Tuesday November 14th 2028 - 2:35
I hadn’t woken up yet, the previous night I had stayed up too late out of pure fear. I didn’t scream, but the terrors had made me sweat, perspiration leaked into the mattress and my entire body was still, I could barely breathe. Eventually I was able to get up, but by the time I did the chair and the man had disappeared. A figment of my imagination, clearly.
The curtains had been open the entire night, allowing the sun to slowly blaze in, illuminating the room with a golden haze. Eventually I got up, I hadn’t brought much with me, just two sets of clothing stuffed into a backpack, a laptop and a phone.
After a cold shower and dressing, I stumbled downstairs to come across a note, stuck to the kitchen table.
-
Hi.
I’m sorry Jason if I shocked you yesterday, I thought it was best to talk about it in person, not over the phone.
Me and your father have work to do.
There’s food in the fridge.
Welcome Home, Ma x
-
With nothing better to do, I ate and later fell asleep once again.
Up in London I had been trying out freelance work, in addition to a 9-5 three days a week at a Tescos. Something you had to get used to was the decimation of the local store, big brands were all there was, and therefore rearranging my days for this week weren’t easy, but I needn’t be back until Thursday, not to mention an extra work day next week. If the funeral was on Wednesday, everything could be fine. As far as I was concerned, Monday didn’t happen.
Tuesday November 14th - 5:00
Once my sleep had failed me I decided the best course of action was some kind of walk. I needed some way to discover more about who I had met on Monday.
Could I tell Ma?
No, of course not.
In a somber situation the last thing I needed was her thinking I was playing some horrendous prank on her.
Painstakingly, I went over the details I could remember of the man I met on Monday… tall, slim, blonde and supposedly with much knowledge of me, as much as the real Billy would have had.
Assuming the real Billy had lost some weight and gotten taller, it was certainly plausible that it was him, if it wasn’t for everything else other than appearance.
I decided it wasn’t worth stressing over, there was nothing I could do until Wednesday, perhaps even talk to his parents, with some discretion, of course.
...
Wednesday November 15th 2028 - 10:28
The funeral was starting in two minutes. The farm was about 3 minutes from a church. Ironically, the cemetery was the closest building to our house.
I was never a fan of funerals, frankly who is? But I’ve never found them emotional as such, more so awkward and unnecessarily so. I’d rather celebrate the life of the dead than turn up in my greyest suit (or my fathers at least, obviously I hadn’t brought one with me) and mourn the life of an important person over the course of a half hour.
My meeting with him yesterday had soured my ability to “mourn” anything. How could I feel loss over someone that I didn’t believe to be dead?
Upon entering the gates I was met by Billy’s parents, only then did it dawn upon me I had no clue of their names at all.
I had only met them twice in my whole life, me and Billy had met randomly one day at age 12, in a random park. I had been on my own, sitting upon an empty play set, I don’t quite remember what I was doing, probably on my phone. Some older teens had come across me, and jumped over the fence.
There were three or four, each wearing some kind of face covering, clearly wannabe criminals but incompetent in their own way. I think we all know someone of the sort, the upper middle class white boys who wish they were born into poverty to the extent of justifying their shenanigans, dressing in designer clothing but the kind that emulates ripping and tears, whilst still not being able to let go of the logos.
They were calling out towards me, asking to come with them to “go play”. Not in the friendly “lets go do something” way, in the mocking, harsh “we think you look vulnerable” way. I remember climbing onto the top of the wooden house connected to a slide, beyond where anyone would reasonably be able to get to without some agility. Billy had seen from some distance, himself with some friends, and shoved them away, clearly knowledgeable as to their identities and how to deal with those kinds of teens.
I think it goes without saying that me, the younger farm boy who barely went into town, was somewhat concerned until he invited me down. I was required to bike in for 20 minutes to get somewhere like this to escape the monotony of rural Essex and yet I still did so nearly every day for a little while in the hopes of seeing Billy, later building up a larger group of friends, each with their own distinct and recognisable strange aspects. I suppose we bonded through it. I was from out of town, some were black, some were simply just unpopular, and we ended up attracting a few gothic or punk friends as a result. In a strange, disconnected world on the boundaries of the country you learn to stick close to those who understand things that seemed so grandiose and strange but later we learned to be trivial. Billy seemed like the outsider to the outsiders in a way, the only one to be perfectly regular, but fitting in all the same. Perhaps the mere ability to accept others for who they are with kindness is itself strange and unusual. I wish I had thought to ask Billy where they were now, before he seemingly disappeared from my life altogether in less than ten minutes.
