Different colored minds

Saying Good Bye to a Dream

STEVEN POV

I sit in my car, and jam the key into the ignition. The car begrudgingly grumbles to a start. The sun isn't even up yet. Looking up at my mirrors, I stick the car in reverse and back out of the driveway. The gravel slides underneath my truck as I turn down the old winding road towards the fields. Finding a place hidden away from eyesight, I park my car. Leaning back the seat, I grab the lighter from my pocket with a joint. I hate that I hide it. I know smoking is bad for my lungs, but I also don't want to live trapped inside my head for the rest of my life. I prefer quality over quantity you could say. I'm tired of feeling drained and unmotivated, so if weed helps get me back on task and keeps me moving forward, then that's what I have to do. I pick up jobs on the side so my parents don't pay, and I do my assignments now which is better than I can say about myself when I was sober. But then again, no one knows how bad it is inside my head. No one else cares to know. Not even Joe.

At the thought of him I look down at my phone instinctively, my fingers pressed against the cold glass screen surface.
I have to pick him up in thirty minutes.
"Shit," I mutter as I turn up the radio. Roll down the windows. And sit back in my chair. First day of senior year will be interesting—

Joe is waiting for me on the porch. No matter how many times I see it, it's hard seeing my best friend without a leg.

"Hey joe," I plaster on a smile as I roll down the window. He rolls his wheelchair towards my car. He won't talk about what happened to him. He won't tell me what his plan is for the future. It's like he's a dead man walking. It's hard to lose someone that's still standing right next to me.
He opens the door and I get out to help.
"I'll just fold up the wheel chair and you can throw it in the back," he leaves the wheel chair by itself on the pavement and uses his body strength to hoist himself into the car. I step towards the silver metal contraption, collapse it and hoist it into the trunk.
The dead man hasn't told me anything, which is probably the most hurtful part. I'm here to be a friend and support him but he's pushing me away just like everyone else.
I press on the gas and let the car roll forward.
"Ready for senior year?" I start.
"Ready as I'll ever be," he grunts and looks out of the window. I'm losing my best friend.
"What are you doing after school?"
"Sleeping."
I want to say something else, but there's nothing to say. He doesn't want to have anything to do with football anymore, he won't play video games, he won't talk to me—it's like he's frozen on the day of the accident. And I can't even tell him how mad this is driving me or he'll shatter.
I turn and see the school sprawl out before us. He and I have been talking about the first day of senior year since we were kids. The parties we would throw, the girls we'd check off our list and most importantly the teams we would pummel in football. It's all gone now. I park and grab his wheel chair.
"Welcome to hell," he mutters coldly as I help him into his wheel chair.
"It's only hell if you make it hell," I reply. he looks up at me.
"I don't have to,"
I walk beside him as he rolls towards the school, the students sprawled out across the front lawn racing over to friends excitedly. Senior year. I can already see the people waving and calling us over to them. I can smell the excitement in the air-
"Yo, Steven! you ready?!" Randle walks up to me, arms open for a hug. He's 200 pounds of pure muscle, perfect for the team. His eyes catch on joe.
"You ready for this year, cap?" He asks, a broad smile playing on his lips.
"I'm not the captain anymore," joe says. My eyes snap onto him.
"Oh come on dude, you can't be serious," Randle complains. "We need you."
"No you don't. Steven knows the ropes already. And besides, I can't keep up anymore," he gestures to the wheel chair below him.
"Yo joe!" A sophomore on the team saunters over. Joe begins rolling away.
"I'm gonna head to class," he says with a polite smile. I look around at the group beginning to form around us.
"I'll come with," I decide and wave goodbye to the group.

All I can think about the rest of the day is football without joe. Joe and I have been playing football since we were both in sixth grade. I persuaded him that he could get any girl's number if he joined the football team; he laughed and said:

"If you don't get at least five girls to ask you out by the end of the season—you're joining the cheer squad next year. Shake on it." And he threw out his hand. My parents could care less that I joined but his parents were overjoyed. Especially his dad—

I didn't get five girls' numbers and he didn't make me join cheer squad on account of the fact football season happened at the same time. And every year since then, that's been our life—Or that was our life. The bell rings to signal the end of class. At least I could try persuading him to shoot some hoops before practice.