Scrutinize

cinq

Let no man pull you low enough to hate him.  - Martin Luther King, Jr.

When I was alive, people used to call me 'Shy Guy.'

It's not so much that I was shy, just anti-social and quiet. There was never much to talk about. If you have nothing to say, what's the point in blabbing on when other people could have so much more interesting stories?

Like I said, my best friend, Zane, happened to be my only friend. He liked to talk, and used to talk to himself when he thought no one was listening or when he was by himself. Bullies made fun of him for that, too.

Zane also was quite different from other kids, other than the obvious. He liked to keep his hair very short in the back, and long in the front, long enough to cover his eyes. He would shake his head to sweep it out of the way. It was also bright red, very ginger, so he was hard to ignore or not spot in a crowd of people.

Eleanor had her dance last night. She also had her first kiss. He is a nice boy, named Walter. Most people just call him Walt. He's taking her out on a date later, and El is freaking out. She doesn't know, and I quote, 'what if it's casual and I wear casual-fancy, or fancy and I underdress for the occasion, and what if-'

I'll save you from your suffering there.

Pop is getting better, with the help of the therapist. He's taking his anger out on the enemy, and making his way from First Lieutenant to Captain. He's doing good, and defending the rest of his family is top on his priority list.

Jane and Brennan are best friends now. Turns out, Brennan dances, tap and hip-hop. Jane loves going to his practices and watching him, and he convinced her to go out for the volleyball team. She will make the team for her agility and speed. Probably setter.

Mum. . . well, she's vague. I have absolutely no idea what is going on inside her head, but she seems to be just like she was before I died, like she never had a son, or like I was still alive, just at high school or something. 

I think she might blow up earlier and more explosive than El. And that's saying something. No offense to my emotional sister, but it's true.

God, or whatever you call him, called me up again today. He asked me a few questions, like an interrogation. He asked me seven questions, most simple with simple answers. He asked about my siblings and my family and Zane, and how I thought they were doing. I answered him truthfully. I told them about what they were doing, what was happening, and I asked him about why he made bullies to bully my best mate and sister. He just shook his head.

"Sometimes," he said sadly, "even things that shouldn't go faulty do. Sometimes there is no cure, or no diagnosis, or no reason. Things just happen."

He asked me one last question: "What have your parents done with your car?"