Moment of Realization
Life is a very pointless existence. We come into this world and are set onto a path that leads to nowhere. No matter where you go or what you do, there will never be anyone but yourself who really truly cares what happens to you, and sooner or later, you'll end up like everyone else in the world: Six feet under the cold, hard earth. The inevitable fate of the entire human race.
There comes a time in a person's life when they will realize this. Their life has little or no impact on anyone else's. Even if it did, why should it matter, when they only have seventy-some years to live, anyway? Why waste what little time they have trying to be "successful" or "virtuous"? To change the world? What world? There is no such thing as a world, only a mass of people going about their lives in tiny boxes with no intention of ever stepping out to help another.
In most cases, this moment of realization hits very late in life, often just before death. But, in some unfortunate ones , it comes early, much too early, and the victim is left with an extremely hopeless existence in front of them.
The basement swam with hazy, sweet smoke. Old furniture, ripped and moldy, was piled in corners, surrounded by heaps of junk: old stereos, used toys and bags of worn shoes and clothing. In the center, a faded green couch faced an old TV set hooked up to a game system. Four boys in their early teens sat around it holding joints of marijuana and watching the screen, only half interested.
Billy sat against the couch's feet, a joint held between his teeth as he clicked away furiously with the PlayStation controller. "Okay, Kevin, I pulled it up, what now?"
Kevin, a hard-looking guy of Asian descent, kicked him in the side. "Not up, dumbass, you're supposed to pull it down."
"How?"
"Press square, or something."
"It didn't do anything."
"Aw fuck, just give me the controller. Fucking dumbass..."
Billy turned to glare at him with sad blue eyes. "Quit calling me a dumbass, man."
Already immersed in the game, Kevin didn't even glance at him. "Fuck you."
Billy turned around farther, mouth open to say something, when Collin leaned over and pushed him back around. "Shut up, Billy, just smoke your weed and calm down. Jesus, you guys..." He shook his head, but he was on the verge of smiling behind his curly blonde hair.
Beside him, tall dark-skinned Jamie stretched out before taking a drag from his own joint. "K, I'm bored. What've you got to drink around here, Kev?"
"Out of booze," Kevin grunted, eyes glued to the screen. "Holy shit, did you see that? Fucker just went flying!"
Billy stood and made his way to the chipped green refrigerator in the corner closest to the door, trailing behind him a stream of smoke. He wrenched it open and peered inside. "Yeah, all there is is..." he leaned in to grab it. "
"Yeah, good enough," said Collin. "Give me one."
Jamie looked at the can Billy tossed to the couch with disgust. "You're gonna drink that shit? You're such a pussy, Collin."
"Fuck you," Collin said lightly. "At least I'm not a frigging alchie like you!" The can snapped as he pushed the tab down and took a sip. Over by the fridge, Billy followed suit, laughing quietly.
"Go eat your mom, tool," Jamie spat, punching him hard in the arm and causing pop to spill all over the place. "Damn, now you got it all over me!"
"I'd eat Collin's mom any day," Billy said from behind the couch's back he was leaning on.
Kevin looked up from his game in surprise. "Where'd that come from? You never say shit like that!" Billy shrugged, smiling rather sheepishly. Chuckling, Kevin turned back to his blonde friend beside him. "You're right, though... I'd definitely eat Collin's mom." His face split into a nasty sneer.
"Yeah, Kev, you'd also eat your own mom if she let you, sick fuck," shot Collin, rewarded with bursts of laughter from all three of the boys.
Billy watched his three pals joke around, laughing, occasionally clubbing someone over the head. It was a very strange sort of friendship they all had. From what Billy had learned, friends were supposed to care about each other, help each other out. This could not be said at all about Collin, Jamie, Kevin and him, no matter how far the truth was stretched. They had little in common, and they rarely got along. They came together for one reason: Escape.
