Because of the sudden medical issue, Jonathan had completely forgotten to mention Kirsten to Chris. He figured that she probably had still not told her parents, otherwise Chris probably would have known and acted differently. There was no way to know for sure, though, at least not until the next day.
Jonathan was laying on his bed, his trusty haven from the sick wonders of the world. The ceiling tiles above him were smooth and stark white, but all he could see was Chris laying in pain. He resented everything; he resented his parents, he resented society, and for a second, he resented Chris. It wasn't Chris's fault, of course, that he was so lovable, but Jonathan couldn't think of anyone else to blame.
Randall was once again intoxicated when he arrived home, very late that night. Jonathan was totally insomniac, and he guessed that it was probably around midnight when he heard the front door. He could hear Randall stumbling to his parents' bedroom, and he hoped that his mother was not still awake. The least she needed was to be kept awake by her relapsing husband.
At some point, it became morning, and Jonathan's alarm clock kindly reminded him that he had yet to fall asleep. He blinked his heavy lids at the beeping electronic, and forcefully slapped his hand down to shut it off. He heaved a tired sigh and got out of bed, making a mental note that he still needed to move his lamp back to its proper place.
After he dressed, Jonathan went downstairs, where he found his mother sitting quietly at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea. Jonathan wondered if she knew about Randall, but he didn't ask her. Instead, he merely walked to the counter and made himself two slices of wheat toast. The jam was sitting on the table, so he sat down next to his mother and began to spread the purple substance on the toasted bread.
“So, you haven't been around to Devon's in a while,” Penny nonchalantly said. She took a brief sip of her tea, and looked at her son over the edge of the cup. He kept his head down, but he didn't ignore her completely.
“Yeah.”
“Is everything all right between you two?” Penny set her cup down, and Jonathan stopped jamming his toast, set the knife down on his plate, and looked up at his mother.
“He's grounded. He got into a fight at school.” Jonathan read his mother's face in the silence; the worried lines across her visage were deepening and multiplying with each day. There were bags under her eyes, and Jonathan wondered if she'd had the same trouble sleeping as he had. He supposed that his mother was probably going through not exactly the same situation as he was, but one that was similarly stressing. “He wasn't very happy with Kirsten.”
“The boy who's the father, he goes to your school?” Jonathan nodded, and Penny continued, “Do you know him?”
“Nope,” Jonathan answered immediately, and for a second he worried that maybe he said it too quickly. His held his breath, but his mother hadn't noticed anything, so he sighed in relief. Penny, however, took this as a strained sigh.
“Jonathan, I know you won't tell me anything, but I just want to tell you that whatever you're going through, it will all be OK in the end.” Penny smiled at Jonathan, but her eyes began to water. Jonathan was completely moved by her words, the care he could feel behind them, and he was overcome with the feeling to speak.
“Mum, I-”
“No,” Penny decisively interrupted, “Jonathan, everyone is entitled to their secrets.” She reached her hand forward and placed it motherly on her son's arm. She kept it there for a brief moment, then leaned back in her seat. “Now, hurry up and eat, so we can leave.”
Jonathan did as he was told, almost devouring the toast as some sort of hungry beast would, and the two left the house. The usual silence filled the small car, but there was much less tension than ever before.
“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Penny told Jonathan as he left the car. He held on to the door as he stood outside, leaned back into the car a bit, and smiled.
“You too, mum.” With that, he closed the car door and walked up to the school. His spirits were high, until he looked over to the crowd of boys and realized that he had no idea what had happened to Chris after he left. But as he walked closer, a mop of curly hair began to show through the middle of the crowd, and not long after Jonathan could see Chris's beaming face.
This time, instead of quickly shooting a loving glance at Jonathan, Chris's face fell and he looked apologetically at the other boy for what Jonathan felt was much longer than he should have. His message was loud and clear, though, and Jonathan tried to silently tell Chris that he was just glad he was all right.
Chester walked into the building just seconds after Jonathan, and he felt the need to shove Jonathan into one of the lockers with as much force as he could muster.
“Careful there, clumsy,” he laughed as Jonathan reassembled himself. “Wouldn't want to damage that face and make it uglier than it already is.”
“Chester, man, fuck off,” Jonathan spat, and continued his path to his locker. Chester ignored his demand, though, and followed him, continuing to throw the lamest insults.
