How The Sun Rises

0: Band-Aid's and Bloody Noses

Dedicated to crimmsyn for doing an amazing job in editing this chapter :)  

The first time I spoke to Jackson Fields was when I helped clean his bloody nose. As strange—and morbid—as that sounds, the memory is definitely one I cherish more than most. However, to really explain the beauty behind it, it's best to start at the beginning.

Jackson and I have been next-door neighbors for years. Since I was in the sixth grade and he was in the seventh, to be exact. However, in all the time we spent so close to each other, we never managed to exchange so much as a hello.

Although we never sprung up any form of a relationship, I was aware of his situation at home. When I first moved in to our small town, I discovered his mother had recently died in a car accident while on a police chase, which transformed his father into a violent drunk. I can't begin to count how many times he arrived at school battered beyond recognition.

My naivety and innocence was a downfall at the time, as I believed that his father would magically find himself incapable of such horrid actions. I prayed every night to a God I didn't believe in that Jackson's father would find his humanity and just stop. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that the good people of the world did not include Mr. Fields.

Guilt overwhelmed me knowing there was nothing I could do to ease Jackson's suffering. I constantly tried to think of ways to give him the slightest bit of relief without appearing nosy. Thus, the habit of me bringing him a Band-Aid to school began.

It started out of nowhere--and made absolutely no sense--but not once did I forget to bring him one. It was stupid and hilarious that I believed something as insignificant as a bandage could help him in any sort of way. Regardless, I was determined to help him no matter how I went about it.

The very first time I handed him one had been interesting to say the least. At first, he ignored my presence all together. My initial thought was that he didn't know I stood beside the empty table where he was sitting. I remember I had to clear my throat to get his attention. His head snapped up so fast I jumped in surprise.

Haunting green eyes gawked at me as if I were the enemy. The evident irritation on his face had left me speechless, along with the large purple bruise staining his olive-toned cheek. The longer I stood before him, stunned and verbally handicapped, the more confused he got.

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't find the words. Without voicing any of my previously planned speeches, I slipped my hand in and out of my over-sized sweater's pocket and shoved a fluorescent pink, bunny-patterned Band-Aid at his chest. His confusion then morphed into anger. However, before he could respond, I made a run for it. By the time he finally looked at the bandage, I was more than forty feet away, hiding behind a tree.

The final reaction I received from him was one I hadn't expected--not at all--but it was also one I'd never forget.

He burst out laughing. He was amused to the point where, after a few moments, no sound could be heard leaving his lips at all. When he finally stopped, he sat up, and for the first time, I saw him smile.

The sight of it surprised me, and for months I found myself obsessing over the memory. I kept the exact same Band-Aids in my pocket at all times, remembering his smile. How it lit up his entire face. Just in case, I would tell myself as well as others when I was asked why I always kept one with me.

A year later, after our first interaction ever, we had our very first conversation. It was a weekend, and since I had the unfortunateness of being rendered incapable of making any close friends, I spent the entire day doing absolutely nothing.