Excerpt Two: A Friendly Chat

He sat on the porch later that day. There were too many people in the house, and now Mr. and Mrs. Parker, November’s parents, were over, speaking quietly to Raphael’s parents and aunt and uncle. The children—Gabe, Jess, Helen, and John—had been excused. Gabe, Jess, and Helen were probably down in the lobby right now, and who knew/cared where John was.

Raphael sat on the concrete, his back to the wall and he looked out at Portland outside. His mind was blank; he spent way too much time in the past few hours thinking and thinking and thinking. He was afraid that his brain would slip right out of his ears. But on second thought, it may be better that way.

The door slid open and John stepped out. He smirked at Raphael, his lip ring glittering in the fading evening light.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asked, pulling out a package of cigarettes. He walked over to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the railing as he pulled out his lighter.

“Since when do you smoke?” asked Raphael.

John gave him another smirk. “Since about two hours ago. Want one?”

Raphael shook his head. “No, not really. And you should not be smoking those, either.”

“Yes, mother,” said John. He lit the cigarette and put the lighter in his pocket. Inhaling deeply, he suddenly started coughing. He covered his mouth and coughed again.

So he came out here to attempt to smoke? wondered Raphael.

“So, Fail, what’s up?” asked John, turning around to face Raphael and leaning against the balcony railing. “I see that your imagination’s acting up, eh?”

Raphael glowered, but just stared at the floor. Does he really have to do this? It’s bad enough as it is.

John seemed to notice this. He held up his hands defensively and said, “Hey, alright, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Yeah right, thought Raphael. If there was one goal John had in life, it was to offend people.

Raphael could remember years ago when he actually looked forward to coming to Portland to spend time with his cousins. John was pretty shy back then, and Raphael felt sorry for him because his parents obviously preferred his older brother. Then there was the accident. Raphael did not know all of the details, but John’s brother, Frank, ended up dead. Electrocuted in the bathtub. Raphael felt horrible for John, but after that, he was a totally different guy. Instead of being shy, he was simply withdrawn. He would hide out in his room whenever Raphael and his siblings came over. He once overheard his aunt telling Raphael’s mother that she suspected that John was doing drugs and—gasp—he stole some clothing from the store. She was not one hundred per cent sure, but she thought that they might be girls’ pants.

A different John now. One who smirked instead of smiled. One whose favorite extracurricular activity was not videogames but stabbing his bedroom wall . It made Raphael kind of sad, and his stays with his aunt and uncle were never quite as fun.

“Okay, well,” said John, trying to keep the conversation going. He twitched his lip ring with his tongue. “So, did you really see zombies?”

Raphael looked up at him. Was he serious or was he making fun of Raphael?

“Well, yeah,” answered Raphael.

John gave a little laugh. “Shit, you’re really messed up, man.”

Well, isn’t that just the pot calling the kettle black, thought Raphael. He winced when he realized that he was just using the old saying his mother was so fond of.

“I am actually telling the truth,” he told John. Then he added under his breath, “At least some of us do.”

John rolled his eyes dramatically, emphasizing the orange eye shadow ringing the black eyeliner. “Yeah, I tell the truth to,” said John. “But at least I don’t think I’m fricken dead.”

Raphael tensed up. Did he have to bring that up? What he had worked on for two and a half years now to control and understand had suddenly been bruised and damaged with the death of his little sister. And John was now pouring salt of the wound.

Then Raphael wondered if this was John’s attempt at a friendly chat. He suddenly felt bad for thinking mean things about his cousin; he was just trying to do his best to talk to him about, well, normal things.

Because dead was normal to Raphael. And to John. Two teenagers who had nothing in common were both united in death. The irony.

“Well, I don’t think that I’m dead,” said Raphael calmly. “I know that I’m dead.”

John snorted. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He turned back and looked at the Portland skyline. Raphael could practically hear his eyes rolling in his head.

The door opened once more, and John’s mom stepped outside. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation—“ (John snorted again) “—but it’s time for dinner. Unless you boys would like me to bring dinner out here and, good gracious, John, is that a cigarette?!?”

John raised his eyebrows and spread his lips in a mock smile, waving the cigarette in the air in front of him.

“John, you know that that’s bad for your health,” scolded his mother.

“Mum, I’ve already gotten the lecture,” he said, glancing down at Raphael. He glanced back to his mother, then headed inside, brushing past her.

She looked down at Raphael and gave him a sympathetic smile. Raphael turned and looked out the balcony.