That was it, the reason they hung out every night acting like idiots, wasting their time smoking weed and playing mindless video games. They were all made of so much more, and they knew it, but they'd reached a point in their life where nothing mattered anymore. They'd finally realized that there was no one and nothing on this earth that was worth spending any time on, and that if they were to live, it'd be for themselves and what they wanted. They were sick of the world trying to tell them otherwise, so they needed to just... escape.
The bell rang, the loudest and most annoying beeping sound ever invented. Worse then the alarm clock that gave Kevin a heart attack every morning at 6:30. He turned the dial on his lock, barely glancing at it in his haste. Maybe if he got to class as quickly as possible, the teacher would let it slide. Up and down the hallway, doors were closing as stragglers slipped into class. In moments it stood silent and empty, with Kevin there like a misfit in it all.
The locker swung open, with no pictures on the door like everyone else's. Who would he put there? Friends, no. He had none. His mom, no. She'd left him with his dad three years after he was born. His dad, no. His dad didn't talk to him. Kevin doubted he even knew his own son's name. Relatives, no. He had none. None that he'd ever met, anyway.
He grabbed his history book, closed his locker and ran to class. Upon entering, he ignored the teacher's comment about his tardiness and sat at his desk in the front. Behind him, he could feel the eyes of his peers boring holes in his back with their stares. His skin already tingled with their unsaid disgust and loathing. He arched his shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling. He hated it here.
The teacher launched into the class, droning on about American History Chapter 3. Kevin listened, having nothing better to do.
Then, she assigned his worst nightmare: a partner project. He hated that term, because he knew he would never have a partner and that if he did, they would be so horrified by the idea of being with a Chinese that he'd have to do it all himself, and then have to suffer through cooperating with them so that they could present, while they stared at him with complete distaste and kept exchanging glances with the friends they'd rather be with.
His hands clenched into fists. Now was the worst part, the part where he had to turn around and look for a partner, watch while everyone scrambled to get someone so that they wouldn't have to be with gross, Chinese Kevin. He was pressing his teeth together so hard he could hear them snapping as they grinded together involuntarily. Taking a deep breath, he turned in his seat, and glanced around the classroom.
Then, he caught sight of the new kid, Patrick or something like that, sitting alone at the other corner of the class. He had his head down, and was staring at his desk so hard it was obvious he was watching everything else but it. Hope blossomed in Kevin like a flower. This was his one big chance to meet someone, to have a partner that wasn't completely against the prospect of working with him, or even talking to him. Throwing caution to the winds, he got up, approached Patrick, and stopped at the side of the desk.
"Hey, um... do you want to work together for the project?"
The guy looked up, curled his lip as though Kevin were a nasty smell, and said "Me work with you? I'd rather be alone, chink."
Kevin stared.
Bang. Moment of realization.
Kevin's face went from perplexed to furious in a matter of seconds. Completely out of control, he seized Patrick's collar. "Fuck you," he spat with the venom of a thousand snakes. It didn't even shock him to say that, even though he could never remember swearing in his life. "Fuck you and your racist ass, bitch." He wasn't speaking quietly, he knew, and he didn't care. This was it. He was done with this bullshit. The class was silent, even the teacher was staring, not saying a word. But Kevin was too far gone to even acknowledge the trouble he was in. "I'm just so fucking done with this shit. All you fucking pussies can go to hell, I don't care." He was yelling now, the echo of his voice was screaming in his head. "You mother fuckers don't know me! Just shut the fuck up! Just shut the fuck up!
And then he was gone, out the door before anyone could say anything. He was finished with this bullshit. This fucking bullshit...
Kevin straightened the blue trucker hat over his silky black hair and hunched his shoulders, still a bad habit three years later. Since that instant, since that light in his mind had hit, his life had been miserable, meaningless, but he could never return to being what he was, a joke, an idiot pretending to have a point to his life, like all those other jackasses.
