64 Degrees And Cloudy

School Talk

I had heard from the younger freshman that day, that some kid named Jeremy had blown his brains out in front of his English class. The name was familiar, but I couldn't remember where I had met the kid. He was as much of a ghost as he was before, although quite literally now. Sad to say. I didn't hear the news until later that night, when my friend Paul called me.

"It was nasty, I saw the cops and EMT's bring out the body. Dude fuckin' wanted to leave an impression I suppose. I know nobody's gonna forget that shit," Paul said through the gritty connection. I could feel the wild in his breath, tense and excited.

"You sound fucking amused," I said, as I rounded the corner into my room and shut the door.

"This ain't shit that happens every day man, this is a legend now. Think about it. How many white kid towns with nice neighborhoods and happy families have this happen? None, that's what. I'm telling you, after all the therapy and after school counseling this is gonna be somethin' famous. And I want in on that fame."

I shuffled in my chair and laughed a little, "You sick bastard. Some kid blows his brains out and all you do is wait for the movie to be released".

"Call me a man with a perverted psyche, but that's just how I see it," Paul replied, "I gotta go now, mom ordered pizza and a movie. She thinks I'm 'affected' by this and it's prime time to spoil Mister Paul Danson."

"See you later dickhead," I said, hanging up. I heard Paul laugh, and sat back in my seat. I hated to admit it, but Paul was right. This wasn't just any old suicide. There was something so outrageous, almost cinematic, about the way this kid wanted to go. It was certainly a punishing blow to any old tool in that room. Maybe a way to torment someone. Maybe that's all he wanted. I quickly removed the subjects and questions from my mind surrounding that afternoon, and climbed out on my roof to smoke a cigarette.