Goodbye, Evan

25

I had to watch as they tormented him.

It's not his fault, I wanted to scream. Not his fault. Never his fault. Never anyone's fault except the person who did it to him.

I had to watch, invisible, as they punched and kicked and jeered at him in the corridors, calling him names and laughing at him for something that somebody else did to him.

I hated them as I watched. Hated them for being me, for lashing out at what they didn't understand. For hurting someone with their own stupidity. Hated them for what their parents made them and what the world shaped them to be and the things they made of themselves.

Mostly, I hated myself for being them. For being powerless to help James.

That's what broke me: being powerless to help once my time is up. Having to watch as I wasn't enough, having to watch history repeat itself.

As he left that school for the last time, left the place where he was raped and then broken for someone else's sin, I made a promise.

I promised myself that I would never grow attached to these kids again. It may have been selfish, but I couldn't sit back and watch the world crush yet another person. Couldn't watch as another life was ruined - maybe even another life ended - because of me.

I never knew what happened to him.

Until today. I gave my leather jacket to Theo ages ago, so now he's buried in layers of fabric and puffed up like a teddy bear. The thin button-up I'm wearing over a t-shirt does nothing to block out the wind but I don't want him to know this so I hold back every shiver.

We hold hands again, even after I've removed my jacket. I'm scared and angry and terrified of the seconds of darkness that come with closing my eyes, but every time I feel his pulse and the shift of his fingers in mine and the rise and fall of his shoulders... I'm okay.

He lets go of me when his phone starts ringing.

Theo holds the device out in front of him and I can see that it's his father calling.

Lewis.

And he looked familiar.

I still don't know what to believe.

The picture is a photo of a photograph: a man, clearly Theo's dad, holding hands with a beautiful black woman wearing a wedding dress. In the picture, she's just starting to show and she's smiling so widely and so brightly. Theo's father looks handsome and happy, a stark contrast to the man we left behind in that house.

Funny how things can go so wrong.

"What do I do?" Theo asks.
"Answer it," I say quietly. "You can hang up if you need to." A droplet of water lands on my nose. Theo swipes to answer the call and puts it on speaker, wiping away the first traces of rain with his sleeve.

"...Dad?"

"Your mother used to take you to the park when we argued," Theo's father says, without so much as an introduction or apology. His voice shakes. "She said that we should never let you get caught up in our messes. Never shelter you but never force you into the worst parts of the world and the worst parts of us.

"So... I'm sorry. That I let you get caught up in my mess. You're my son. And you always will be."

Theo's face tightens. He bites his lip and wipes away the tears that begin to fall with a shaky hand.