend’s s-u-i-c-i-d-e!" My mum has insisted on spelling out any words relating to Craig hanging himself, she said it was to prevent any relapse in my progress, but she seems to have forgotten the fact that I can spell.
"You can’t continue to mollycoddle him like this! He’s almost a man! Give him a bit of credit here."
"I will continue to go about my motherly duties for as long as I see fit!" my mum hissed in a scandalised tone.
"He needs to be around kids his own age, get to know more people, make new friends."
"That’s a long shot," my brother murmured from his slouched position halfway down the chair,
"Everyone at school thinks he’s nuts."
"Be quiet, Rory." My mother scolded him, "Your brother needs as much support as he can get at this difficult time in his life."
As my dad started to retaliate ("And he will be getting that support at school, with people his own age that he can relate to!"), I left my untouched bowl of cereal on the counter and slipped out the front door unnoticed.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thoughts are very much welcome