Everything I ever knew about Chris Chambers

Chapter 2

Gordie

Gordie tried not to let his parents figure out anything that was happening in his life. He wanted to remain a mystery to them because if they didn't make an effort to know him, why should he try to get them to? Besides, he doubted his parents really cared about Chris and drama and rear endings. As long as Gordie kept up good grades, nothing mattered. Especially now, since even though no one spoke Gordie knew they were all thinking about Denny. He wasn't sure if the silence was worse than arguing. Forks scraping on plates, the hum of the radiator, silence. His parents said nothing as he stood and scraped the scraps of food off of his plate and into the trash. They said nothing as he washed the residue off in the sink. Part of him wished they did.

He made his way across the halls and into his bedroom, which was surprisingly cold. He slid an empty notebook out from his desk and tore out a page, admiring its frayed edges. He smoothed it out on his desk, admiring its emptiness. How was he supposed to tell this?

He hesitated, then wrote,

I was twelve going on thirteen when I first saw a dead body.

The word's flew to Gordie as if he was a magnet, drawing them in. He wrote about the treehouse and campfires. He wrote about the junkyard and cigarettes. He even-- because of Chris's request-- wrote about the leeches. Although not in great detail because he was afraid mentioning a leech stuck to his balls to a teacher wouldn't be a good idea. Gordie wrote until his wrist hurt, and he put his pencil down. When he was done, it was longer than he intended. He had resorted to the notebook, which was now practically full with the story. Gordie was unsure how he was going to turn it in besides handing Mr Daugherty the notebook itself. Which didn't seem too much of a problem. He closed the notebook and plopped down onto his bed, which was unusually hard. He looked down, feeling the mattress until he pinned where the lump was located. Crouching down on the ground, he slid the object out from beneath it.

It was a small binder filled with paper. Gordie hated the sight of it, he was glad he'd forgotten it existed. He pulled it open and inside fell out countless poems and prose about himself, Denny, and Chris. He grimaced as he read them over. What caught him off guard the most was his poems about Chris, which now made him very uncomfortable. Even though they were entirely platonic, something about the fact that Gordie never wrote about Teddy or Vern the same way didn't sit right with him. Then again, they were Teddy and Vern. They weren't Chris. They couldn't compare to Chris. Maybe that was too harsh, Gordie liked Vern and Teddy, they just weren't Chris.

In fact, Gordie spent most of his time thinking about Chris these days. Despite how they were friends since they were children Gordie still felt like he barely knew him. Sure, he knew his address and his brother's name. Sure, he knew he had thirteen freckles on his face and had only recently begun growing out his hair after he previously buzzed it at every chance he got. Sure, thinking about this made his chest tighten. Gordie knew so much about Chris Chambers, but then again he knew so little.

"Gordon." Came his father's voice, slightly muffled from the door.

"What?" Gordie yelled back.

"Can you come out here please?" His father asked.

Gordie sighed, shoving the binder back under his mattress and shuffling out of his bedroom. His father was sitting at the kitchen table, cupping a warm mug. It was terribly late to be drinking coffee, but Gordie didn't say anything.

"What?" Gordie repeated.

"You're father and I have been talking," His mother said, leaning against the counter, "And we don't think that Chambers boy is a good influence on you. I mean, he's a reckless driver, and his brother-"