FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #5

A boy with a parrot on his shoulder was walking along the railway tracks.  He had the looks of a strange kid, you know the type.  The type of kid who eats worms or sticks markers up his nose but I had no choice.  I was the new kid on the block.  I couldn't afford to be picky.  The boy didn't acknowledge my presence until I was literally 2 feet in front of him.  I stuck out my hand and introduced myself.  He had a puzzled look on his face but shrugged it off and spoke with a sort of quiet confidence.  "I'm Jackson Fitch," he said.  "I'm Jackson Fitch," the parrot shrieked.  "Nice to meet you both," I said with a slight chuckle.

Jackson and I had an instant connection walking and talking for over an hour down the rusty rail tracks.  We had more in common then I ever could have imagined.  Our favorite superhero was Batman, favorite food was pizza, we even both loved history in school.  Jackson's parents were divorced like mine.  He lived with his mother and didn't know his father.  He left the family when Jackson was 2 years old and hasn't been heard from since.  His mother worked two jobs just to support Jackson and his sister.  I could relate seeing as my father left last summer to start a family with his secretary.  Mom hasn't been the same since he left.  She tends to drink more often and sometimes doesn't come home at night.

We had become inseparable.  I think we both needed each other seeing as neither of us had any other friends and a less then perfect home life.  The other kids made fun of us calling us "queers and ass buddies."  We managed to ignore them for the most part getting into the occasional scuffle.  One boy, James Harper, was particularly brutal.  He was big for his age.  Already 6 feet tall and about 180 pounds he was by far the biggest 13 year old kid I'd ever seen.  He came from money and carried himself with a sense of entitlement.  He was the most popular kid in our 8th grade class mostly out of fear.  He would verbally abuse Jackson to the point of tears.  One time he punched Jackson in the arm so hard he was black and blue for a week.  "I wish James would just disappear or move away," Jackson used to say. 

It was the last day of school and Jackson and I couldn't be happier.  The sound of that school bell was a sense of freedom.  A freedom that only could only be compared to a convict being released from jail.  We have big plans for the summer like fishing at the creek, biking down the dirt trail and of course spending time at the carnival.  Every year the local church held a carnival with rides and games for the last week of the summer.  The whole town looked forward to it. 

Our mothers had been spending less and less time at the house.  Jackson's mom was now working 14 hours a day as a housekeeper and convenience store clerk.  When she was home she mostly slept exhausted from the life of a single mother.  My mother on the other hand had met a man.  His name was Chet, an unemployed truck driver.  He mostly laid on our couch watching television.  He shared my mother's love of the bottle.  They spent most nights drinking themselves into a stupor.  By the end of the night neither could muster up much of a sentence.  The one positive to their drinking is that it made it very easy to sneak out at night. 

The carnival was beginning to wrap up.  You could tell it was the last night by the left over funnel cake, stale hot dog rolls and picked through prizes.  Jackson and I didn't care.  We spent every night at the carnival and wasn't about to miss the finale.  The last night was pretty special.  The carnival put together an out of this world firework display that could be seen for miles.  As the fireworks were dying down Jackson and I decided to start walking home. 

For the life of me I don't why we decided to take the dark path home.  Sure it was faster but everyone knows the high school kids go back there drinking and can get a little out of control.  This night was no different.  We came up on about 20 or so older kids all heavily intoxicated drinking cans of Keystone Light.  As we approached I detected a smell, a smell I had become accustomed to over the last year of living with an alcoholic mother.  It was a mix of booze, cheap perfume and throw up.  I told Jackson we should turn back and go the long way but he wanted no part of that.  He told me to stop worrying and keep walking. 

As we got closer I recognized a familiar face.  It was James Harper.  Seeing as he was already as big as a high school kids he was accepted to hang out with the older kids.  I could see him squinting over at us through his inebriated eyes.  When he realized it was us he quickly began shouting the usual homophobic slurs at us.  "Hey check out these two fags," he snorted.  Everyone laughed and some kids even shouted as well trying to out do each other.  We had almost made it past them with out a physically confrontation when something inside Jackson snapped.  He turned around and looked James right in the face and screamed, "Go fuck yourself, asshole."  Jackson rarely ever lost his cool but James had finally made him snap.  Even in his drunken state James rushed Jackson like a bull.  He hit Jackson with an onslaught of punches.  I was helpless to each blow to Jackson.  Finally after what felt like 10 minutes some of the older kids pulled James off.  Shaking I picked up my best friend off the ground, trying to wipe away some of the blood oozing from his nose. As we began to walk away we could hear James laughing and highfiving his buddies. It was about the worst humiliation a young boy can endure other then being caught with a boner in class or rejected by a girl.

Jackson didn't say much on the walk home.  I caught him whispering to himself a couple times but I couldn't make out what he was saying.  It appeared for the moment that James had stripped him of his dignity and self worth. 

I woke up to the sound of knock at the door.  It wasn't your normal knock it was more panicked.  When I opened the door it was Jackson's mother.  It was clear she had been crying.  Her eyes were puffy and red.  She could barely speak.  She finally settled herself enough to speak.  "He is a murderer" she muttered.  "A murderer? Who is?" I responded.  "Jackson," she screamed.  My heart crawled up into my throat.  I didn't know what to think.  Jackson's mom had begun to explain that after I walked him home he went into her purse and stole the gun that she used to protect herself.  She worked the graveyard shift at the convenience store and worried about being robbed.  He found James Harper walking home after a long night of drinking and fired two shots in his chest.  James bleed to death as Jackson sat next to the body and waited for the police to arrive. 

The trial was the biggest news our small town had ever experienced.  Our overzealous prosecutor worked hard to try Jackson as an adult stating the premeditated and brutal nature of the killing.  Claiming Jackson was an evil teen who needed to spend the rest of his days in prison.  I was called as a character witness on his behalf explaining the verbal and physical assaults we endured over the years.  How Jackson had just snapped.  In the end Jackson's public defender managed to strike a deal with the prosecution having Jackson plead guilty to 1st degree manslaughter.  He would be sentenced to spend the next 20 years in prison.  I remember hearing the judge describe Jackson as a fractured young man who should spend the next 20 years repenting for what he had done.  The judge didn't know Jackson, none of these people knew Jackson.  Heck his own mother didn't even know him. 

Jackson was my best friend, my only friend. 

 

back to Contest #5