The Life Of Aaron Prescott

[2] Park Bench

The Life of Aaron Prescott
Journal Entry Two; September 4th

Uncle Aaron and Aunt Maggie took me school shopping today. We bought some pencils and pens and a really cool, black binder. Also, some other notebooks I will use only for school, this notebook is my own.

I never mentioned dad to uncle Aaron or aunt Maggie, I didn't want them to worry about him. I'm sure dad will be fine, that's what uncle Aaron says anyways.

He just keeps telling me how dad is in a stage of grief, and that I was too just we were in different stages.

I had looked up the word grief when we got home that day on mom's old laptop.

Grief: Deep sorrow, especially that's caused by someone's death.

I guess I understand that, but it's been a year since mom died and I never thought grief could last for this long. Everyone once in a while I look back at an old photo and end up crying, but dad doesn't do that. He sits in our living room while he drinks something uncle Aaron calls whiskey. I tried it once, it didn't taste very good, I never liked it too much. I'm not sure why he drinks it, but some days after he'll come into my room with hugs and saying how much he loves me. I hope that lasts.

And we can both move on, together.

A A R O N

I find myself sitting on a park bench at twelve AM. My legs and arms are freezing. My knuckles were sore, my jaw ached and so did my side. Being pushed into a counter does that to you, I guess.

It's not like I could go anywhere else. I had already told Ryan to go home, and I would bet my whole bank account he's ten drinks into the morning. I do not want to be around him like that. Not that Ryan gets violent, he just drops a shit ton of truth bombs.

Jordan probably wouldn't mind, but his parents would. Jordan's parents never like a speck of dust on the ground, let alone all the dirt I have collected outside.

Mason has football training tonight, and I didn't want to disrupt his parents. So, I opt for the old, cold park bench that sits two blocks away from my own abode.

Laying my head on the black metal, I rub my fingers over my bruised knuckles. Coach is going to murder me this Friday, or send five nurses my way. My knuckles would probably heal before then, but I'm not sure if my side would. It isn't horribly bruised, but if I were to get hit with a ball it would be twice as worse than it is now.

I sigh. Why can't life just be easy, and why can't a blanket fall into my lap at this very minute? Tomorrow I would probably be sitting on Ryan's bed while I whiff down a bowl of soup.

"Aaron Prescott?" Lindsey Hayes voice cuts through my thoughts. I sit up sharply, quickly regretting it when my side aches.

What the hell is Lindsey Hayes doing on this side of town? Doesn't she live in rich vile? I thought Ryan said something about her living in Brentwood.

She's dressed in sweats, her hair in a ponytail. Was Lindsey Hayes going for a run? She looks so normal, out of her mother's designer wear and in regular clothes.

"Hello," I said, half-confused. Lindsey rubs some sweat from her pale skin back into her chocolate hair before showing me a smile. And I'm surprised to see something genuine behind it.

"Yeah, you're Aaron Prescott. You sit a row over from me in bio, right?" Lindsey asks.

She knows we take bio together? Nodding I say, "yeah, and you're Lindsey Hayes. Right?" Okay, maybe I'm being a bit of an asshole. Of course, everyone knows who she is, but I'm in a pissy mood. Why not be a total dick?