When Jonathan didn't respond to any of his words, Chester blazed, “What is your problem?” Jonathan shot him the deepest look of hatred and shut his locker.
“I don't have a problem, you're the one who's all up in my face.” Jonathan walked right past Chester, who spun around and looked on in disappointment.
“Yeah, but it's no fun if you don't say anything back,” he called on as Jonathan left. Chester sighed, and Jonathan disappeared into his classroom.
Tom took the seat next to Jonathan in lunch, which was odd. There were seven boys at the table, so they usually split into four and three on opposite sides. It seemed that no matter where anyone else sat, Jonathan was always on the side with three, always at the end, and Tom always purposely avoided sitting next to Jonathan. He didn't know why, though, but it just appeared to be the way things were. That Tom suddenly decided to sit next to Jonathan was absolutely baffling.
“I don't mean to sound rude, but why are you sitting next to me?” Jonathan inquired as Tom pulled his lunch from his backpack. Tom set his food down on the table, then slowly turned his entire body to Jonathan.
“Am I not allowed to?” He looked at Jonathan with wide, alert eyes, as if he was fearful he'd made some deep mistake.
“No, of course you're allowed to, I just thought you were avoiding me.” Tom slightly tilted his head, cocked one eyebrow and stared at Jonathan. After about thirty seconds, he let out a huge gasp.
“Did you really think I was avoiding you? I didn't mean to, in fact, I didn't even realize that I've never sat next to you before. Until now, that is.” Tom turned his body back to a position more conforming with the chair, and thoughtfully gazed upon his lunch bag. “Funny how things like that can happen, huh?”
“Yeah, funny,” Jonathan plainly repeated, and took a bite of his own lunch. “Well, at least you weren't avoiding me.”
“Of course not, I would never avoid anyone,” Tom said, but with a mouth full of turkey sandwich. Jonathan could have sworn he felt tiny bits of food fly at him, and he instantly realized why people didn't like Tom. It wasn't just because he was American, he was also kinda rude. Then again, half of the other boys in the school were just as rude, if not a thousand times more, so maybe the American thing really did play a huge part.
Tom wasn't so bad as a conversationalist, though, which Jonathan discovered during their time spent sitting next to each other. Having been from America, Tom knew a lot about things Jonathan had never even heard of, and he was glad to spread his knowledge to anyone willing to listen. Jonathan wasn't really willing to listen, but that's how Tom interpreted his unwillingness to talk, so he showered him with facts about the Finger Lakes. By the time they parted, Jonathan knew almost every useless thing there was to know about them, not that his newfound knowledge stayed with him for much longer.
As the time for Jonathan to meet with Chris drew closer, his thoughts were clouded with ways to tell Chris about Kirsten's state. He played out about fifty different scenarios in his head, but none of them felt right.
Hey, Chris, I'm glad to see you're all right. By the way, you're going to be a father! How lovely. He felt like that one was too cheery, considering the complications of the whole thing, but unfortunately that was the best one he could come up with. While he was walking out of the building, though, he remembered something he'd once heard in a movie: always account for variable change. There was absolutely no way he could plan how to tell Chris, because, much like the events of the past few weeks, he didn't know what was actually going to happen. So, he took a deep breath as the alley came into view, and prayed for the best.
“Oh, Jonathan, it was awful,” Chris said as he was explaining the events after Jonathan had left the previous day. “I can't remember what the doctor said, but he gave me some sort of medication, and things seem to be fine now. But it was awful.”
“I couldn't stand to see you like that,” Jonathan told him, gently brushing Chris's cheek. “I wanted to stay, I wanted to help.”
“Of course,” Chris whispered, grabbing Jonathan's other hand. “I would have loved for you to be there. And Jon, I wanted so badly to be with you yesterday. Really be with you,” Chris emphasized, and a flash of fear sparked through his bright blue eyes for one tiny fraction of a second. “Why does the world hate us?”
“Bad things do seem to keep happening, huh?” Jonathan replied, hoping that he'd soon have the chance to tell Chris what he needed to know.
“Devon hit me because of his sister, didn't he?” Chris asked as if he already knew what Jonathan was thinking. Jonathan's blank stare was enough of an answer, but he still felt the need to speak.
