Diary of a Witness (9 page)

And, actually, I didn’t try.

December 1
st

When I went back to school this morning, that whole miserable feeling thing came up all over again. Only this time I didn’t cry. I mean, I was in school. I’m not stupid. I know what to keep to myself and when. Especially when I’m down behind enemy lines.

First period I sit three seats behind Lisa Muller. Three behind and one over. I found myself staring at her a lot. Somehow she must have felt me staring, because every now and then she’d look over her shoulder at me. I could tell it was making her uncomfortable.

And, you know what? I didn’t care. Her comfort wasn’t high on my list. Way I see it, some people are too comfortable as it is.

I know she knew about Will. Everybody knew. It was all over town, and I don’t really know how. But that’s a small town for you. It has its own private public-address system. You just start with anybody, and then it’s like a snowball rolling downhill.

After class I followed her all the way to her locker. I don’t know what came over me, but I was mad. Which is weird, because I never get mad. It just isn’t in me. Or if it’s in there somewhere, I guess I don’t feel it. But I felt it today.

She opened her locker like there was nothing wrong. Like I wasn’t standing right there staring at her.

Then all of a sudden she spun around and started yelling at me. Really went ballistic. “What? What do you want? Why do you keep looking at me? I didn’t do anything. What?”

I didn’t answer for a minute. Just watched her fall apart. I was thinking, I’ve never been in a situation like this, where I’m in a confrontation with somebody and they aren’t the one holding all the cards.

I said, “I just want to know what you tell yourself in your head at a time like that.” And it was true. I wanted to know. I had to know. My curiosity had reached the breaking point. This was a mystery of human nature I needed to solve. “I mean, when you say something like that to somebody, what do you tell yourself in your head to justify it?”

“I didn’t say anything to him!”

“Oh, come on. If you say it loud enough for him to hear it, you’re saying it to him.”

“You better not be trying to blame me for what he did. Because he had lots of other reasons. His brother dying. And his father going to jail and all.”

I nodded. Weirdly calm. It was like a side of me I wasn’t used to seeing. “Interesting,” I said. “It’s interesting that you knew all that about his life, you knew he was going through all that, but you still chose that moment to dump one more thing on him. I’m not trying to hang you out to dry, I’m really not. I’m serious. I just really want to know what happens in your head that lets you justify treating somebody that way.”

She never told me.

Instead she turned around, slammed her locker door hard. Her hair flying all around. When she turned back, I saw she was crying. Then she ran away down the hall.

That did not go well, I thought to myself. And when I thought it, I realized how much I missed Will. Because normally, he would be right by my side or right behind me at a time like this. And I could turn to him and say, That did not go well. And somehow that would take the edge off. Make it a little easier to swallow.

I said it out loud anyway. To myself. “That did not go well.” Then I went on to my next class.

I was on my way down the stairs from lunch when I saw the four jocks on the landing. I stopped, knowing trouble
when I saw it. Just stopped and let this sea of bodies swarm past me. Then I thought, Maybe this is a tactical error. Maybe I’m making a terrible mistake to let the bulk of the student body thin out before I face them. Safety in numbers and all that. So I decided I would try to pass by. But I had frozen just long enough that I was the last one down the stairs. Great.

But there was no safety in those numbers anyway, and part of me knew it. None of those kids was about to go to bat for me. Alex had gone by, looking uncomfortable. But there was nothing he could do, so he looked away. Professional courtesy ends here.

Just as I was stepping down onto the landing, I heard Rusty say, “Oh, look. It’s the fat boy who blamed
my
girlfriend because
his
friend is a lunatic and a freak.”

See what I mean about how fast word travels in a small town? But I shouldn’t joke. I sure was in no mood to joke while it was happening.

Now, here’s what turned out to be my fatal mistake: I didn’t look down.

Basic safety says you look for the foot. The foot they inevitably stick out to trip you. It’s kind of an obvious one. Not really hard to see it coming.

