The Year of Everything

Chapter 4: The Bucket List

   11-year-old Drake sighed, sitting on a bridge in southern Los Angeles, suit and tie on and staring down below. This bridge reminded him of the one at home in Willow Creek. He felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach as his legs dangled over the side and watching the water rush between the rocks and between the rocks below. The bridge was quite high up and old and wooden with that old feel to it. Drake loved that. He loved how clean the water looked and how the wood still had carvings into it from people who’d been here and how the trees grew near to the bridge. He sighed, gazing below.

   “Drake!”

   Drake turned to see Lee hurrying over, also in a suit. “What are you doing out here?” Lee demanded, looking worried. “It’s freezing. Your dad wants to see you.” Then he looked at Drake’s face, standing like a foot away.

   Drake was pale and his black, messy hair was combed back but his eyes were red and his hands shook. “Did you see her too?” he whispered.

   Lee walked over. “Dude, it wasn’t your fault. Stop blaming yourself. I’m really sorry.”

   Drake sighed, his arms on the bridge rail. He buried his face into them and his tears began to well up painfully in his red, sore eyes. “My dad is really happy you’re here. You’re helping out a lot more than I am, apparently.”

   Lee stared, looking guilty almost. “Drake, you’re his son. He’s more proud of you. Don’t start this again.”

   Scowling, Drake remained silent.

   “Seth’s parents just brought him here and Chrissy is with them. Also, Emi is crying in the closet in the building and won’t talk to me. She wants you. Time to be a big brother.”

   Drake brushed his tears away. “But I don’t want to have to be the strong one all the time. That was mom’s job. Plus, Emi hates me. You always cheer her up. Can’t you just try again?”

   He sighed, putting a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Dude, come on. I’m really sorry but this is the way it is now. Don’t forget that you have your friends to help you and I think your Aunt Sharon is going to stay for a little while to help out. But for now, we gotta go inside, okay?” he smiled sadly, looking at his friend.

   Drake turned to him, head down still and eyes still wet and red. Slowly, he nodded and the two boys walked towards the funeral home.

   Drake stood in the tiny bathroom of the hospital, splashing water in his face and then trying to shave using the mirror. Outside the door, a nurse was there. Did they honestly think he’d try to off himself again with a razor? He couldn’t even do it with the immense amount of pills and handgun he’d had that night so how did they figure he could with a blade any easier? Nevertheless, his shaking hands made him nick his chin and cheeks a few times and he scowled. Damn thing.

   Drake looked into the mirror. His hair was actually starting to look like an anime character’s, all spiky and stuff.  Other than that, he hadn’t changed much in the two weeks he’d been at the hospital in order to heal. Still had the slightly longer, pale face; still had the dark eyes; still lanky; still almost unhealthily thin; still had the tattoo on his arm. He sighed before heading to the door and handing the nurse the blade, one hand still holding the doorknob. “See, I’m fine?” he tried. Geez, what was wrong with him? He was so cynical, ill-tempered, and gloomy these days. He was trying but wow.