“Yeah,” Jonathan slowly nodded. “Listen, Chris-”
“Doesn't he realize I know that I made a mistake?” Chris's voice was teeming with the beginnings of anger. “It was all a mistake... it shouldn't have happened.”
“Yeah, but that little 'shouldn't have' has turned into a human being,” Jonathan quietly retorted. Chris stared, empty and shocked, and his face became pale. His eyes glassed over and his body slowly realized that no oxygen was entering his system, so it tried to frantically inflate and deflate his lungs. His fingers trembled and his knees went weak. His hyperventilation caused him to start coughing, and he pushed himself into Jonathan for support.
When he finally calmed down enough to speak, all he said was, “No,” and his voice was hoarse and cracked. He felt Jonathan's hand rub up and down his back, but nothing could take away the pain he felt. He already deeply regretted that night with Kirsten, even though he at first thought that maybe he enjoyed it too much. He didn't. He didn't enjoy it at all, and now there was going to be this thing, this living, breathing thing that would always be there to remind him of what he did.
“Kirsten's going to tell her parents,” Jonathan whispered in Chris's ear, as soothingly as he could. “I think she's thinking about adoption.”
Chris pulled back from Jonathan and looked at him. He knew this was finally the time when Jonathan could help him, make him feel better, but he couldn't stay. “I have to go,” he nearly cried, pushing away from Jonathan and running off. Jonathan was hurt by this, no doubt, but he couldn't stop Chris from leaving, and he knew he shouldn't. His mother was probably waiting for him, anyway.
He dragged his feet along the pavement as he crossed the street to get to his mother's car. She'd probably yell at him for scuffing the bottoms of his shoes, but he didn't care. He didn't feel like picking his feet up. He also didn't feel like being himself, but as he had no control over that, he decided that controlling his feet would have to do.
He was just so angry with Kirsten. She was one of those people that was always there in Jonathan's life, but had never really played any sort of major role. Mostly she was just a background character, occasionally misbehaving and causing trouble for Devon. Nothing that ever really affected Jonathan, until that one night. Since then, Kirsten was everywhere. He wouldn't have minded it so much, if she hadn't been inadvertently taking Chris away from him. That was what angered him the most.
Of course, it had never occurred to him to be angry with Chris. In his eyes, Chris hadn't done anything wrong. Kirsten was to blame for everything, to him at least, which was only partially close to reality. But he loved Chris too much to see any faults or flaws.
What he didn't realize was that Kirsten was trying to keep Chris out of her future as much as she could. Like Jonathan, she blamed herself, and she didn't want Chris around for a few reasons. One was that she didn't want to face the truth of her actions, which she knew would already be a difficult task, especially when her stomach would begin to expand. The other reason was that because she blamed herself, she didn't think it would be fair to Chris to drag him into the mess she created. That's why she never told her parents who the father was.
“Pregnant?” Kirsten's mother shrieked. Her father was too stunned to say anything, instead he just sat, staring wide-eyed across the room. “You mean you've,” she made a motion with her hand in order to not have to say the word, “with a boy?”
“Yeah,” Kirsten simply said, nodding a little. She looked back and forth between her parents and whimpered a little. “I'm so sorry.”
“Who?” Kirsten's father bluntly asked, his deep voice filled with fatherly rage.
“I...” Kirsten stuttered, trying to come up with a way to avoid telling who. Eventually, her muddled brain decided on, “No one,” which she immediately realized was not going to work.
“Kirsten, you tell me right now, so I can go out there and kill him.”
“You'd really kill the father of your unborn grandchild?” Kirsten hoped her father would calm down, but her question didn't do much to change his attitude.
“Fine, I won't kill him, I'll just kick his ass.” Her father stood up and walked over to where she was standing, and towered over her as Devon once had. “Now tell me who.”
“I don't want to say,” Kirsten replied, cowering a little. “I don't want him to be a part of this, anyway.”
“Kirsten,” he sternly said.
“Come off it, sweetie, she's not gonna tell you. It doesn't matter anyway, what's done is done,” her mother said. Though reluctant, her father backed off and sat down beside her mother once more. “Kirsten, what are you going to do about the baby?”
“I was thinking about adoption,” Kirsten said. “I'm sure there's someone who could use this baby more than I could.”
