Sometimes, sometimes.

Chapter 1: Ponds

2:30pm
Light blue skies
75°degrees Fahrenheit
San Francisco, California

No clouds to be seen, and a rose keeps losing peddles by the minute as the wing carries it from a gravestone I keep staring at.

Exactly one hour spent looking at the engraved tombstone that didn't even accurately describe my best friend, Randy Stone. His stone.

"Here lies Randy Stone, a friend to others, and to us. 1998-2015."

It's been two years since Randy's death. I had witnessed him shot in the back, but it was too late to do anything then. I stand here at the grave, thinking and ogling the round stone pillar, then to the sky that was staring at all seven point one billion people in the world, blue and black in separate areas of the planet. A sigh bubbled in my throat. Amongst seven point one billion people, they took the one that mattered the most.

"Well, color me impressed." This voice dipped in satire floats through my ears. "No tears this time?" Randy's voice sang dauntingly, the transparent being floating around my crouching figure and his tombstone broken in fractures.

This is my secret; my elemental truth that binds my seemingly fictional story together. After randy had been shot, I was visited by his ghost. The one thing he had to say, was 'hey, make sure you throw a waffle in there for me, will ya?' It was a tantalizing moment for me. Kind of like waking up to find your sheets all twisted off the bed, but you really don't remember moving at all, especially if your heavy body has been lumped in the same place since when you first fell asleep. Then when we buried him, I came to visit a few hours after being offered condolences and what not, his father giving a very brief eulogy over his now deceased son; he spoke to me again. He joked about his dad being too proud to cry.

I guessed it was true what they say; people grieve differently. They let his mom or of rehab for a week to say goodbye to him, and she was an absolute mess of what I once thought was pure beauty. It was a surreal moment. You realize things at funerals—nobody really truly knows the person. At least not like I did—or do. Too soon to speak in the past tense.

I laugh bitterly at him, but I still feel like a psycho talking to a ghost. "Shut up. You would cry, too, if I got shot in the back of the heart with a pistol." Rolling my eyes and standing, I trail after his figure as her leans in closer to face me with a serious expression contorting his face.

"Uh," he scoffs, "no I wouldn't." Then he gravitates away from me with a condescending grin.

"Wow, so it's like that," I gasp, throwing my hand to my chest as if I were hurt. Truth be told, this was just our friendship. It's common ground for us since we met, but I guess I broke a rule.

He grins, "Im kidding." This rare silence goes between us before I opt to stare back at the sky. Randy and I, well, we're friends. Seeing him like this just digs up a lot of memories that flash through my mind when I see him. "Oh, yeah," randy suddenly chirps, but I don't tear my eyes away from the sky. "I'm letting you know this now—there is no heaven, or hell. Just..," he motions towards himself as if his body is a shell of taboo, and then rasps out the next word in discontent, "this."

Frowning, my eyebrow shifts up in bemusement as I take in the information. "I don't know if I should be happy about that or not. I always just that the idea was pretty much open ended."

I sigh, but the frown painting Randy's lips suggests he really isn't too content with what fate handed him. Maybe he was really stuck here. Maybe he's only telling me now because tried to find someone to Rest In Peace, some way to lay his head to nonchalant relief, and has just now discovered this.

Maybe neither place wants people like us. Maybe we're just between people.

The sudden need for consolidation is evident. "Well, you can fly around, probably haunt people—I don't know. It sucks knowing that I don't know what an afterlife is, but i guess that's whatever's for now." I shrug, and this is merely an attempt to make him feel better, but he's already dead. Feeling better probably isn't even possible for him.

Randy nods his head but I can tell he's still bitter about it. "I guess you're right..," and I nod, even though I know I'm not. There's a lingering sadness in his eyes as he shifts closer to me. "I miss you, Akira."

Silence passes between us in the form of oddly hauling wind on this oddly pretty day, these clouds passing over our heads. The moment is very still between us. I can feel shivers run up my arms as his ghost grazes my skin, briefly passing through my figure as if I'm the ones whose nothing, and I'm the one nobody can see. Sometimes I wonder why this is even possible for me—I mean, it's not everyday you see the ghost of your best friend—but me? I'm no more special than the next man over.

"We'll fly together soon." I mutter and fold my arms over my chest.

We had a longer talk and I went home on my board. I never told. I didn't tell anyone I can still talk to Randy. Everything was brand new when I met Randy's ghost two years ago. I didn't know what was going on. It felt surreal, as if I saw tornadoes coming at me full speed, not knowing where to go as it trapped me in the seventy mile per hours winds entering my soul.

🌌 🌌 🌌

At home, I lie in bed in my dark room with the door ajar where minimal amounts of light creep in. Its very dark, and sometimes I think, reminisce, and I even see things that have happened to me already. It sucks even thinking about the events surrounding 2015 and 2014.

I decide to get my bluetooth headphones, turn them on, and blast some tomppabeats to drown out the silence consuming my brain. Tomppabeats is purely instrumental music and it really helps take the edge off, putting you in a certain mood. The beat soothes the pain I'm feeling and I even do my best to secrete it.

My ass is hurting for some reason. Yeah, that wasn't entirely relevant. But as I tuned out the last couple of songs, I was now listening to The Girl next door. Not really my favorite from his many songs, but I'd still tune out because, well, why not?

My dog Kali, just sits there laying his head on my lap. I don't know if I'm bored or not, but eventually I let my dog out of my room, lock the door, and open a secret jar I kept in a secret cabinet behind my desk. It's locked by a blue key that I keep on my skull necklace. I open the jar and pour out the contents; five things that conjure up more memories than simply remembering ever could.

Each item was a chapter in my life that takes me to my past experiences. Its a blue jay feather, a Johnny Rockets napkin, a razor rusted over with dry blood, a shred of a red sweater, and a micro chip. I let my mind sit and remember. Events, my past, cherishing these moments. Mostly the depressing ones. Throughout the years it was filled with the things I despised of my depression.

Pity, panic attacks, recognition, and envy, (which is rather beneath me, being envious of happy people). Not a fear in sight. No anxiety, no panic attacks, no cuts on the wrists or arms, and no continuously falling victim to an existential crisis. Randy helped me through all of this. When it came to Randy, it was an odd scenario.

It's like, I'm Charlie Sheen, and he's my aids medication. I might still have aids, but the medication weakens, just enough. Hopefully you get what I'm saying, I'm not always this bad with metaphors.

Anyway, my anxiety is somehow the worst. There is one girl I wish I had the balls to talk to and confess everything to, but the anxiety just imprisons me from saying what I really feel. She is so fucking gorgeous, temptingly clever with every word that drips from her lips like golden honey, so dangerously intelligent with the way she moves her body, and the way she shifts towards me during difficult times. And she will never know how I feel, that I'm a lesbian.

So I just sit here and reminisce.