The Wrong Misfit

Back at It Again

Returning to the community center with one less person felt emptier than I thought it would be. The silence was loud and unbearable. Niamh didn’t show because her grief was more severe than the rest of us. When I walked into the locker room, I saw Kelly standing in front of Nathan’s locker, his orange jumpsuit with “Community Blowback” still hanging on the hook. When I walked to her side, there were dark tears running down her eyes. Without any words, I simply rubbed her back, giving her a tight squeeze to let her know that I’m there for her. She then closed the metal locker slowly, wiped her tears away, and whispered, “Thank you” to me. I nodded in response.

“I’m...I’m going out for a smoke. I’ll be right back” Kelly told me.

“I’ll get started on the boxes.” She left out of the dreary community center while I walked to the larger multi-purpose room to find easels and canvases that needed to be set up. All morning, Nathan had been on my ever-so-clouded mind. I don’t think anyone else cared as much about him as I truly did. I bit my lip and swallowed the lump in my throat to keep the tears from coming. There were other things I needed to focus on or more like distract myself with like how the clouds in the sky looked like whipped cream or how it was warm that day or how when I just so happened to look out of the window, I saw that same pointed plank of wood that killed Nathan with a maroon stain on it. I put down the easel that was in my hands and slowly walked out of the door towards it. On the ground around it, the were still specks of blood there, no one being bothered to clean it up. A piece of fabric from his blazer was left behind, struggling against the British wind. I don’t know why but my hand reached out to touch the fence where Nathan’s soul was set free and I found it to be warm. Like he was still there. I gripped the plank and closed my eyes, tears forcing their way from behind my eyelids, sobs escaping from my tight chest. I slid down to my knees and just sat there until I felt something hit me in my back. I turned to my left to find a paper airplane sitting beside my calf, lightly moving in the wind. I sniffed and picked up the plane, looking around me to see who threw but I saw no one. I unfolded it and in black, stamped letters, it read “Go to his grave.” I looked around once again, looked at the buildings that surrounded the community center, but no one stuck out. I felt angry for a second because I thought I was being mocked for how much I was grieving. But then I thought that maybe it was a sign or that someone was trying to tell me that going to his grave would give me some sort of closure so that I could get on with my life. I stood back, brushing off my knees, and with the paper in hand, I went back into the community center to share the message. But when I walked in, a tall man with blue eyes emerged from the office, wearing a name badge and picture. Must’ve been the new probation worker. Our third one.

“Hi. Who are you?”

“Shaun. The new probation worker. Where’s the rest of you lot?”

“I don’t know…”

“Find them.” With that, he rolled his eyes and left.

“Ooookay.”

 

Within about 15 minutes, I found everyone and we met outside the doors of the community center, leaning against the railing that surrounded the lake. The sun beamed down on us for once, sending warmth across my skin. I almost forgot what actual sun felt like. I handed Simon the paper and with a confused expression on his face. “It could be a trap.”

“Right. We’re here 5 minutes and already someone set a trap for us. It’s too early for this bullshit.”

“It’s a wind-up. Who uses a paper airplane?” Curtis asked.

“Well whoever it is, is gonna get a slap because it’s not funny.”

“I-I don’t think you should slap them” Simon added.