He stared as Billy, who sat across from him, darted nervous glances around the near-empty bus. He smiled humorlessly and shook his head as his friend turned around in his seat to peer out at the cold November night. Points of light from lamps in the shops and company buildings shone through the tinted windows of the rumbling, shaking public bus.
"Calm the fuck down, faggot," he said, exasperated, as Billy's blue eyes started once again to jump around, trying to catch everything at once. Billy's gaze fell on him, and his face burned crimson before he looked down at his dirty white running shoes.
"Well, Kev! We're frigging loaded, here. If we get caught..."
"We won't get caught if you keep your voice down, you shit!" Kevin hissed, sneaking a glance at the nearest passenger, who looked half-dead with their head lolling every which way. He leaned closer anyway, taking no chances. "And even if, by some crazy shit, we do get caught, it's not like we'll get into any real trouble. Just... grow balls, man."
As Billy glared daggers at him from across the bus, Collin charlie-horsed him in the arm, making him bite back a very loud curse. He did swear a lot, but he avoided attracting too much attention in public, especially when his jacket was stuffed full with enough weed to waste an elephant. "Stop bitching like a fucking sissy, asshole." Collin said quietly, not unkindly but firmly enough to get his point across. "Leave the kid alone for once."
Kevin rubbed his arm ruefully, but shut up. It was hard to argue with Collin. He was probably the most, considerate and level-headed of the group, which was hard to believe, Kevin thought, looking at everything he'd been through. Maybe because of his perfect childhood, he still had some sense of dignity left in him...
No, Collin was as bad as the rest of them, as hopeless and lost, as everyone was doomed to be in the end.
A carton of fries swimming with vinegar plopped down onto the cafeteria table, and hands reached out on all sides to snag one before Collin had a chance to beat them off. "Hey, screw off, I need to eat, man!" shaggy, blonde-haired Collin snapped jokingly at anyone who reached for a second. He plunked himself down in front of his lunch and picked at it hesitantly. "Man, look at this shit!" he laughed. "It's like eating raw potatoes."
"Hey, if you don't eat it, I will," his friend announced from across the table, and he just smiled and shook his head before digging into its soggy contents.
Lunch was in full swing at Collin's middle school; the cafeteria was packed to bursting with kids walking around or sitting in groups at the rows of tables. The stage took up the entire wall opposite the doors, and at its steps was the door to the kitchen, where students were waiting in line in front of the vending machines.
Ben leaned over the table toward him. "Hey, you got any more weed today?" The other boys turned to look at Collin, suddenly interested.
He casually picked a few more fries from the carton and dropped them into his mouth, avoiding everyone's gaze and peering at the lunch cart near the door. "Keep your voice down, man," he muttered almost inaudibly. "Yeah, I got some. But you gotta pay up." He was looking at Ben, but he raised his voice for everyone to hear. His generosity was getting expensive, and grass didn't grow on trees. It grew on plants. Illegal plants.
"Yeah, sure. I got the money right now." Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills.
"Put it away, dipshit," Collin growled menacingly, his good mood vanishing. He scanned the caf, but no teachers were in sight. "Remember, if I get caught, so do you. So stop waving that shit around like a fucking moron." Ben tucked the money away, his face reddening with anger and embarrassment. He started to say something when the loud beeping of the intercom warned of an announcement.
Collin Rybrock, please come to the office. Collin Rybrock to the office.
All heads turned to look at Collin, who sat frozen in his seat. His icy grey eyes could have put out a fire with their chill as they bore accusingly into Ben's. "What's this about, you son of a bitch?"
White as hot ash, Ben stared back with wild eyes, shaking his head. "No, man. I swear. If you get caught, so do I, so why would I rat you out?"
"I'm wondering the same thing."
The table was silent as the grave. The assembled guys glanced from Ben to Collin. This was no game, and they knew it. If Collin got up and punched Ben out, it wouldn't be play-fighting. Serious business called for serious spectators, so no words were said.
