Alternatively

We Don't Talk About It

"Hey, dude, uh. Chris Rodriguez died."

Long exhale. "Shit, man."

"Happened yesterday."

"Do..." I ran a hand through my hair. "Do you know how?"

Grover exhaled. "Yeah, he...single gun shot. There's a funeral in Arizona this weekend."

I sat down, staring at the coffee pot on the counter. "That sucks."

"Yeah."

The coffee dripped, dripped, dripped into the pot, and I wasn't exactly numb as I was suddenly exhausted. It was like I was sixteen again, seventeen and eighteen, hearing all the names of my friends and their friends and people too young to have died.

Killed.

"It's open to the public, but I don't think his family would want a bunch of strangers from a camp they don't understand showing up."

"Yeah, no," I rocked back on the rear legs of my chair. "No, I don't think going there would be great. I can't even remember the last time we...we even spoke..."

"It's not your fault, if that's what you're thinking. None of us have talked to him in years."

"I know it's not my fault, it's just...weird."

"Yeah."

The turn of the lock startled me, the high pitch of Estelle's laughter and gentle hum of my mom's voice floating through the door.

"I'll let you go."

"Keep me posted, I guess," I ended the call, letting the chair fall back onto it's front legs as I twisted to strain a smile. "How was the store?"

"I got Captain Crunch!" Estelle excitedly lifted the bag full of cereal boxes.

My smile wavered, but I said, "Awesome, now I finally have breakfast."

She clutched the bag to her chest as shimmied into the kitchen. "Touch it and die, old man."

"Old man," I rolled my eyes, looking at my mom. "You started a war, Mother."

She shook her head, patting my shoulder as she passed. "You're just too old, I'm sorry."

"Right, right."

Her eyes darted back as she set the bouquet of flowers on the counter. I knew she was worried, that she saw something in my face, but I didn't give her the chance to ask anything before I stood up.

"Get ready to get your butt whooped," I challenged my sister, grabbing the basketball from on top of the fridge. "I won't let you beat me again."

She threw the cereal into the pantry and immediately started jumping to knock the ball from my hands, and I nodded to our mom as I led the way into the hall. Surely a game would take my mind off things.

And when we got back, I was sure my summer class would distract me.

And Paul wanted to see a movie, so that was another two hours or so.

And the rest of the week, there was always something I could be doing, could be thinking about.

But Saturday morning, I woke up with a yawning pit in my stomach and memories foggy behind my eyelids. I moved as though stuck in jello, my limbs heavy and my head stuck in a daze. I kept remembering Chris, kept trying to remember a time he wasn't unhappy or distressed. From joining Kronos's army, going insane, moving away, he wasn't content.

And why would he be?

Why would any of us be?

I was in a daze, conflicted and lost in my own head, half way down the highway before I understood where I was going.