I entered the gates of the church, meeting Billy’s parents. His mother was standing at the gate, wearing strangely informal and bright clothing for the occasion. I assume it was her job to invite in friends and family with her husband standing behind, quietly acknowledging all who entered. Frankly, she looked completely out of it, the kind of face you’d expect a friendly invitation from as much as a knife to the gut.
“Jason?”
“Yes Miss, I am truly so-”
“Save it kid, I’ve heard it enough times. Ain’t your fault anyhow… or so I hope”
The call out was abrupt but in a strange way comforting. When speaking to relations of the deceased there is a strange inability to be genuine, as if you need to tread on thin glass out of fear of poking a soft spot that causes a person to break. I had never lost someone close to myself, I suppose this made a first, but Billy was more of a connection to the past rather than a connection at all. The announcement that she was sick of the pedantic glass treading allowed me some level of comfort, not to mention relatability. In a strange way I felt responsible. The fact I had met him only two days prior was dawning upon my mind as a dream experience. It was simply impossible and that was it, but what about my mind had conjured up such a conveniently timed illusion?
I didn’t quite know how to respond, and so continued on into the courtyard, giving a brief nod to his father on the way in, the universal male language.
The procession passed in a blur, it was clear to me that Billy’s family wasn’t a religious one, the funeral was quick and had none of the bible verses or latin talk I would have expected. Some family members weren’t even in black. I think I saw a kid in a star wars tee shirt.
Afterwards we moved outside, to the procession going on in the courtyard, a general “last goodbye” on behalf of those who knew him. Not to mention seeing the coffin finally go down. Part of my morbidity had to wonder what form of death had befallen him other than its self-inflicted nature, morbidity secured within the fact it was a closed casket - perhaps that was simply his family’s method.
When around the coffin, I saw out of the corner of my eye a girl crying, around the same age of Billy, I would’ve assumed a sister if she hadn’t been on her own, nowhere near the rest of the family. I couldn’t turn and look to get a better idea out of fear of being seen, but I think I had an idea of who I was looking at.
...
“Excuse me Miss.”
The procession was over. Billy’s father had spoken to me after the fact, apologising for his wife's “inconsiderate nature”, I don’t think he realised said nature had calmed me, and invited me over to their house alongside other guests. I declined, politely of course, I needed to get out of here as soon as possible, but there was one thing I wanted to make clear.
“Yes?”
The girl looked about 19, maybe 20. Her hair was blonde and short, reaching about as far as her cheeks, which appeared to have some blush. I wouldn’t have noticed if not for the tears parting a line through it.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how exactly were you related t-”
“I’m not. I was dating Billy before it happened. I never would have known, he was so kind and happy all the time.”
More interruptions, I see. Either Billy attracted a type or this was simply the effect loss had upon people. I wasn’t too sure I was feeling it myself by this point.
“Ah. Thank you, I was facing a similar conflict and was wondering if you would have any information regarding his state.”
I couldn’t help but notice how blank and boring I was sounding, there was something corporate within my voice.
“I suppose it's my turn to reverse the question then, who are you?”
“I was a friend of his around secondary age. We used to hang… spend time together”
“Name?”
“Jason, I hadn’t seen him for a while, I don’t know if he would have mentioned me when you two met.”
“Actually we were together for two years.”
Two years? He sure didn’t mention that in the car. More fuel to the fire that told me it didn’t even happen. The concept of a boy I hadn’t seen in years being in a relationship isn’t a hard one for the mind to conjure up. Distinct details however take a bit more knowledge. She continued.
“I don’t believe he ever mentioned specific friends from his younger years in general, I heard of a friend group called the Outsiders.”
I wouldn’t say it was “our name”, moreso something others would call us as an insult. Interesting to know he took ownership of it…
“Ah… I see… your name Miss?”
“Angela. And I think I’m leaving now.”
“I take it you aren’t going with the others?”
“I never even saw inside his parents house, let alone know them well enough to take a ride with them. Seems he barely knew them himself.”
“I know this is a strange request, and I’m sure you’re not exactly in a great place, but would you be able to speak later? I can’t explain it but I need to know what happened.”
I was trying to be respectful. But it seemed I had kicked the hornets' nest.
She loudly scoffed at my question.
“With all due respect,” she said, voice cutting, “I just met you and I’m not your Watson. If you want to make our life a puzzle you can keep that mystery to yourself.”
She quickly left after that. This clearly wasn’t the time.
My quest to learn more about my friend had been lost.
My only way out now was to forget all about it and return to London, keep running away from my family, friends and past and simply move on. Or to track down the others.
It would have been smarter to move on, but I’ve never been one for intelligence anyway.