I Have Friends in Holy Spaces

12: Jailhouse Rock

The police began looking into Brendon's death a couple days after the funeral thanks to his mother's rioting. She thought it was unjust on how because he didn't die in a particularly violent way that they just ruled it as suicide. They didn't even bother to look into his psychological behavior records to even make sure what they were ruling was accurate, which has caused uproar.

Since their house was now a crime scene, Pete and I offered to house each of the family, Pete taking the parents since he had one extra room and I took Clara since she had asked for some time away from her family. They seemed to be back in their usual dispositions as they were before, but anybody could tell that their smile was a facade.

   School was back in about three days and I wasn't looking forward to it at all; then again, nobody did. I didn't know how it would be without Brendon; would people offer their condolences or would they forget by then? In Belleville, almost everyone was forgettable and sometimes, that was my greatest fear; to be forgotten about.

    Clara and I sat in the middle of the kitchen, rolling a tennis ball back and forth to one another, talking occasionally but just focusing on our small game. For some reason it was quite entertaining and I was fascinated by how the tennis ball rolls. It doesn't refuse to roll to the given destination, it goes along with the flow and in that time, I began to compare myself to a tennis ball. Sometimes I could be easily controlled of the right person came along and so far, no one has stepped up to the challenge to roll me across the kitchen floor.

   "So how's college?" I asked monotonously as I rolled the ball to Clara. She watched the ball sullenly with very little interest and caught it lazily, rolling it back and shrugging, "It's alright, my roommate's a bitch though."

I let out a chuckle and caught the ball, "Are they now? What have they done to offend you?"

"Well for one, she stole my shampoo and used it all, not even bothering to repurchase some more and that shit is expensive, Frank. She also happens to bring home a guy every other day and not bother to tell me when I'm trying to do homework so I of course hear them dry humping against the wall and shake my desk. It's grody man," she told me and I willed myself not to laugh. The idea of college always fascinated me and I was happy that I was accepted into the same school as Mikey for a music degree, but then when Clara comes home and tells her dreadful stories of Bitch the roommate and her stoner best friend, it shows me a glimpse of the reality of it.

  Soon the door opened and my parents entered the house, staring down at us with a confused look on their face. "Tell me why you two are in the middle of the kitchen?" My mom asked. Clara and I looked at each other briefly before simultaneously shrugging, "There's not much to do today," I replied and then rolled the tennis ball back to Clara.

   "There's plenty to do, Frank. You could go visit Pete, you could go to the park and hang out or you could go clean your room," Mom argued, crossing her arms. Smiling meekly and shaking my head, I countered, "Pete's in New York and my room is perfectly fine. Therefore, I have nothing to do."

   Still not believing me, Mom shook her head, "What about Bre-." She cut herself off with a high pitched gasp as she covered her mouth, finally realizing what she said. The room fell into silence as Dad and I looked at my mother and Clara; since she was the one who had found him, she took his death particularly hard.

   "Clara...I'm so sorry oh my God, I don't know what just happened...it slipped! I'm so-""It's fine, really. Sometimes I think he's still here and I'll try to call him; you're not alone, Linda," Clara waved off Mom, comforting her and letting her know it was alright. Afraid of speaking anymore, she nodded solemnly before locking eyes with me. "Frank," she began, "Your father and I have to talk to you."