It’s not even that I forgot. I didn’t, exactly. It’s more like the reason I don’t glance nervously over my shoulder as I walk down the hall. Like that sense that if you act like you see it coming, that’s worse. And yet, if you hear their
footsteps barreling down on you from behind, it might pay you to look around.

I really screwed up big-time.

I tried to walk by like nothing was wrong. Didn’t look in their eyes. Didn’t look at their feet. Next thing I knew, I was flying forward, scrambling to get my balance back. But with all that weight balanced forward, I kept going. Forward.

Now, the place where they tripped me was pretty far from the stairs. On the landing, but not near the edge of it. The last thing I want to do is make excuses for them. But really, I might as well face it. This was an issue of my size.

If it had been one of them, they would have either fallen on their face or gotten their balance back. But either way, they would have done it on the safety of the landing.

But it was me.

And once my weight got thrown forward like that, it was impossible for me to stop. And then there was the edge of the stairs, and I was still flying. So I flew down the stairs. Or down quite a few of them anyway. And when I landed, I landed hard.

I didn’t make it all the way to the floor below. I guess that’s good. I guess it’s good that I belly flopped, too. I’d hate to think what would’ve happened if I’d landed headfirst. Could’ve broken my neck or something. But that was the only good news. Everything else was pretty
bad. It knocked the wind out of me and bruised my chin and three places along my ribs where I caught the edges of steps. And I banged up my knees. But I stayed there, thank God. Didn’t roll down. I guess that’s another bit of good news. You need all the good news you can get on a day like this.

I heard Rusty say, “Oh, shit!”

Another one of them said, “Great idea, asswipe.” But I couldn’t tell which one.

Then a jumble of their voices, impossible to tell apart.

“He wasn’t supposed to fall down the stairs.”

“What if he broke his neck?”

“This wasn’t my idea anyway.”

“See if he’s okay.”

“Not me. I don’t want to!”

“Well, somebody has to see if he’s okay.”

A minute later I felt someone lean over me. I was holding still. Trying to breathe. Still trying to get some air into my lungs. I could actually feel his breath on the back of my neck, he was that close.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

I wanted to say something clever. Like, Depends on your definition of the word okay. But what came out was more like a grunt.

“I think he’s okay!”

A thunder of footsteps as they all ran past me and into the hall below.

“Wait,” I heard one of them say. Sounded like Rusty. “We have to make sure he gets up.”

“I’m getting out of here. This was all
your
idea.
You
make sure he gets up.”

Another difficult second or two. Then I raised my head.

I looked down the hall, and there was Rusty. All by himself. His so-called buddies had run off and left him to face this alone.

I looked into his eyes. He was deeply, genuinely scared.

It was a weird moment for me. Because it made him seem so … almost … human. Like he was used to being in control but suddenly everything was totally out of control. And I could see how unprepared he was for this unexpected turn of events.

But, fear and all, he was going to wait there. To make sure I had survived.

I could breathe by then. More or less. So I said, “I’m pretty much alive.”

And he took off running.

It took me a minute to get up. Everything hurt. I was saying to myself, I will not cry. I will not cry. I won’t do it. It was hard, but I just refused. I just wasn’t going to let a thing like that happen at a time like this.

I looked up to see a couple of girls watching from the end of the hall, but when they saw me looking, they quick turned and walked away.

For a minute I just stood there, trying to get back into my own head again. Trying to be okay.

It hit me all of a sudden. Right. I remember now. That’s why I don’t get mad. That’s why I don’t confront them. I’d forgotten. But how could I have forgotten? How can you forget something you know so well? I figured it had to do with getting mad. So I decided, That’s it. No more of this feeling crap. It’s bad for my health.

I started to limp off to my next class, but then I thought, No. That’s enough. I don’t have to take a thing like that and go on like nothing ever happened. This was getting to be too much.

