Dear Future, before I tell you about that dreaded afternoon at my aunt and uncle's, I should probably tell you about the morning of that same day.
Mom forced me to go to school, that morning. She insisted I couldn't miss yet another day.
But I didn't feel like going to school. The last thing I needed was school. That place hated me, and I hated that place. Not one friend, not one familiar face. Only hostile looks all over the place.
As soon as I got there, and I was walking in the hallways to get to the first class, Andrew crossed my path.
"Hey, Peter," he called me. I ignored him and approached the classroom's door, but he put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from entering.
The frustration building up inside me was just too much, so I turned around and pushed him, making him lose balance and almost fall to the ground. "Not now, Andrew," I sentenced.
"I was just wondering how you're feeling," he said, regaining his composure, "I heard about Tyler..."
I felt my eyes watering, so I looked away from him and entered the class, leaving him behind me.
Amber was in that class. I could feel her looking at me, from time to time. I think sometimes she even tried to talk to me, but stopped before words could come out of her mouth.
I had the confirmation of that when, after class, she came running after me. "Peter, wait," she shouted as she tried to reach me. I was walking faster on purpose.
At one point, I felt her cold hand on my wrist. I stopped and pushed it away. "Bitch, get off me," I said, "I told you we're done. And spare me the crap about my cousin. I don't need your stupid pity."
And I just walked away, leaving her standing speechless behind me too.
Evelyn texted me three times on that morning. The first was "how are you feeling?" to which I replied "not too great". Then she asked if she could call me that afternoon, and I said no because I had stuff to do. And then she simply texted an "I miss you".
So that brings me to the afternoon. My mom and I were at my aunt and uncle's, the house where Tyler grew up. I have no idea how my aunt and my uncle still lived in that house now, surrounded by frames containing old pictures of Tyler as a child, and some as a teenager too.
There was a little model of a bike on a shelf, and I remembered him usually grabbing it and letting me play with it when I was a child, also warning me not to break it because it was important to him. And I was indeed careful not to break it, while I still enjoyed fantasizing crazy adventures with it around the house. That little bike was like my promise to him, and I never broke it. Not even once. Just like he always kept his word with me. Until now.
Anyway, that's the only memory I have of him in his house, and it's a pretty big one. I can't imagine how many memories his parents had. How every single object in that house reminded them of something he did and/or said in his twenty-two short years of life, and every single time they'd try to forget, or rather, not to think, something around them took them back to reality.
I could only imagine how much they wanted to run away from that house and go hide somewhere else, somewhere impossible, away from everything real.
So, this officer came into the house, and announced they'd closed all investigations.
"Okay," my uncle said, scratching his thick grey beard, "so what's the conclusion?"
The officer clicked his tongue. "Due to the unavailability of much clearer information, obtainable through your son's autopsy, we've come to the conclusion that the accident was caused by either him falling asleep on the wheel, or having drank prior to getting in the car. We are opting for the latter. We talked to some of the people at the party he attended the night of the accident, and though Brad Marley said Tyler Ryder did seem a little sleepy, and that he asked him if he wanted to spend the night, but he refused, other people say there was a lot of alcohol at that party."
I was waiting for my uncle to strike back, but instead, he just stared at him, slowly nodding, and so did my aunt. The frustration building inside me was just too much, so I caved and mumbled: "that's bullshit."
"I beg you pardon?" the officer asked, pointing his eyes on me.
For a moment, I thought about not saying a word, it was the most comfortable option. But then I thought about his words again, and rage came back. "I said that's bullshit," I looked at my uncle, staring down at me with dead eyes, "uncle Michael, you should know better than anyone else Tyler didn't drink."
My uncle sighed and then spoke to me with the condescending tone one would use on a five year-old. "Son, I'm sure Tyler used to tell you that only to keep you away from drinking some day."
"No, no, no," I shook my head nervously, "that was something he was really proud of-- no. I'm sorry, I gotta leave," and I stormed off, out of the house.
As I walked around the streets of Queens, my mom called me a few times. I picked up the third time she called. "I'm sorry, mom. I can't stay there any longer. I'm just going for a walk. I'll see you at home."
I reached the front of a bar. It was cold, that day, but the frustration and the fast walk had me almost sweating, so I unzipped my jacket.
I stared at the bar from the outside, at its cracked walls and dirty windows, wondering if I really wanted to go in. I looked at some of the people sitting at the tables outside. They were over their forties, constantly coughing, breath coming out of their mouths. I felt like I was about to cry. But I didn't have to cry. I told myself that was no place for a man to cry. They would all make fun of me. They would all laugh, and that would just make me mad. So I tried to stay strong, breathing fast, hands shaking. I felt another panic attack coming. That would've been even worse than crying. Had to breathe... in and out... in and out.
