It's Hard to Explain

Chapter One: Ugh, Monday

 
          "April first. It has been one year since Michael's death. Michael was my best friend. We did everything together. Us against the world. I remember this one time he asked Eleanor to the dance. I was jealous. But not for what you'd think."

           The brown haired boy wrote into his diary. "I feel silly writing this down. What if my parents read it?" His eyes slowly drifted up to the door from his bed. He saw his father. He swiftly closed the journal and cleared his throat. "Yes, dad?" James asked. His father had a somewhat concerned look on his face. He was doing his best to hide his facial expressions. "Why don't you help me work on the car outside? Let's fix her up." This wasn't uncommon. His father was persistent on getting James to do manly things. There was indeed an awkward feeling in the air, as if his father knew something that even James didn't

              The boy and his father stepped outside. It was an especially warm April. It felt like summer was right around the corner. James somehow got lost in time for a few seconds, as his father threw a towel at him. He snapped out of it quickly. The towel landed on the harsh gravel. He bent over and picked it up. He then walked over to the '68 mustang that was in a dark ebony looking finish. It was glossy and shiny. "I need you to open her up and check the engine for me," said James' father. The boy did as he was told and opened up the hood. He didn't know what he was looking at, but he pretended to be involved to impress his father. As he was feeling around, he was noticing the sweat drops starting to descend upon his fragile and slender body. He suddenly removed the Star Wars t-shirt that resided upon his body. He threw it onto the houses' front stairs which were about 10 yards away. His father came around the car to the front. He started showing his son some of the parts in the car. It was as if the words flew right over his head. None of this mattered to him. He was too scared to tell his father that he was not interested in cars, but rather guitar. Maybe his father was starting to notice his son's lack of masculinity. This seemed to be a family tradition. His father's father and so on and so forth would work on cars together. James saw a moving figure out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head towards the figure. It was Devon Hemingway, rather the star quarterback of Johnson High. There was something about him. James just couldn't stop watching him run. It made him feel strange. After a minute, Devon disappeared into the distance. James quickly turned back around and looked at the car, seemingly confused. His father pretended not to notice anything at all. James started fooling with the parts his dad had earlier mentioned and looked at his father to see if he had done right. He had. His father was impressed. James was a fast learner. His first year of high school, he was on the school's math, and history teams. He was a straight A student. Now it being his junior year, it was spring break, and everything seemed to have slipped from his mind. After all, how could one retain such ridiculous information during a time of break? James' father patted his son's back. The two made their way back into the two story, brick house.

           

            Months later, it was now nearing the end of the summer. It was mostly uneventful for James. His parents had been too busy working to take James and his little brother on any sort of vacation. James picked up the weights at the beginning of the summer. He was getting stronger. He wasn't so lanky and thin anymore. He wanted to be like his dad. His father used to show him pictures of him from his senior year of high school. He was a wrestler, a football player, and a basketball player. His father was no stranger to sports, nor getting strong. Every day, James ate proteins and lifted weights. He was tired of being an all-American nobody at his high school. How could somebody like Devon Hemingway or Janice Blake be known by everyone and be so unkind? Everyone knew their reputation. Every girl wanted Devon, and every boy drooled over Janice. James wanted to be that. He was so jealous that he couldn't get what they had for so long. This was his motivation. His muse. He craved everyone's respect and liking. His goal was to be someone this coming year. James walked outside into the radiant sunlight of the oncoming day as he went to check his mailbox. He opened it up as a boy ride up next to him on a bike. "Hey James. It's been a while," said the boy on the bike. "Yeah, I suppose it has," replied James. "Well, I'm throwing a party this Saturday, and I was wondering if you wanted to come," added the boy on the bike. "Alright. I guess so. Who's gonna be there?" Replied James. "Molly Patterson, Janice Blake, Devon Hemingway, and a bunch of kids from our school. My parents will be away so there'll be a shit load of alcohol. It'll be fun. Trust me." The boy on the bike added. "I'll come. See you then. I gotta go in." James said, turning away. "You're looking buff, man. The chicks will be all over you. And you remember my name, right? It's Aidan. Aidan Smallridge." The boy blurted. "Yeah.... right." James said before starting toward the door. Something bothered him about what Aidan just said. He never really thought about any girls liking him. He never really took interest in any girls. He shrugged it off before walking in the house. His father seemingly came from nowhere. "Who was that?" Said his father. "Kid named Aidan. He wanted to see if I'd spend the night with him. He really wants me to try out a video game he just got. It's a sports game. I think it'd be fun. Can I? This Saturday." James begged. His father showed a sign of approval of his son. His son was making an effort to grow into a man. He was showing interest in manly things. He was become a proud father.