blister re desteve, oihostaziyn ñadru estos (7296)

Justin Lo


He told me to meet him at the beach, as usual.  There was this plain wooden bench where we would go every Sunday and kiss the hell out of each other.  It had this surrealistic quality because only the old people ever went by that part of the beach, and they liked the mornings better.  We had that place all to ourselves in the evenings.  We used to laugh about how we could do it right there and no one would notice us.  The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that it’d be cooler to feel the petals fall on that bench than in some stupid room.


I walked over there as usual, still wearing my school uniform.  Everyone looked at me weird, probably because none of the other girls would ever be caught wearing their uniform at nine at night.  But I sure as hell didn’t want to go home, so I was just drifting down Main Street the whole afternoon, checking out the new clothes and stuff.


Today I decided I’d circle around and get to the bench the way he always did.  His route came from the other side of town, where he lived.  I’d never tried this before, so I thought it’d be cool to be in his shoes for a bit.  Sure, it was a roundabout way of getting there, but I didn’t have to meet him til ten.  And if we didn’t have to meet til ten, there was no way he’d be there before ten.  Trust me, I know him.  We’ve been stuck together for like three years now.


The street was so damn slimy.  I couldn’t help but look around to make sure no one was going to try and mug me from behind one of those rusty trash bins.  Towards the end of the alley, I suddenly saw a figure in front of me.  He was wearing a dark jacket and dark pants so it was really hard to see him, but judging from his build he seemed like an average guy.  The six foot type.


He was walking and walking, almost trudging I guess.  It looked like the rainwater that was left on the ground was actually bubblegum cuz his feet didn’t really lift very much.


Suddenly, he stopped.  Naturally, I stopped, too.  I didn’t want him to notice me.  I wasn’t stupid – I knew what happened in these sorts of alleys.  But I can take care of myself – I’ve won every fight I’ve been in, and they haven’t been slap-n-scratch fights, either.


I still couldn’t see the guy’s face, but I realized he was approaching another dude who was waiting, leaning against that brick wall with a look of utter idleness on his face.  Looked like a jerk to me.  They seemed to talk civilly enough for a few minutes, kinda buddy-buddy, and they ended with a pleasant punch in the shoulder.  Except then I saw this flash of silver and they were really at it.


The guy who was leaning against the wall jumped over an empty cardboard box and kicked it towards the guy in the jacket.  He lunged forward with the knife and tried to slash at his distracted opponent, but to no avail.  The jacket dude punched the box out of the way and threw the knife at the other man, who wasn’t prepared to dodge.  The knife slowly lodged itself in the victim’s chest, sorta sliding in smoothly and sensually.


No matter how many fights I’d been in, I was still a schoolgirl and this was all a bit shocking to me.  I was gonna watch a guy die.  I probably would’ve called the police, but something made me stay frozen for awhile longer.


The man in the jacket approached the fallen one slowly.  In the movies, the one on the ground always surprised the overconfident aggressor.  But the man in the jacket wasn’t about to bask in his victory.  He gave the man on the ground a harsh kick in the head.  I could hear something break, but I wasn’t about to go through and consider what it might’ve been.


By now the blood was everywhere.  The murderer grunted and reclaimed his knife.  Then, he started dragging the body with one arm under each armpit.  I realized that I was hiding behind the nearest dumpster, and I was quite frankly terrified.  Should I run?  Should I stay here and hope he doesn’t notice?  Should I try to kill him?


It was already too late, though.  The murderer was just inches from me.  He tossed the body into the dumpster and then turned towards me.  I could see his face now.  And he looked more scared than me.


“M-M-Melody?!” he croaked, seemingly in recognition.


I studied the face more closely and I realized that it was him.  On his way to the bench as usual, I guess.


“Do you like to do this every day before you meet me?” I asked.  I felt strangely calm and cordial.


His face became contorted, disfigured.  At least that was how it seemed to me.  His face was downright disgusting right then, and I didn’t want to look at it anymore.  But I kept on looking, kept on staring – right into his eyes.  Right into his very soul, as they like to say.


And then I started to cry.