“I was on the phone with her almost every night during the whole ordeal. She asked me to come home and help her, and I felt really selfish, but I couldn’t. I had my classes and stuff. Sometimes I hate myself for it, especially now that I haven’t heard from her in awhile. Her dad wanted her to get an abortion and she didn’t want to. Then the guy’s parents forbid him to speak to her or see her. They called her up screaming one night, telling her it was all her fault. I just didn’t know what to do when she called me afterward, what to say. I feel like an idiot trying to help her with this stuff and then worrying about, say, my physics grade.”
“I know how you feel,” Steve says, turning to look out the window. “I felt lost that day when I found out about Brad. I mean, I’ve told him everything since I was ten or so, you know? He was always the little angel child, the one everyone thought could do no wrong. His parents, they always said he was just going through a rough time, acting out they called it. But we all thought, especially me, that deep down he had a heart of gold. I mean, he was so sensitive, so concerned about everyone, even when he pretended not to care. I don’t get it. How could he have gotten mixed in all that? The papers said he was dealing coke.”
And the story goes on. Another installment from a story I wrote in 1999. Funny, I just realized I’m working on a fiction/non-fiction/hybrid/story/fantasy/clusterfuck right now that centers almost entirely on a conversation, and so does this story.
Next Installment: Something Always Changes