Finding Answers

Found Again

Tony

"You didn't have to come through the window," Jake huffed while pulling me in with his spaghetti arms. "I could have just opened the door for you."

I didn't see why he was arguing. This was all for him, after all.

Yeah, just keep telling yourself that.

"You need to lose--oh my god--some weight."

"Well, you need to gain some!" I exclaimed, struggling to pull myself up on Jake's window ledge. After our teamwork, I toppled over him onto his carpeted floor. His body was sprawled under mine, but to back up my statement, I stalled to get off.

"See? We wouldn't be on the floor if you could pull me up in your room." Gravity--and the fact that I was purposely squishing him--applied pressure to Jake's body, making the kid wheeze and groan. "You'd be able to push me off you, but no, you couldn't even lift a soda can if you tried!"

"That is highly--ugh--unlikely! Plus, you've--dammit--seen me lift a soda can!" he huffed in defeat. Sometimes, I have to take a second and think is this guy being serious when he uses my words literally. "Did you come to criticize my body or is there a particular reason you decided to jump through my window?"

I didn't answer.

Which is kinda funny, 'cause I'm always the one to give answers. Even when they're not the right ones.

"Tony--"

"What?" my voice mimicked the same of a particular walking and talking mouse on Disney.

But he didn't laugh. Instead, it somehow got quieter.

"What did you wanna talk about?"

I lifted myself off his body, finally giving the kid some air to breathe, and pounced on his bed. My hands wandered around until it found the kangaroo I gave Jake for his birthday in the fourth grade.

It was hideous, even before it needed stitches on it's stomach and a tail with more stuffing. I wanted to get him something good, something he would love and keep. Kangaroos were his favorite animal at the time (though now he insists that's it's a quokka--whatever the hell that is) so why wouldn't I get him one?

Unnatural blue color, tail long enough to be used at a homicidal crime scene, yellow, beady eyes ready to stare at you 'till the end of time...and he loved it.

Seeing that I wasn't gonna answer, Jake let out a prolonged sigh, picked up a notepad, and began attacking the thing with a pen and the strength of a bear.

His hair was sticking up again. Every time we try to tame the wild thing in the morning, it disobeys by the afternoon and runs its own path. He's no help; running his hand across it when he doesn't know an answer, when he's too nervous to raise his hand in class. It's a natural reaction. Honestly, it gives the boy more character than he already has.

Just looking at him gives you chills. Good or bad. Good would be hearing those right words in a song, or a scene in a movie that brings both lightness and darkness from where you're sitting. Bad...well...being tossed in ice water and thrown into a blizzard would suffice that feeling.

"Can you stop staring at me?" Jake's teeth were smashed together as he hissed with his tongue.

Oh, I made him angry.

But even with that thought in mind, my eyes could never leave such a...masterpiece.

God he's so beautiful.

Yes, I know, beautiful is for girls. The word you're looking for is handsome. But let's be honest here. Handsome, to me, is what you call that little ugly rich kid who sneers at a puppy and pays someone to make his ideas. Beautiful is...meaningful. I feel as though people use beauty for girls because, well, to see a guy who can play connect the dots with your words and dance with your scared mind without even saying a word is sorta rare.

Oh, but once you find someone who plays with the nonexistence, aren't they amazing?

Those eyes...how could I explain them? Oceans upon oceans, stars upon stars; they could never tell you how magnificent those things were.

Yeah, middle school wasn't great for Jake. A battle field filled with an arsenals of names and swears were shot out every time he stepped inside and opened those big blues and showed his dark skin. Sometimes they missed him completely, but other times I would find him in the bathroom trying to stitch up open wounds and a bleeding heart just to walk back out without a weapon in hand.

It got easier in high school, and I guess it was because I chained up our hands and threw out the key. If someone said anything, then I'd be the one they'd answer to.

"Gordon wanted to rape you."

Suddenly his pen flew off the page and lightly clicked across his dumpster of a desk.

"Wh-what?"

"Or he," I stopped to catch my breath. Why is your heart beating so fast? "He was talking about it. Didn't even think the guy was into dudes, you know? Kinda..."

Finally, my eyes led up to meet his, and all that was there was this...emptiness. No beauty, no stars, no words; just emptiness.

"Kinda weird."

Suddenly, I saw all the pieces connecting in those hollow eyes. Slowly, the difficult puzzle was putting itself together, all becoming a single image no one wanted to see. Did he say anything? No, he didn't. All he did is sit there; staring at me with those soul-sucking marbles.

Say something, Jake.

Say anything.

Or else I'm gonna scream.

But you know what? It would have been better if he just stayed silent.

"I know, Tony."