Suburbia

As I reach the gnarled branches of the trees, I follow the tiny, little path that pupils have forged over the years. As the tiny fingernails of the bushes dig deeper into my skin I listen carefully for any noise that might suggest anyone but me is here.

As I begin to wonder whether I had imagined the whole thing, that maybe I really am going nuts, I hear a voice: Johnny’s voice, “No, don’t! Jackson, don’t! What the fuck!”

His voice is high-pitched and panicked, I turn in the direction of the voice and dash through a sheet of ivy falling from a tree, concealing the recently parted path behind it, falling upon an enclosed clearing where the three of them are packed, a claustrophobic setting already established.

I take in the scene before me: all eyes are stretched wide; Johnny has stumbled back against a tree, his legs splayed out in front of him, a black eye blossoming on his cheek. Both he and Riley - who is backed as far away from the other two them as the space allows - are staring as if transfixed at the centre of the clearing where Jackson is stood, feet planted firmly, shoulders bared – the stance of an animal.

They don’t even turn to look at me as I crash my way through the small carpet of undergrowth over to them.

Then I realise why: Jackson is quietly, slowly twirling a switch knife around and around in his hands.

No one speaks for a moment and the air seems to solidify around us, constricting any form of movement, any form of thought.

“Jackson,” I say slowly, “What are you doing?”
Jackson doesn’t reply but merely continues to stare at Johnny; he has a slight manicness about him.

“D-dude, co-come on,” Riley makes a pathetic attempt at a laugh, “Put it away, you don’t really want to hurt him,” Riley flicks his eyes away from the knife to Jackson’s face - he seems to register the strange mania that has possessed him, “D-do you?”

Jackson doesn’t answer but his eye has started to twitch slightly. No one moves, the wind has turned to glass and the quiet threatens to shatter the air.

“Jackson,” my voice is so soft that it could only have been heard in this level of silence, “Jackson just put it down.”

Johnny appears to have gained some sort of confidence through my arrival, though his voice still shakes as he barks, “Just what the fuck is wrong with you, man?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Jacksons voice is deadly quiet, the eye before the storm. Then he suddenly strides over to Johnny as his shouts penetrate the air, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?”

As Johnny scrambles away from Jackson, I carefully, strangely calmly, take a step between them.

I can’t think properly and I can’t feel the tips of my fingers, and I surprise myself when I speak because I was under the impression that I was unable to breathe, “Jackson, stop. Just stop.”

“One thing you should really never do, little psycho, is stand between a man with a knife and someone they want to hurt.” Jackson’s voice is shaking slightly under his shaking calm.
“Why do you want to hurt him anyway? What has he ever done to you?”

“Get out of the way, schizo,” Jackson comes so close to me that the leather of our boots slide against each other. I can hear Johnny’s erratic breathing behind me and it seems to pass through my veins, mixing in my lungs with my own whirlwind of panic.

“Jackson, listen, just stop,” My voice doesn’t seem to be my own, it is slow and strong and I don’t understand how it could belong to someone whose heart is hammering as hard as mine. I look just over Jackson’s shoulder and glance over at Riley who is twitching on the edge of the clearing; we stare at each other for a moment as the air grows heavy with the words that are being left unsaid until Riley takes a hesitant step forward.

“Come on, man, just- just leave it.” Jackson doesn’t move or even take his eyes off Johnny.
Riley’s voice rises a few decibels, “Look, this is serious shit, okay! You could be arrested or something, arrested, man! I don’t wanna be caught up in that shit, so can you please just drop it! Please!” Riley’s voice is pleading and his words hover in the thickness of air for a few moments, hung on invisible strings that are tied to each of our throats.

The wood is quieter than I ever thought possible and my heart stops beating to blend in with the atmosphere.

And then, just like that, as if he weren’t releasing the chokehold on each of our throats, Jackson takes a step back and all the little slices of glass that I hadn’t realised had been digging into my skin fall away.

“Good- good call man,” Riley says as he laughs shakily.

Just as I’m about to let my lungs breath again, Jackson turns back around and hisses softly in my ear, “You’re going to fucking regret this.”

Then he turns and vanishes behind the ivy.

Johnny and I stay entirely still until Jackson and Riley’s crunching footsteps no longer echo, then I turn quickly around.

“Are you alright man, what did he do to you?” I kneel down next to Johnny’s pitiful figure.

“I’ll survive, he only punched me the one time,” he tapped lightly the bruise on his face and winces, “But I think I twisted my ankle or something when I was running”

I look down at his foot, and sure enough his ankle is about the size of an egg, “I guess that explains why you weren’t trying to get away,”

“I couldn’t have out run Jackson anyway, trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Do you reckon you can stand if you lean on me?” Johnny grips my hand in answer and tries to push himself up with my shoulder. Once standing he takes a tentative step forward and suddenly all his weight is on me as his leg gives way.

“Come on, we’ll do this really slowly, put your hands on my shoulder and I’ll grab your waist.”
Eventually, after a few stumbles, we figure out a way of shuffling slowly across the grass that doesn't make Johnny turn green.

As we make our incredibly slow journey across the various undergrowth, Johnny stops walk-shuffling for a moment and looks at me, “Hey,” he takes a deep breath, “thanks, you know, for that,”

“It’s no problem. I mean I couldn’t just stand there could I?” I looked away from him, his glare was intense and thank yous always unnerved me.

“Actually you could have.” He pauses to let that settle in the air, “Just... yeah, thanks, I don’t know what would have happened. Riley sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything about it.”

We start to walk-shuffle again as the uncomfortable topic of Riley springs up.

“Well, Riley was never good with conflict, or switch knives, or anything like that really.” I remember once, I can almost see it playing out again behind my eyes, when I cut the palm of my hand and had to get five stitches: Riley puked and Craig took pictures.

“Do you know Riley well, then?”

“I used to but I’m not sure anymore.”

I can feel Johnny staring at me but I just clear my throat uncomfortably and stare at the ground until Johnny breaks the silence, “Hey, what did Jackson whisper to you before by the way?”

“Oh, just the usual kind words to boost my self-confidence.”

Johnny laughed, “Oh yes, his infamous taste in words. I know all about that.”

As we begin to walk across the field and get closer to the school, people begin to look up from their lunches to see us slowly limping towards them. When people realise that Johnny is hurt they swarm towards us, calling out to him until a whole crowd has assembled to escort Johnny away – I told you that he was just someone who everyone liked.

A few people shoot me dirty looks; I’m assuming they think that I am the conspirator who has slain their beloved Johnny - despite the fact that Johnny is telling anyone who will listen that I only helped him limp here after he tripped in the woods.

Either way, as soon as I’ve checked that Johnny is going to be fine and won’t be trampled by the hordes of adrenaline stuffed teens, I turn and walk away in the opposite direction, away from the accusing stares.

No one wants the school psycho to be a good guy anyway.