It's Just Me and You, Kid.

Pop's and I.

October 19th, 1954. He lay there, shaken, wincing and covered in dirt and soil. The blood oozed out and poured down from his cracked lips. "I don't wanna leave y'all yet, shit's man I'm only 12." He sniffled as you could hear the crackled pain in his voice. "Tell Ma I love her, king." Then just like that, Jenson went silent. Out like a light.

-
April 19th, 1955. (Exactly 6 months since Jenson died.) I was never much of a sap, I was usually the one to be outgoing or to keep the mood alive. It was harder to maintain that persona after Jenson's passing. It was a lot quieter at home too, Ma and Pops used to argue like no tomorrow until dawn every single day. Now, Pop's just sits back in that beaten up rocking chair in the living' room, silently reminiscing. Ma is usually caught in the backyard, folding up the laundry on the line but you can always hear her loud sobs from my bedroom window. If she ain't out there, she's cleaning that damn counter top in the kitchen until she can see her reflection enough to cry some more. Ma once told me one night that she could hardly look in the mirror after his funeral, cause all she could see was Jenson's face, she said the same about looking at Pop's as well. Hence why they don't bicker no more cause she can't stand to look in his direction now. Evenings are much more awkward now, as we sit at the dinner table in silence as everyone is swallowed whole by their own sorrow. All you can hear is the sounds of forks scraping their plates and subtles swallows of meatloaf, the same me we've had every night since the incident. It was Jenson's favorite. Every once in a while Pop's will speak up, I hate those days. He'll say something along the lines of "Jenson would've liked the food today.", Ma starts bawlin her eyes out, and Pop's just looks at her all guilty.

"No! No, please! No!" I was squirming and shaking as I yelled under my sheets. Havin' that same reoccurring dream, where Jenson and I are in the woods again. Fighting over that damn baseball cap, boy, did he love that cap. Tuggin and tuggin till I, instead of Jenson, loose my balance and fall right down that slippery slope. Impaling myself onto that long, sharp, pointy tree branch. I wake up everytime, my pillow soaked in my tears, silently wishing I had been the one with that shittin' branch sticking out my gut. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel so god damn guilty all of the time.

"Kingsley! Wake up, son! Your dreamin again." My Pop's spat out, when I had opened my eyes all I could see was his wrinkly face and that cig hanging out the side of his mouth.

"I'm sorry.." I said, the very prominent pain in my voice was enough to make a grown man cry.

"No son, they're ain't nun to be apologizing for." He put his hand on my shoulder as I sat up, caressing his thumb against my arm which sent a shiver of comfort through my body. I'd looked up into his eyes as my lip quivered. I hadn't intended on cryin tonight but it had just spewed out and I couldn't contain it any more. I hadn't ever cried in front of my old man before, and believe me with the expression of surprise he had on his face, it had made it pretty damn obvious too. Though, his surprised expression had dropped to one of sympathy and pity as I started to sob, holdin' me tight in his arms.

"Y'know, kid. Jenson he-" he got up and walked towards his bedroom, walking back out after a minute or so with an old patterned bracelet Jenson had that was identical to mine. Jenson and I both made matching ones at our parents wedding on the beach when we're just little.

"He would have wanted you to have this. He lost it a while back and I found it beneath the banister." he grabbed my hand, facing my palm upwards towards him, dropping the bracelet in my hand. My father had never been this gentle nor caring towards me like this ever. Not once in all my fourteen years of living. I taken my bracelet off and slid Jensons on my wrist instead.

"Y'know, I've been spending every night since he died just.. sleeping in his bed, prayin id hear his voice just one more time.. If ya want, I'll sleep in bed with Ma tonight so you can sleep in his." My father said sincerely, he lit out his cigarette in the crease of my bed frame and sighed as I shook my head.

"No, it's okay Pa. I'll be okay." I wiped my years slowly as the snot dripped down from my nose onto my comforter, I knew if I had stayed in that bedroom it would make the pain all the more worse. He nodded and patted my shoulder and got up, heading towards the door before stopping just inches from my bed.

"Goodnight kid." He whispered from under his breath, my face went pale as my eyes widened. My Pop's had never once said the words "Goodnight". Not ever, atleast that I can remember.

"Night, Pa." I lied back in my bed, pulling my comforter over my cold and shaking body, nuzzling my head into my already tear stained pillow.