Collin climbed out of his seat and heaved his school bag over his shoulder, still watching Ben from the corner of his eye. He put a hand inside his pocket, and, seemingly unconsciously, half pulled his switchblade out and toyed with it. He dropped it back in and left, but he'd caught the look on everyone's face, including Ben's. He'd gotten the message across.
He strolled down the halls framed with the dull metal of the lockers. At the end, he could see the glass door to the office, and the secretary at her desk full of potted plants, on the phone. His grip tightened on the strap of his bag. Third time getting caught selling weed. He was definitely getting expelled this time. Whoever had ratted him out... The hand in his pocket traced the opening of his blade. If only he had the guts to use it...
The office door swung open, and the secretary looked up from behind the surrounding leaves and flowers. "Collin? Right through that door to the principal's office." Then she looked back down at whatever she was writing, and Collin was left staring at his destination. It had suddenly struck him how dumb he'd been to bring his bag in with him. If they searched him, the situation would look even worse then it was. And how was he going to explain the knife in his pocket? What a dumbass.
He steeled himself and went inside. It was dark, because for some reason the blinds were pulled down over the window, leaving only tiny bands of light showing from outside. The lights were on, but it wasn't the same as a natural sunny glow. The wall he was facing was scattered with framed pictures, and the one that stretched out before him on the left was lined with tall, heavy bookshelves. Over to the far right corner, the principal sat at her desk, facing two very familiar people. Collin stared.
"What the..." Both his mother and father sat in chair's facing the principal's desk. He hadn't seen them together in five years. Either this was some kind of sick joke, or he was in a lot more shit then he'd first thought.
They both turned to look at him upon his entry, and right away his mom stood and hugged him tightly. She was shaking a bit as she held him. "Hi, honey," she said softly as he stared blankly at the shoulder of her brown coat and a lock of long, curled golden hair. He peeked over her collar at his greying dad, who sat solemnly in the other chair with his legs crossed and his hands in his pockets. The man betrayed nothing with his expression.
When his mom refused to let him escape from her rib cracking embrace, it was obvious things weren't going to be explained unless he took action. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice muffled by his mother's shoulder.
The porky old woman that called herself a principal cleared her throat on the other side of the desk. "Why don't you have a seat there, Collin, and we can explain everything." That's when his mom finally let him go and nudged him toward her chair so that he could sit down. Feeling less and less secure by the moment, Collin sank into the cushioned office chair. He wondered whether he'd rather just have been caught trafficking marijuana. At least then he'd know what was going on.
His father leaned his forearms against the corner of the desk. He looked graver then he'd ever been before. Regarding Collin solemnly behind his glasses, he breathed deeply and finally spoke. "We have some bad news for you, Collin."
He was suddenly hit with an overpowering echo from the past. Five years ago. In the living room, the room they only used when guests were there. We have some bad news for you, Collin. Your mother and I have decided that it's best if we separate. What do you mean? We're going to get a divorce, honey.
No matter how many times they told him they were sorry it had turned out this way, it didn't change what they were doing to him. If you're so sorry, why are you doing it? Our relationship isn't working anymore, son. Well get it working again. It's not that simple. WHY NOT?
"No," Collin said quietly. "There can't be any worse news than that." His father blinked at him with the trace of a frown on his face. Behind him, Collin heard his mother make some sort of strangled gasp, and he turned to see her face streaked with tears, looking at him and sobbing silently. He could see in her eyes, the grey eyes he'd gotten from her, that she knew exactly what he meant.
"I'm so sorry, Collin," she moaned shakily, and burst into a new bout of tears.
Collin said nothing. He turned to face his dad again. "Try me," he spat coldly. "I bet there can't be any worse news than that." His father still said nothing, still had the same expression, trying to figure out what his son meant. "Tell me what the fuck is going on!"
His mom's crying got louder, and his dad's face grew harder. In any normal circumstances, he would reprimand Collin for his mouth, but there were bigger things happening here then etiquette classes.