“You do realize what you're going to go through just carrying the baby, don't you?” Kirsten silently nodded, and her mother sighed. “I can't believe you would let this happen, Kirsten.”
“I know, I was being really, really stupid. But, trust me, I'm never doing that again. Not for a very long time, at least.”
“Yeah, like not until you're 30,” her father spat.
“Yeah.”
“I don't think I want you even dating until then,” he continued. Kirsten honestly didn't think he was being too ridiculous; in fact, she probably would have set the same limit for herself. She was just glad that her parents didn't freak out too much, or not more than she had expected, anyway.
“Why didn't you tell them it was Chris?” Devon asked Kirsten as she was walking into her room. She turned around. Devon was standing in his doorway, arms folded across his chest.
“I don't want anything to do with him,” she replied, “and you already hurt him enough. I don't want dad going after him, too.”
“You don't think he deserves it?” Devon asked, walking towards Kirsten and letting his arms drop to his side. “You don't think that after what he did-”
“He didn't do anything, Devon, I did,” Kirsten yelled, but quickly lowered her voice to not catch the attention of her parents.
“Oh, really?” Devon laughed, “'Cause there's at least one thing he'd have to do in order for you to get pregnant.”
Kirsten flared her nostrils at her brother, wishing that he'd just leave her alone. “He didn't want to. He said no at first, but I practically forced him. It's my fault, OK?”
“Whatever, you're just lucky I lied to them about why I hit him,” Devon said. “Otherwise they'd know. It's pretty obvious.”
Kirsten stared at Devon for a few moments, then began to laugh. “Penny asked if it was Jonny, can you believe that?”
“No, actually. Jon never even talks about girls, I can't imagine him sleeping with one.” Devon paused and narrowed his eyes. “Not that I'd want to imagine him sleeping with a girl.”
“Oh, you'd much rather imagine him sleeping with a boy?” Kirsten giggled.
“God, no,” Devon cringed. “Kirsten, how could even say something like that?”
“Oh, relax, Devon, it's not that bad. Besides, Jonny wouldn't do that.” Kirsten, growing tired of her brother's company, began to continue her path to her room. “Just you watch, one day he and I will be married, and it'll be his baby inside of me.”
“Ugh, Kirsten, you're the one who's supposed to be throwing up all the time, not me.” Kirsten just laughed, shook her head at Devon, and shut her door. Devon cringed once more at the thought of Jonathan and his sister before returning to his own room. Of course, he'd much rather Jonathan had gotten Kirsten pregnant than Chris. Jonathan was a least a very nice person.
A nice, peaceful person he was, and quiet, usually. But that particular night, he had a hard time remaining silent. Randall was being his usual self, abrasive and rash. He had opted to come straight home instead of driving to the bar after work, which perhaps is what made him on edge. Having felt like he and his mother had sort of patched things up, Jonathan was quite unsettled by his father's criticisms of Penny. He almost took offense to them as though they were aimed at him.
“Didn't I ask you last time not to put the cheese on top of the meat?” he said, glaring at Penny after he'd taken one bite of his cheeseburger and practically dropped it on his plate. “Is it so hard to put it on before the meat?”
“I'm sorry,” Penny quietly replied. “Would you like me to fix it for you?”
“No, Penny, that would be a waste of time. I'll just eat it as it is.”
“Are you sure? If it's going to be a problem, I'll just-”
“It's fine,” Randall spat. “But next time, you can hopefully remember to do one goddamn thing right.” Jonathan narrowed his eyes at his father, which did not go past Randall unnoticed. “You made any new friends yet?”
“No.” For a second, Jonathan tested his father's patience, but he soon realized that was a bad idea. “But I haven't been hanging around Devon, either.”
“Then what have you been doing? Sitting up in your room?”
“Yes.”
“He did go to town one day,” Penny chimed in. Jonathan shot a look at her; he wasn't expecting that she'd try to stick up for him. Also, he hoped he wouldn't have to think of a lie for what he did while he was in town. “Another day Kirsten came over, and we all had a nice chat.”
“Kirsten, eh?” Randall turned to Jonathan and smiled. “Something going on between you two?”
“No.” Jonathan, while actually trying to say as little as possible for fear of what might have come out of his mouth if he wasn't careful, was unintentionally pissing off Randall more and more by the minute. His short answers and blank expressions were coming off as more of a defiance than anything else.
