Become the Night

Putting the Fun in Funeral Part 1

"Joshua, I gotta ask, what's with this house man? I mean, I know there's no way you can afford this house on a teacher's salary." I say to him over breakfast. It's been about two weeks since the "incident." I've been trying to get my mind off of my parents' deaths. So, I've been helping out around the house as much as I can. This week was the first week I've been back to school, though, so I have a lot of catching up to do. The principal thought I could use the week off and wouldn't even let me come to school until this past Monday. The week in the house by myself while Joshua was at school teaching was the worst. I was so bored. I couldn't go anywhere, and I can only play video games so much.

Tomorrow, Saturday, is the memorial for my parents. Joshua and Max's mom have been handling the details, so I haven't had to do it. On the one hand, I'm glad I haven't had to deal with it, but it would've given me something to do while stuck in the house. Cole is still in the hospital. The machines are pretty much the only thing keeping him alive at this point. He won't be attending the memorial, but I go to see him every day after Joshua gets home. I try talk to him as much as I can, hoping that he'll snap out of it and come back.

Joshua laughs at my question.

"The house was passed down to me through my family. A Smithin has lived here for the past 300 years. The house was brought over from Wiltshire in England. My family resided in the house for 500 years before it was brought over. It's expected that I will have children and pass it to them. The furnishings were all paid for by my great-great-grandfather some time ago. He liked fancy things. I haven't the heart to change anything except to modernize it."

I look around at the very modern kitchen, struck again by how different it seems than the rest of the house.

"Yeah," he says noticing me looking around. "The kitchen needed the most updating. The rest of the house really only needed plumbing and central heating and air. All of which can be done in the walls, so the integrity of the rooms stayed intact. The kitchen needed all new equipment though, so I figured, go big or go home. So to speak," he chuckles.

"But what about the money? I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry, but it all seems kind of surreal. I mean, I've Googled it and teachers don't make that much money. Certainly, not enough to keep up with the demands of a house like this."

"Yeah, that. Well, I only teach because I like it. I don't need to, salary wise. My family is loaded. That's not something I want getting around school, though, so don't go telling anyone."

"Don't worry about that. No one talks to me except Max. And even then, not so much anymore." I hang my head and fight the feeling of tears. Joshua doesn't say anything. He gathers up our dishes from breakfast and puts them in the sink. There's a housekeeper that comes three times a week and she deals with dishes and vacuuming and things like that. On the days she doesn't come, those are my chores. Today is a day she comes.

We get up. I grab my new bookbag, slip on my new shoes, zip up my new coat and follow Joshua out the door to his car.

The day after I first came to Joshua's house, he took me shopping for new everything. Most of my belongings were left at my parents' house and, the ones that weren't destroyed by the animal or covered in nasty crap, I got out of the house. That only included a few outfits, my alarm clock (which miraculously remained intact, even though the nightstand it was on was destroyed), and a few photo albums. Unfortunately, that list didn't include any of my school things as they were torn to shreds.

The ride to school is a quiet affair, though most mornings it usually is. Joshua parks in the faculty parking lot and we both exit the car. I say my goodbye and head to my locker. On the way, I see Patrick. He hasn't said one word to me since I got back to school earlier this week. I don't know what it is, but I almost miss his harassment. It was like his harassment is a way that I know people notice me. Now, no one so much as talks to me, even to insult me. They talk about me, through me, or around me, but no one talks to me anymore. Max, Jamie, and Mr. Smithin being the only exceptions. I never thought I'd miss the times I was bullied.

The line my mother said about Patrick the night she died plays through my head, and I chuckle despite myself. He turns to look at me and briefly I think I see the old Patrick in there. Then he turns away, hides his face and the moment is gone.

I shake my head and open my locker. I grab the books I'll need for first and second periods, close my locker, and head to my first class. Mr. Smithin is already there sitting behind his desk. He gives me a brief nod and calls the class to attention.

After second period, I drop off my books at my locker and head to lunch. I'm sitting at the end of Max's table, minding my own business and all of a sudden, a shadow looms over me. I ignore it at first, but then look up when I realize it isn't moving on and jolt when I see Patrick standing there. He doesn't say anything, just gestures questioningly to the seat across the table from me. I nod, my mouth hanging open, too stunned to say much of anything. He sits down. He folds his hands in front of him and squirms a little in his seat. Yet, he still doesn't say anything.

"Yes?" I ask to prompt him into saying something or doing something. He squirms a little then mumbles something I can't hear under his breath.

"Sorry. What?" I ask, boldly putting my hand to my ear in a mocking "I can't hear you" gesture. He takes a steadying breath. I realize that he's shaking slightly.

"I'm so sorry, Cal," he says quietly before burying his head in his hands. His quiet statement rocks me back. He's sorry? Sorry about what? About being an ass to me most of my life? About .... about what?

"Huh?" I say, certain I misheard him.

"Sorry. For everything. For bullying you all these years. For what happened to your parents. For what is happening to your brother. For all of it." He shakes his head as if to dislodge the thoughts that are taking up space. I'm pissed. Hell, I'm beyond pissed. Who the hell does he think he is? He's going to apologize? He doesn't get to apologize and get let off that easily.

I scoff at him. That gets his attention, and he finally drops his hands and looks at me.

"What do you mean you apologize? You think one measly apology is going to mean jack shit after all you put me through over the years?" I don't even know where this is coming from, but I'm not one to question it. I'm finally standing up to Patrick and damn if it doesn't feel great. I stand up, out of my seat, and my voice gets noticeably louder. I slam my hands on the table in front of me and Patrick jumps, startled, but still, he doesn't say anything.

"You honestly expect me to just say, 'Sure Patrick, you made my life a living hell, lied to the school officials when you were called out about making my life hell, hurt me both physically and psychologically, took away my confidence so that the whole damn school treated me like a pariah at best, but sure, one apology is going to fix all that.' Is that what you expect?" I'm breathing hard now, leaning on the table with my hands splayed out in front of me. My face is only about a foot away from Patrick's. His eyes are wide, but he doesn't say anything. The whole cafeteria has gone quiet and is watching the two of us. Slowly, so slowly I'm almost expecting him to strike out, he stands up. He's not standing in a menacing way, but as if he's unsure he should stand.

He clears his throat then says something I never would have guessed he'd say, "I don't know what I expect, but I truly am sorry. I know that I definitely don't expect you to ever forgive me. If you'll have me, I'd like to attend the memorial service tomorrow. I understand if you say no."

His voice is meek and quiet, not at all like the Patrick of two weeks ago. I don't know what happened to him during that time, and I don't know if I like him better like this, but I feel that I should at least answer his request. The righteous anger I felt only moments ago is gone. I straighten up so quickly he flinches as though I'm going to hit him, and I look him dead in the eyes.

"Do what you want. I don't care." I say as I grab my bookbag and then turn and walk away. Max, who had been standing behind me the whole time, follows me out of the cafeteria.