Fire Meets Gasoline

Chapter Three : I Knew Him

Chapter Three : I Knew Him

JOHN'S DIARY: Six months since I moved to Mike's house, so much has happened since then. We ran through the junkyard and collected everything that seemed interesting. We discovered that if we kept throwing pieces of bread on the ground everyday, birds would start to live close to us. We made paper rings (I know it's corny but just stay with me) and promised each other to not take it off, even if something happens, Mike even told me that he was serious about not taking it off for any reason, it seemed a bit dramatic of him, but I think that's just who he is.

We were on the bridge sitting on the edge, we just left school and we usually just sit there and wait for our energy to be back so we can start doing our chores, yeah chores, it took weeks for us to create a chore chart. I take off my backpack and put on my right, I look at the same rock that I always look at when I sit on the edge of the bridge, I don't know why but its shape is interesting to me, it's not round but rather sharp but not so much that it would cut you. Mike always throws rocks at the river, he tries to use his power to throw multiple rocks at the same time but it never works.

"You know-" Mike stops throwing the rocks "You said that you left your mother's house and you didn't stay with your grandma right ?" He asked.

It seems odd to me that after months of me staying here, only now does he ask this?

"Yeah" I answered "Why?"

"What about your father?" He continued "W-what was his name again?"

"Heter Mchale..." I remembered his name.

Mike stopped for a minute and stared at me.

"Why didn't you call him?" He asked.

"I-I don't talk to him" I said wistfully.

"Can I ask why?"

"Only if you tell me about yours" I replied

"OH boy!" He powerfully said "There not much to talk about but okay"

I breathed for a minute to remember my father. Since as a kid I only knew little about him, all I know is that he disappeared and then died, I could've known more if it wasn't for my drunk mother. My Grandma swore that she would never say anything about my father to anyone since his death, and I don't blame her, not only because she probably suffered a lot when my father disappeared but because I also decided to let go of the memory of him.

"He disappeared when I was six years old, he used to work on a farm and then disappeared, two weeks after, the police discovered him dead, that's all I know..." I said.

Mike listened to my words carefully, he didn't ask about my father out of curiosity, he just wanted to connect with me, and I feel bad that's the way we can connect, talking about our past traumas.

"I'm sorry to hear that" He extended "Hell, at least you know what happened to him!"

"What do you mean ?" I nervously asked.

"My father is alive, very well alive, but he doesn't wanna know about me" He says while trying to look into my eyes "For him, I'm the one who's dead!"

"Why?" I asked, and I wish I didn't say that, I really didn't.

You never know when something is a trigger for someone who you're starting to know about, and yes we were close to each other every day for the past six months, but there are some topics that never got the chance to be talked about, and things we still need the chance to even discuss, but the worst of all are the triggers, it such a difficult and sneaky ground, you never know how close you are to get into somebody's worst memories and open a part of their mind.