Stability (by D&N)

Ch. 16-Angelina

                  

I heave a mighty sigh, as if the stress and worry could tumble out of my lungs and spill onto the cement rooftop. Brandon hadn't had an episode like that in weeks. He was what could be described as a recluse. He preferred to do many things alone, and often claimed that he didn't need friends or anyone's help. But I knew he truly did enjoy peoples' company. It took years for us to become proper friends. A faint smile forms on my lips as I remember the nostalgic memories of our early friendship.

I first met Brandon in sixth grade. He was a small boy— quiet. Hardly any attention ever brought to him, besides a mere glance or small string of words; exactly how he liked it. I didn't pay much attention to him, no one did. Along came the doltish years of seventh grade, where I became very active in watching anime, specifically "Sword Art Online". Little did I know, this would be the origin to my bright amigo-ship with Joe and Brandon. We all bonded with our zeal for these Japanese cartoons, along with our shared love of gaming and Youtubers. By then, Joe and I became very close. Brandon, however, didn't allow me to be close to him—not at first. He pushed me away, shutting me out whenever I tried to start a conversation with him. I continued to pester him for the rest of the year; each time he spoke to me willingly felt like a mini victory. Eventually we were having full on conversations and I got to know him better as a person. I began to notice that he actually responded to strangers who spoke to him first, even if he just said a curt "screw off" or a mere "hello". I felt proud, I had convinced him that most people weren't that bad, he considered me his friend. By the beginning of eighth grade, Joe, Brandon, and I called ourselves the three amigos, bros for life.

The smile darts off my face and my body goes erect. My throat feels as if someone is trying desperately to block my airflow. I scrub my eyes furiously, exiling the tears that streak down my face and direct a mental smack to myself for not being able to control my crying. As I empty the last of the contents of my heavy duty Jansport backpack, I pray that everything will go well with this mission. I gather my chestnut hair up, combing it best I can with clumsy fingers. Already, my arms begin to ache. I do the complicated task of twisting the rubber band around my hair, barley able to twist it around three times, and pull both ends of my hair to secure it.

I let my eyes close for a moment, registering the throbbing in both my head and my chest. Thousands of butterflies beat their wings furiously in my stomach, sickening me with dread. My head is spinning, and spinning, like "Centrifuge" from Great America. Scenarios that could go wrong, the deaths of my dear friends that could happen, flash across my mind in seconds. My lungs feel compressed and tight, breathing becomes a harsh and labored task. I clutch my throat and my stomach with the fear of the butterflies escaping my mouth. The stinging tears that spring from my eyes refocus my mind back to our cruel reality. I swallow my trepidation, inhaling deeply, as if it were the last breath I could take, and then exhale slowly. I wipe away my tears and open my eyes, a new glint of determination shining bright. There was no way I was going to let bad thoughts keep me from my duty for the group. I needed to help with whatever I could, no matter how utterly terrified I was. I had to go for the sake of the group, for my friends.

We walked a short two minutes to Savemart, or "Thugmart" as we called it. Already, the uncomfortable stickiness of sweat became present on my forehead and the back of my neck from the beating sun. Robert and I strode into Thugmart with exaggerated swagger in our steps, swaying our arms at our sides like drunken fools; a tradition we did whenever we entered the store. The rest of the gang gave small chuckles but quickly shushed in fear of attracting any rotting corpses. The air conditioning felt like a wave of relief from the heat outside, yet my hands stood slick with anxiety.

"Alright," Shamar spoke up, "we'll split up in teams so we can hurry and get the hell out of here. I'll be with Robert, you guys can go ahead and choose who you want to be with." With the game plan said, Shamar and Robert walked off to gather supplies.