Zach

Chapter two

Ever since I watched Cody die, all of me has been cold and numb. I feel nothing like I used to and knew it wasn't just the mid October wind. I felt like I should cry but I couldn't. Deep down, I knew that Cody's family could never forgive me. It was me who was responsible for his death, I'm the one who watched as he went to cross the street. And yet, I didn't feel bad. I know I should, but I don't.

The funeral lasted about two hours. I watched dully as the local preacher told a short story about the life of young Cody. In summary, he said he was a young innocent boy who didn't live to see all that life had to offer, but he would still live in all of us. Cody's entire family cried and clung onto every word. Although, they did glare at me with such disapproval and hatred.

I knew they felt upset because they lost a child and I knew they blamed me for their loss. I couldn't understand at the time why they blamed me, but later my mother and father told me it was their way of coping with what happened. My bodies way of coping is by not. Coping is why I can no longer feel.

••ꗹ••

Right away school and everything else became different and strange. The children treated me differently; worse than before. My parents noticed my attitude had changed and my emotions weren't obvious or even there most of the time. Eventually my parents convinced themselves that moving away would help me. But they were only fooling themselves.

Nothing would help.

We moved 11 months after Cody's funeral. I remember when they brought in the boxes, when they drove the moving van into the driveway. The cardboard smell was in every room, and so was the mess. When we started packing, our stuff went everywhere. Mother was crying while packing my room, muttering "My baby boy," constantly. She seemed to cry often. My father just moved the boxes from our house to the moving van as smoothly and quickly as possible. I suppose he felt guilty, it was for the most part, his fault.

With the car and van packed, we left. I watched as my childhood home rolled out of view. I rode in the van with mother and on the way to our new home in Phoenix, Arizona, we played pointless car games.

They bought a house. It's a rather large house, with a green exterior. My room is upstairs. White, empty. There's a closet and a great big window on a wall opposite to the door. There's two more bedrooms upstairs, they are across the hallway, next to each other. One is for the visitors.

Mother and father moved into the one on the right, the one directly facing my room. They like to peer into my cell while I play. I don't blame them, I had already burned five soldier men and two cars. Mother really should have quit smoking, then, there wouldn't have been a lighter for me to steal.

They sent me to counseling at an attempt to solve what was wrong with me. They all wanted me to talk about or share my emotions. But I had none to talk about or share.

Every therapist told my parents that I was sociopathic. Mother and father slowly lost hope of ever getting back that young joyful boy I was. They let me go and watched as I stayed the same. Empty.

That is, until I was introduced to you. You were the very first therapist to ask what had happened, to seem to want a story rather than a diagnosis.

"Very good. We are definitely making progress. Oh, looks like our time is up for today. We shall continue this tomorrow. Right after I have a discussion with your parents. Go pick a sticker or something out of the bucket for doing so well" Dr.Ivin said.

He got up and patted my head as he left the office to talk with mother and father in the hallway. I walked over to the cracked door to listen. Dr.Ivin was an african american man with brown dreadlocks that laid on his back and a fancy Jamaican accent. He came to Phoenix to pursue his dream of becoming a therapist and helping people overcome things.

"Your boy, Zach, is doing very well, he's telling me a lot about what happened."

"Oh doctor! That's great! Will he ever be the same again?" Mother exclaimed.

"All I know right now is that he's opening up to me and with what he's told me, he hasn't done that with any of the others."

"Mother? Can we go home now?" I said.

She nodded and began to leave the dreaded therapy office building. While leaving, she mouthed thank you to Dr.Ivin.