His father leaned more heavily against the desk, and the shadows that ran across his face from the light made him look all the more dark and gloomy. There was a pause that lasted an eternity, then, in a hoarse whisper, he said, "Hannah was killed at school today."
We're going to get a divorce, honey.
Tell me what the fuck is going on!
If you're so sorry, why are you doing it?
There can't be any worse news than that.
Hannah was killed at school today.
It's not that simple.
I'm so sorry, Collin.
Bang. Moment of realization.
Collin couldn't breathe; something was choking him. He took shallow gasps of air, and could feel his heart trying to beat right out of his chest. Life was draining right out of him. His blood was thin, and cold. The office was silent except for his hoarse breathing. His parents watched him painfully, saying nothing.
He could feel the darkness and hopelessness closing in around him. Hannah was dead. Little, seven-year-old Hannah, his little sister, with the sunny smile and sandy hair, the only person he couldn't live without. Tears flowed from his eyes, angry, burning hot tears. What kind of sick bastard ever said life was good. He'd known nothing but misery his entire life. Whenever things seemed to be getting better, the world turned around to screw him over again. Fuck it.
"There's only one thing worse," Collin choked, "and you just said it."
There was just no hope for anyone.
The gritty skate park was a black, dirty place. Collin rounded the filthy corner of the old arena and walked into a familiar scene. An empty, wire-woven trash can was chained to the ground, encircled with garbage and rot on the grey pavement. Near it, leaning against the wall or half sitting on the unused bicycle "hold", a few thugs in their late teens conversed in low voices, their black coats pulled close against the cold. One held a cigarette in his gaunt fist.
Collin ran a hand over the switchblade he still carried in his pocket. It was dangerous to traffic weed without a weapon, and since his small knife wasn't ideal for protection, he was hoping to get himself a gun once he'd saved up enough.
"Billy, you cool?" He turned to look at his pale-faced accomplice, who stood beside him literally shaking in his shoes. His small hand gripped a kitchen knife he'd no doubt swiped from his mom's kitchen, hidden inside his torn, ragged coat. Behind his long brown hair, wide eyes watering from the chilly wind watched him without blinking, and Billy nodded once, too frightened to move any more.
Collin lowered an eyebrow doubtfully. "Man, you're scared shitless. Just relax, kid. Nothing's gonna happen. And even if something did, Kev and Jamie have our backs, 'cause they gotta keep up their end of the deal."
Billy nodded again, looking no more comforted then before. Forgetting him, Collin turned back to the guys against the wall. They'd marked the two kids slipping around the corner and were watching them warily, so attentively that they hadn't noticed Kevin and Jamie squeezing through the cut in the mesh fence behind the lone, bare tree. Under the grey hood of his sweater, Collin could safely watch his friends' progress along the park perimeter without attracting any attention to them. The two slid from shadow to shadow, but in the moonlight, Collin just caught the gleam of a gun slung in Jamie's belt before it was once again cast into darkness.
Reckless was Jamie's middle name, which was apparent by the way he threw about that hand gun without a care in the world. Under Collin's possession, it would have been wrapped up and hidden deep into the folds of his coat, not swinging around on his hip for the whole world to see. It was probably because Jamie really had nothing to worry about if he got caught. His foster parents would be upset, but Jamie didn't care two cents about what they thought. He hadn't cared about what anyone thought, ever since Collin had known him.
It sort of made you wonder why...
The sun had set outside. The sky was darkening by the minute, and one by one, the tiny houses on Jamie's street were switching their house lights on. Overtop the tall, wooden fence, the hood of a dirty, white car swept by, its engine rattling tiredly.
Nine-year-old Jamie scratched at his thick, short black hair and seriously contemplated leaping out of the window to escape the shouts coming through the closed door of his bedroom. His parents were fighting again, very loudly and openly. They didn't seem to care what their screams were doing to their neighbors, their children, and themselves, they were just yelling for the sake of it. There never really was a purpose to it. They would argue about a topic, but it had little or nothing to do with the real reason they fought. It was a known fact among Jamie and his siblings that if they had had the money and the means, they would have been divorced long before now.
