The Online Profile of a Teenage Killer

Posted on August 26

I sway in a hammock between the apple tree and pear tree in my backyard. I feel like the heatwave is settling down into warmth, like I've been wading in a hot bath for too long. Or maybe I had gotten used to the heat, like I've gotten used to being offline.

In one week, school starts and I'll be a senior.

I hear a splash from Melvin's backyard beside me, then more splashing. I struggle to get off the hammock and stand up barefoot on the dry grass.

I tippy toe to peek over the wooden fence that separates my yard from Melvin's, and I see him attempting a backstroke in his above ground pool.

"Melvin?" I call out.

Melvin springs up and wipes his face with one hand, the water level at his chest.

"Hey man. Come around," he says to me, squinting, probably from the chlorine.

I just jump the fence instead of going around to the gate. My foot lands on a rubber chicken that squeaks under my weight. The grass is literally greener on this side of the fence—a deep green, thick blades, freshly cut. In the corner where the fence meets Melvin's house is an empty dog house with a red, sandpaper roof. Melvin's dog, Buddy, died last summer but his toys and water bowl are still laid out.

I lean my elbows over the edge of the pool, dipping my hand in the water. Melvin swims up to me.

He reaches out for a handshake as I raise my fist for a dap. Seeing my fist, Melvin closes his hand as I I open mine. We pause for a couple of long seconds, waiting for the other to adjust, and I end up cupping his fist with my palm and we both look away, defeated.

"Sorry, I haven't been around," I say.

"That's okay," he says, and I can tell he means it. He forgives me easily, and sometimes, I hate him for it. Today, I don't.

"Hey, did you know that rapper Capital Steez tweeted 'the end' before he killed himself?" I say.

"Nope," he's bobbing up and down and I can tell he's hopping on one foot in the water.

"So what have you been up to?" I ask him.

"Same old. Chatting with Anne. Her English is getting better."

"You're lucky, Melvin"

"I know," he glows. "Where have you been?"

"Camping, actually."

"Where?"

"Near Orilla."

"Oh, where those server farms are?"

"I don't know," I say.

"Who you go with, your mom?"

"Nah. Just myself."

"Alone? That's bad ass."

I shrug.

"It was nothing. I used my dad's tent and all his gear and shit."

"Sick, he sounds like he was a cool guy, your dad," Melvin dunks his head underwater and bobs back up, wiping his hand over his eyes.

"I guess. I don't remember much about him," I pause and look down at a dead fly floating past my hand in the water. "Mom got rid of all his photos after he murked himself."

Melvin is listening intently.

"The worst part is, I can't even picture his face anymore. I forgot his face. Sometimes, I think I recognize him in other people. Like this Ubereats guy the other day. Or this guy at the store. I see him in everyone now."

"Well, time heals all wounds, that's what they say, right?"

Facebook has become our memories. Instagram has become our past.

"How can I heal if I don't feel time? They say that too," I say.

"Never heard that one before. Who says that?"

"I don't know. Someone did. I'm pretty sure."

There's a long but comfortable pause between us.

"You going to Trang's back-to-school jam?" Melvin breaks the silence.

I shrug. "I don't know, you?"

"I don't know," Melvin shrugs.

"Hey. Random question for you," I say.

"What?"

"Do you know Rocco Consentino?"

"Of course."

"Have you ever met him?" I say.

Melvin thinks, looking away for an answer.

"No," he looks back at me.

"Me neither," I say.