Instead I went into the nurse’s office and told her I tripped and fell down the stairs. Which was more or less true. Not exactly the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But not exactly a lie, either. Okay, I got tripped. Didn’t exactly do it on my own. Then again, when someone trips you, you trip. Right? Okay. Enough playing with words. I said what I said, and I would have to live with it.

She called my mother, and my mother left work early to come get me.

I couldn’t just keep walking through some crap like this, like it never happened. Like everything was fine.

Every now and then you need to call a time-out. Get your breath back.

December 2
nd

This morning I woke up with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew I’d crossed some kind of line. Worse yet, I knew I’d never get back to the old side again.

The problem was a sticky one. I didn’t want to go back to school. I didn’t want to do it anymore. Ever. Not that I had any good alternatives. There’s only one high school in this town. But that awful thing sitting in my stomach was like a stubborn little kid. It just said no. The logic didn’t matter. There’s no reasoning with a feeling.

I didn’t want to keep doing it.

My mother came in early to see how I was.

“Do I have to go to school today?”

“Well, no, honey, not if you’re really sore.”

“I am.”

“Okay, well, if you get up and come to the table, I’ll make French toast before I go to work. Are you okay here all by yourself today?”

“Mom. I’m not a baby.”

“Right. Of course you’re not.”

She hurried out of my room, and I decided French toast was worth getting up for. But I had no idea how hard it was going to be to get up.

My ribs were just killing me. The whole middle part of my body, actually. Also my knees. And my neck was really sore, I guess from the shock it took when I hit my chin. And my arms were really sore, because I guess without even realizing it I put my arms out to try to catch myself. I could feel it all the way up through my shoulders. It even hurt to breathe all the way in.

I felt like I’d been hit by a bus. Seriously.

But I knew if I couldn’t get up, my mom would rush me to the hospital or something. And I didn’t think I needed a hospital. It wasn’t that bad. It just hurt. I was just sore all over.

I had to use my arms to lift my head, but it was hard to lift my arms. But when I got my head up, I could sit up. Then I just sat there for a minute before I tried to get up. Actually, standing up wasn’t really that bad.

I tried to put a robe on over my pajamas, but it hurt so
much to try to get my arms into it that I just gave up and dropped it on the floor. I wasn’t that cold anyway.

Home alone is a nice thing. I get it now, why Will said that. Why he said it would be good to be alone. When you’re alone, you’re safe. Plus you don’t have to pretend to anyone. You can just be yourself, not put on a good face.

I think that’s why Will’s my best friend. Because I know I’m safe with Will and I don’t need to pretend about anything. I don’t need to act like it’s all okay. He knows better, anyway.

About a minute after I thought that, the phone rang.

It was Will.

“Are you home?” I asked. Like I couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t have to go to school?”

“Not till I’m ready.”

“How did you know I’d be home?”

“I didn’t. I just thought I was going to leave a message on your machine. Why are you home? Are you sick?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you home?”

“Long story,” I said. “If I could, I’d come over and visit you. But I don’t think I’m up to that.”

“I’ll come visit
you.”

“Your mom doesn’t care? She doesn’t want you to stay home?”

“My mom could care less what I do. If I just stay out of her face and never once say the word Sam, she’s happy. Give me fifteen minutes,” he said, and hung up the phone. Just like that.

I got up and unlocked the door, because it wouldn’t pay to try to do a thing like that on short notice.

At first Will just stood there. Not saying anything. Just standing over my bed, looking like his body was in the room but the rest of him was somewhere else. He never looked in my eyes, but I saw him steal a glance at my chin. I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror yet. But I guess it must’ve looked bad.

“What did they do to you? And why?” See? That’s what I like about Will. No pretending. “They tripped me, and I fell down the stairs.” “Did they bother to give you a reason? Or don’t they even need one anymore?” He pulled up a chair. Pulled it over close to the bed, then sat down and peered into my face like he was noticing me for the first time. Like he’d just now seen me lying there.

“They didn’t mean for me to go down the stairs.” “Okay. Assuming you’re right, which I’m not sure of … did they bother to give you a reason why they tripped you?”