Replay

Mid-November 2011

My feet seemed to be dragging. As predicted, people stared. I glared back. Who the hell were they to get involved in my business?

Whispers hung in the air as well. I try to ignore them, but I still get snippets. Peter's name, my name, what happened. Seriously, is my relationship with him that big of a deal? There are so many other things that are bigger than that. Like -

Never mind.

I didn't see him. But what the hell was I thinking? Of course I won't get to see him.

The slam of my locker ceased the whispers - thank God. I plug in the earphones again and press play.

▶

Mid-November was when I usually got nightmares. Hated them - but you know this too. Not at this particular time (November 18 2011), though. Only Sam knew about this problem at that time. But you, being the ever observant Alice Williams, noticed.

Imagine that.

You make it sound like an insult, you prat.

My insomniac state usually lasted a week, the longest was two weeks. Two whole weeks of no sleep except during History and maybe through Lunch.

Like I said, you noticed this. Which surprised me because Sam didn't even completely acknowledge it until I'd almost fainted and we were friends for a year already by then. But you came out and confronted me, saying, and I quote: 'Alright, what the hell is going on with you and why are you suddenly turning into an insomniac?'

I denied it but you kept pestering me. I cracked eventually, when we were sitting on that park bench again. I was there first, reading my journal when you came up to me.

"Peter," you greeted.

Forcing a smile, "Hey, Al."

"You look like shit," you unnecessarily pointed out. "No offense."

"Gee, thanks." I sighed. "So you wanna know why I'm acting all insomniac?"

Softly, you said, "Only if you want to. But if you really must know: yes I do wanna know what's eating up your sleeping schedule."

I paused. "How'd you notice? No one really does - Sam took a year for him to notice."

"Oh, I notice a lot of things." There goes that smirk again. "I like to think of myself as an observer."

It was quiet for a while. I closed my journal and put it in my bag again. We sighed. I guess we were both weary. You broke the silence.

"You don't have to tell me, you know. I just figured it would do some good to have you let it all out."

See, that was the thing, Alice. It was eating me alive. Even though Sam and I were best mates, I didn't feel like bothering him. I didn't want to bother anyone, much less you. But I was caving, the thought of having some comfort from someone else other than my own mind was so tempting.

"My dad," I mumbled.

I heard the smallest intake of breaths from you. "What about him?"

Deep breath. "He, er, died. This month."

"I hope you're gonna be alright." You said.

Let me ask you a question: do you ever stop surprising me, Al?

Most people would say they're sorry. I usually wince before saying thank you or something like that. Why do people say sorry? It's not their fault he got killed. Not their fault he's six feet under.