"So, Peter, are you going to go in there and offer me something to eat or not?" a weird raspy voice asked right behind me.
I almost jumped, before I turned around. Standing a few inches away from me was an old man, with a wrinkly face and long black unwashed hair, falling down on his shoulders. His head slightly down, dark eyebrows covering his hollow eyes. He was tucked inside an old brown jacket, and was wearing fingerless gloves, and some worn-out, tattered pants.
At that point, my heart was about to beat out of my chest, and my shaking hands even began to sweat. "I-I'm sorry. Do I know you?" I murmured.
"Peter," he said, raising his right hand up in front of his chest, "you know who I am." And, as soon as he raised his head, I realized that his hollow eyes, that I thought to be as dark as the rest of him, were actually bright. Brighter than anything I'd ever seen. And along with his eyes, everything around him started to shine of a sun-like bright light, so much so that I could only see his dark silhouette, with the hand still raised.
I blinked a few times, and the light was gone. Everything was back to being grey, like before. And he was back to being all dark, with his head down.
"Of course," I said.
"So, are we going to eat or not? I'm starving," he said.
So I walked into the bar, with the homeless man right behind me. "A sandwich, please. And a Pepsi," I said to the bartender.
"Aren't you going to eat?" the homeless man asked me.
"I'm not exactly feeling like eating," I answered.
We sat outside, even though it was cold. He started devouring his sandwich, as I nervously sipped at the Pepsi. "So," I said, a little too loud, "do you actually even need to eat?"
"You don't even imagine," he mumbled, food still in his mouth.
"Listen," I said, putting down the glass, "I know you're busy, with all your being omnipotent and whatnot, but you seem to have enough time to scrounge dinner from a fifteen year-old. I understand that, when it comes to you, I'm basically nothing--"
"Come on now," he said, still eating.
"But since we're here, right now," I kept talking, "I may just as well ask you: do you enjoy taking happiness away from people?"
"What are you talking about, son?" he asked without looking at me.
"Don't call me that," I said, "I'm not your son. And you know damn well what I'm talking about."
"Peter, you can't be mad at me," he said.
"I can," I replied, "and I am. I'm mad at you. I'm beyond mad. What's your excuse, uh? Is this-- is making me miserable-- is it all part of your big cosmic plan? A gigantic scheme to make my life pitiful? Is that it?"
"If I told you it were," he finally looked away from his sandwich and met my eyes, "what would you do?"
I opened my mouth, ready to speak, but nothing came out. I looked down for a moment, and then I looked at him again. "I would beg you to bring him back."
"Is that what you would do?" he asked, "you'd beg me to bring him back?"
"Yes," I said, "and you could do that, couldn't you?"
He sighed. "I wanna take you somewhere."
"Where--" I was interrupted by a sudden light invading my sight. I couldn't see anything anymore, until the light faded away. We weren't in front of that bar anymore, we weren't even sitting anymore. "Oh, we're already here," I noted. We were now standing in the middle of a road, staring at the remains of a car, upside down off the road.
There were a bunch of people surrounding the scene, mostly cops, but also some civilians. "Is this what I think it is?" I asked.
"Yes, Peter," the homeless man replied, "this is Tyler's car. This is where the accident happened."
Tears started running down my face, as I looked at the car. Those things, the cars, they look so imposing and indestructible, but they can break like paper. And I couldn't imagine Tyler in there. He looked so imposing and indestructible himself. And yet, he broke just like paper.
"It's okay to cry, Peter," the homeless man said, "let it out."
I wiped the tears away. "Did I do something bad to deserve this? I just don't understand why..."
"It's beyond your understanding, Peter," he said, "I can't explain the reasons of human suffering to someone who wasn't there when Earth was created."
"Then what's the point...?" I looked closely among the people, and recognized someone just as ripped as Tyler. So I moved towards him, the homeless man following me.
"Brad...?" I called the man's attention, and he turned around. His strong facial features, prominent jaw and temple, under his short, buzzcut, blond hair, weren't made for the sad look he was sporting in that moment.
"Yes," he responded.
"Sorry, I recognized you from my cousin's Facebook. I'm Peter... Tyler's cousin."
His eyebrows raised a bit. "Oh, hi, Peter."
That's weird, though. I never had the courage to walk up to someone and talk. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" I asked him.
"Not at all," he said, "what is it?"
"An officer said that they talked to you about the night of the accident," I explained, "and you said you asked Tyler if he wanted to spend the night...?"
"Yeah," he said, "I did. He looked sleepy, so I asked him that. But he said no. He said he had to go home... because he had important matters to deal with in the morning."
