The yellow bus ceremoniously rolled down the winding road, past perfectly manicured lawns and brightly painted houses. The bus rolled, slowly to a stop in front of an almost tauntingly bright yellow house. It seemed to share the reluctant sentiment that all of us shared, rolling up to that house.
It had once been the most imposing house on the street. It was part of Rolling Meadows Gated Community; where only the wealthier could afford housing. Once the yard was meticulously kept up, no weed would stand a chance. Now the yard was almost a field of dandelions, the long grass blowing in the slight wind.
On the driveway stood a boy and girl, almost identical in looks to him. All the McCallister children had fair hair and startling green eyes. The occasional freckle would dance across their faces, tanned from days spend carelessly in the sun. They were tall and lean, legs accounted for most of their bodies. You couldn’t help feeling a mix of care free and laid back. They all had an air of calmness about them. It was like a virus, you couldn’t help catching it.
Evan was a great contrast to my appearance. True, I was tall, but more stick thin. Whereas Evan had a muscular build. My hair is dark brown and my eyes are a dull blue. I was almost as tan as Evan by the end of the some, almost.
It was a bit nostalgic looking at them, but mostly painful. Everyone on the bus shied away as they stepped on. The bus driver even flinched a bit. I couldn’t help thinking; they shouldn’t be riding this year.
The pain was still fresh; like it was dream, and at any moment I would wake up, relieved of the weight I now carried. If I closed my eyes, I would see us as kids, running through sprinklers together and daring each other to jump of the swing while it was still in motion. I’ll never forget the time we chased Baxter, his dog, throughout the neighborhood when he got loose.
Then the images would shift. Brian and Natalie would be the ones playing with their friends, doing everything as we had. We would scoff at them; say that those were little kid games. Instead, we’d play video games inside and then, when we were sick of that, skateboard to the park and meet up with our friends. There we would play football, or some other sport.
There were also those other fun days, interspersed through the fall, winter, and spring. When we’d carve pumpkins, play hockey, and just goof off in general. Oh, the stupid little things we’d do. Those days were gone now. Just memories, like those old black and white photos my mom was so fond of showing me.
I wish it was a dream, but it wasn’t. About two weeks ago, Evan faded into a black and white memory. Everyone was still puzzled. What possessed him to do it? I’d get the odd question if I knew anything. I still remember the long hours answering questions from police. As Evan’s best friend, they figured I might have the breakthrough in the case. But I didn’t.
Brian told me it was a red Swiss army knife. You know the kind with small scissors, an assortment of knives, a bottle opener, and some tweezers. It was a cruel joke life played. I remembered his 14th birthday. He was so jealous of my army knife, I bought him his own.
Our town is small; the kind of town that’s part of small town America. Where everyone knows you name; and usually your business. Support poured out from the community, but it was not just to the McCallisters. The whole town needed someone to lean on.