Jamie wasn't naive enough to think that they loved eachother. It was true that the only thing he knew about love was that you missed the person when they were gone, but his parents were ten times happier when their spouses weren't around, so hate was a more acceptable term in this case. He doubted whether they ever had been in love, or whether it had just been a trend to marry whoever looked at you at the time.
"Don't even start that, you know what this is about!" his mom squawked from the kitchen. He dug his fingers into his ears and glared at the worn fence outside the window. How many times was he going to have to listen to her yelling at his father the same thing over and over, and hear him answer back the same words he'd been shouting the entire time? They were such morons, like squabbling chickens. Why couldn't they just not talk, and sit in silence instead of letting everything out as a scream?
The same questions he'd asked himself ever since he could remember having the capability of thinking. There had never been a time when his family had been happy, never a time when they'd acted as families should. This was how he'd grown up and learned to speak, through the endless stream of screams and hollers from his parents.
Jamie glanced over into a corner of the room, where his younger brother, Dale, lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and looking as though he was about to cry. He did that every time they fought, and it was starting to get really annoying. Okay, so your parents hate eachother and bitch 24/7. Get over it already.
The ear-piercing sound of shattering glass brought Jamie to his feet. There was no way he had imagined it, because he'd seen Dale's eyes pop wide open in shock. It had finally happened: his parents were sick of screaming and were coming to blows. Their hatred had built up enough that they wanted to physically hurt one another.
"You fucking bitch!" his father's voice boomed from under the bedroom door seam, and moments later, there was a tremendous clatter, as though someone had thrown the kitchen table over. His mom's screaming had reached a hysterical pitch.
Still on his feet, Jamie tried to control his thoughts while his heart raced a mile a minute. He had two choices: he could ignore this new development in his parents' endless battles and hope to God it never happened again, or he could find some way to make them stop before it got out of control. As the oldest male in the house that wasn't breaking things, it was up to him to settle things down. His older sister Tawny couldn't look at their father in the face, and his brother Ray wasn't home, as usual. So that left him...
Before he'd even decided to take action, he felt his legs moving him toward the bedroom door. What did he have to lose? Even if his mom and dad didn't come to their senses, the worst that could happen was that they ignored him and continued to break their own kitchen appliances. Maybe they'd learn their lesson once it came time to replacing things they couldn't afford.
He stepped out into the stub of a hall, wincing as the volume of the fight increased tenfold. Jamie took one glance at the living room couch, where Tawny sat stiffly staring at the wall, then peered around the bend into their tiny kitchen, just in time to see his mother cannon into the wall nearest him from the full-armed slap his dad had connected with her face.
Jamie stared as his mom crumpled to the floor with her hands over her face, and his wrath flared up like a furnace. He jumped in front of his father on an impulse. "Dad, what the hell?"
For just one moment, Jamie could have sworn that all time and sound stopped, that his blood quit pumping and his heart stood still. He caught one look at his father's face, full of an incredible anger, before the man's fist came up and knocked him to the ground.
Bang. Moment of realization.
His ears were ringing, and his eyes were blinded by tears. For a second, he could only lay on the ground with his head resting on the hard ceramic floor, feeling only a terrible ache in his head.
So this was what it felt like, to truly know that there was no such thing as love. He didn't feel all that different... There was just something missing: the illusion that there were people in this world that cared about you. He had just been struck down with the only person that was supposed to want to protect him.
So this was what it felt like, to have lived a lie for the past nine years. If there had never been "love" in this family, what had there been?
With his vision still blurred and his head still throbbing, Jamie slowly picked himself up. The shouting had stopped. That was all he noticed as he went numbly through the screen door, across the yard and down the road. There it was at last: silence. The true sound of hatred.