"Important matters..." I thought, "Jesus, it's all my fault, see?" I said to the homeless man, "the important matters he had to deal with was me. I can't believe this. I knew he wasn't drunk. He was just sleepy."
"Oh, yeah, definitely," Brad said, "Tyler never drank. If I could go back to that night, I'd insist that he stayed."
"God," I said, and the homeless man raised his head, "I can't believe this. Uncle Michael... UGH! How can you not know your own damn son?! It was what made Tyler... well, Tyler. He never drank. And he was sleepy, but he had to get on the road because he had to keep his promise. This is all my fault."
"Peter, stop this, right now," the homeless man said, "there's no one to blame for this, and, deep down inside, you know that. This just happened. There's nothing you, or anybody else could have possibly done to avoid it. You can't be mad at you, or me, or Tyler."
I started crying again, but I didn't want to get caught, so I put a hand in front of my face.
"You say you believe in fate, right? Well, understand that fate is not only about finding the one, and living happily ever after. Sometimes, fate is unfortunate. Sometimes, fate is unwanted. Fate also comes in the form of death. Death when you're old, death when you're young, death when you're just born. That's the only thing you can expect from fate, and yet you can't know when to expect it."
"Well, it sucks," I said.
"So when I asked you if what you wanted was for me to bring him back," he said, "I knew that's not what you wanted. And you know it too. What you want right now are answers. So, go ahead, ask the questions. I know you're thinking it. So, go ahead."
I stared at the car for a few seconds. "Brad, do you think there's any way this was really an accident due to falling asleep?" I asked.
Brad sighed. "Peter, if you ask me, I'd tell you there's some big conspiracy going on here. I'd tell you it was a hit and run, for sure. There's no way in hell a car would drive off that way on its own."
Deep down inside, I already thought the same thing, but hearing it out loud, from someone else, made everything real. And I hated real. "So we should find out the truth! He deserves that!" I exclaimed.
"Peter," Brad said, "they're never gonna tell you anything. That's how this shitty world works. Just forget it."
"Well, you got your answers," the homeless man said.
I started getting mad again. "Yeah, and what kind of answer is that? To just give up? Let the bad guys win? Yeah, very heroic. Very godly."
"Peter," he said, "I can see right into your future. Where do I see you in five years? A sleepless mess on caffeine trying to fit connections that don't even exist to find out what really happened, while everyone else around you has moved on. Sometimes it is better to just give up. It's what they don't tell you. Sometimes it's better to just give up instead of letting the fight eat you alive."
I wanted to talk, but my mind was drawing a blank.
"I said what you wanted right now were answers..." the homeless man kept talking, "but I didn't tell you that what you really want is to feel better. You want to stop hurting. You want to move on, don't you?"
"I... I do."
"Well, to do that, you have to ask yourself only one thing: what would Tyler want you to do? Would he want you to fight the world to make some meaningless justice for him? Would he want you to be miserable and push everyone away? Or would he want you to take care of yourself, renew your values and keep on living?"
"You-- You're right," I said, "he'd want me to make friends, and fight to keep my relationship with Evelyn alive, he'd want me to go to the gym, he'd want me to keep styling my hair in the morning... he'd want me to be happy..."
"Yes," the homeless man said, and I couldn't help the tears raining down on my face.
"I want to be happy," I sobbed, cupping my hands in front of my mouth, "please, can I just be happy?"
"Have faith, Peter," the homeless man said, putting a hand on my shoulder. And, suddenly, I wasn't on that dreaded street anymore, but, once again, standing in front of the bar. My heartbeat slowing down.
"What--" I turned around, but the homeless man wasn't there anymore. "Oh, come on..."
And, dear Future, where does this story end?
For the moment, let's just say it doesn't end here, with a lost boy in front of a sketchy bar.
Let's say there is a happy ending. It's just a few years down the road, but it is there.
This chapter was inspired by "Sensational Spider-Man vol. 2 #40".
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Hey there, Robbers! Thank you so much for reading. This is one of the chapters I was looking forward to the most, ever since I first started writing this book.
And I really hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it. I love this chapter because it explores Peter's mental illness a bit more, it shows all his insecurities, his sadness, his desire to feel happy and loved. And, mostly, I think it shows just how much of a "lost boy" he really is. He doesn't even know what to believe, what to say, and what to do. And now that he's lost his role model, he's just pushing people away.
This chapter could be seen as a religious point of view on life. Hard to blame you on that. But really, it's all about that "I don't know what to believe" in Peter's growing phase. Besides, I'm not even religious!
Again, thank you for reading, and I'll see you on FRIDAY with the next chapter! Don't forget to VOTE and COMMENT! Until the next one, ta-ta for now!
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