“What is wrong with you?” Randall was looking at his son with such a look of disgust that Jonathan almost went teary-eyed. Never in his entire life had he felt so disliked. In fact, his father's tone was serious enough to actually convince Jonathan that there really was something wrong with him, that the way he was wasn't good enough.
“You should actually be glad for that, Randall, Kirsten's pregnant,” Penny said. Jonathan lowered his head and stared at his plate. So, he didn't like to be around people all that much, was there really anything wrong with that?
“Oh, she is? Well, that certainly wouldn't have happened if she was with Jonathan. He probably wouldn't have even talked to her.” It wasn't as though he didn't like girls, he just never really knew any aside from Kirsten. And he thought she was too young for him, and she was kinda annoying, too.
“Randall, Jonathan has his entire life to find someone. Will you just let him be?” Then again, she wasn't too young for Chris, but look how that turned out. He wouldn't have slept with her, of course, because he didn't really like her.
“No, I won't. You don't think it's weird that all he ever does is hang around in his room? God knows what he does up there.” Chris didn't like her either, right? When he told Jonathan about their date, he didn't sound too thrilled.
“I do think he could be a bit more social, but... he's a shy boy, Randall. It's not his fault.” Devon was the only person he really considered to be his friend, even though he sat with all those other boys almost everyday, even talked to some of them every now and then. Was that bad?
“Then whose fault is it, huh? His parents'?” He just didn't like people. They were always too pushy, and he felt like if he said the wrong thing, he'd be shunned for it. Which kinda reminded him of something.
“Maybe if you'd been around more rather than out drinking all the time, you could have raised me to be your perfect son.” It took a good ten seconds for Jonathan to realize that those words had come from his mouth, that he wasn't just thinking them, and it wasn't someone else who'd said it. He, Jonathan, had thought it, and his body had taken the liberty to vocalize it for him. He was less than grateful, to say the least.
Randall took one look at Jonathan and stood up. “You know what? I don't need this right now.” Randall shoved his chair into the table, and the banging sound echoed through the silent room. Penny and Jonathan were both too frightened to even make the tiniest bit of movement. Randall stormed off into the other room, and the sound of the door slamming shut shook the house. Within a few moments, the engine of Randall's car started, and soon enough he drove off into the night.
“I'm so sorry,” Jonathan whispered when the sound of the car finally died away.
“No, Jonathan, it's all right. Your father's just tired. I'm sure he'll go for a quick drive, cool down, then come back and everything will be fine.” Jonathan couldn't tell if she was just lying to him, or lying to herself. Either way, he knew she wasn't telling the truth.
“I shouldn't have said-”
“Jonathan, don't worry about it,” Penny ordered in an unfitting, stern tone. “Please.”
“All right.” Jonathan looked down at his plate again, and thought about what his father had said. “Mum, there's nothing wrong with me, is there?”
“Of course not, sweetheart,” Penny said, reaching her hand across the table and onto Jonathan's arm. “It may not always seem like it, but your father and I love you very much, and we think you're perfect just the way you are.”
“Thanks.” In a way, it did make him feel better. He knew the part about his father was probably a lie, but it did seem like his mother really cared about him. And he cared about her, too, because she was always so nice and always took care of him. It really sucked that he couldn't tell her anything, because she would have helped him so much.
Jonathan excused himself from the table and went up to his room. As he closed the door behind him, he noticed the lamp sitting next to him and picked it up. He carried it over to his table and set it down gently, but he didn't bother plugging it in.
It was too early to sleep, but Jonathan figured he'd try anyway. He had gotten maybe an hour's rest the night before, so he really needed to lay down. He could feel his eyes burning with exhaustion, but closing them just didn't feel right. So, he merely turned on his side and stared at his blank wall, waiting for the moment when he'd suddenly drift off.
It felt like he was staring at that wall for hours, even though he knew it was probably just a few minutes. There was absolutely nothing there, like a blank canvas just waiting to be smothered with creation. It was almost like an open invitation to escape this world and start a new one. One where everything was perfect. In fact, as Jonathan stared at the wall and thought of his ideal life, it lulled him to sleep so subtly that he didn't even realize he was dreaming.
