This story is purely fictional. If you are not over the age of 18 or are opposed to this type of material please Do Not Read It. This story belongs to Green and reproductions without permission are not allowed. Please let me know what you think. Email me Greenmeccatoon@Yahoo.com
In 2003 my friend Jonas began a story that he never finished. He passed away in an unfortunate car accident. He tried writing his story twice. He struggled with the story and never fully realized it.
Recently I was given the chance to see his notes on this story and I began to see his vision. A year ago I was approached by someone asking me to finish his story. I was originally opposed to it but as I read his notes I realized that this story deserves to be told.
As a tribute to My friend Jonas, I present to you his story as seen through his notes. I will be writing as Jonas the watcher. Without further ado I present to you:
No Matter How Far
The Watcher's Chronicle
As Written by Green as Jonas The Watcher.
Life's greatest happiness is to be convinced we are loved.
Victor Hugo, Les Miserables, 1862
What is happiness? Maybe it's an unrelenting goal we pour our souls to achieve. Maybe some of us achieve it if only for a few seconds. Maybe some of us are happy if only through the eyes of another. Maybe it's just a lie we hold in our selves. In my mind its just that ever pressing word that motivates us to do things we never thought possible.
One particular person comes to mind as I write this. Mathew Weir is someone I have been watching for a long time. He was once the star of Little River High. The first freshman to make varsity. The schools pride and joy. He had so much, he lost it all so quick.
What Do We Know,
I walk into the schools lobby, Little River High School established 1975, thirty five years of excellence. it says on a bronze plate, I see my face's reflection. I look so old now.
I've been gone for so long, nothing seems the same anymore, yet it's so familiar. Beneath the fresh paint and new lockers there is a history marked on those walls. I was a part of that history once, now I'm just a stranger.
How do I even begin to explain? I was unique. I stood above the rest and I couldn't fail. It took someone greater than me to take me down. My brother took his life. I couldn't deal with it, I found comfort in drugs.
I am a drug addict, I can say that now. Yes I am a drug addict. I've been sober for a year now, yet I still long for it. It gave me so much as it took away my life and my friends. I know I can never go back to it. I've gone so far and coming back here is my last step. I had to face what I had left behind.
I see them, my old friends, they are almost untouchable. I feel dirty in their presence. I'm not good enough to be closer. I'm not worthy of their time. Jessica still has that glow that attracts everyone to her. Ian still wears his fathers letterman jacket. They don't notice me as I walk past them.
I'm back not to regain a glory I lost long ago, but to regain a life I should have kept. I am different now, I belonged here, no I belong here. I won't let it get to me again. I had to regain their trust.
“Hey, I'm glad you came,” says Margaret, the only person I've come to count on.
“It's time, I have to face it.” She smiles.
“But you don't have to face it alone,” she says, holding my hand.
Margaret is the only real person I've met in a long time. The only one that through all of her own problems cares. Even when I'm not at my greatest, she's at my side. When I was lost she was there.
“Come on Matthew, I'll take you to home room.”
We walk by the trophy case. It's filled with statues and plaques of excellence past. Bronze, silver and gold everywhere as well as images of school spirit. I was guided by this shrine, the sole reason I lived.
“Hey come on the bell is going to ring,” says Margaret as she pulls me away from the trophy case.
English class is an experience in agitation. They stare at me with wonder in their eyes. “Who is he?” someone asks. “I think he used to come here,” says another.
I am a whisper now, an old rumor once told amongst them. They are so pure to me. I see the clean white lives they live, free of the reality I once touched and I envy them. I envy their laughter, their false sense of what is real and the naivety that comes with being young.
“You are still young aren't you?” asks the watcher.
Yes, but I no longer have what they have. As far as I am concerned I have been through hell, only to realize that I am nothing if I don't regain the meaning my life once had, that nothing I've learned matters if I don't put it to use and face my past.
I see Ian Lewis, my former best friend, now I'm just a memory long forgotten. I am sitting three feet away Ian, he doesn't notice me. The last time I saw Ian was a year ago, before I overdosed.
“Dad is going to ring my ass today, I missed practice yesterday,” Ian says to another class mate.
“Well, what do you expect? You missed the homecoming practice,” the other Kid I vaguely remember replies, I think his name Is Reese.
“You should talk to him,” says Margaret.
“Not yet. I can't walk over there and say, hi Ian, remember me? We used to be friends but I stopped being your friend when I got addicted to drugs. I went through rehab and now I'm back. Then he wont ever be my friend again.”
“Why is he so important?” asks the Watcher.
He, well at one time he was somebody I secretly loved. I guess I still love him. He never knew how I felt and he won't ever know. Right now I'd be happy if he even talks to me. The only thing we had in common was football. We'd talk for hours about our games, our victories, our losses, it was enough to keep our friendship alive.
“Turn to page thirteen, read chapter one and answer the review questions on page sixteen,” says the teacher in his monotone voice.
Jessica notices me during lunch, she stares for a long time before she walks over to me. “Matthew?” she asks. Her smile still hides the troubled person beneath.
“Hi Jennifer,” I reply.
“Oh my god, you're back.” She hugs me. “Where have you been,” She asks, still hugging me.
“Well, I was in,” I begin to say, but I can't tell her.
“You were where?”
“I was up north,” I lie.
“I'm so glad you're back. Does Ian know?”
“I haven't been able to talk to him,” I say, she nods. “I don't know if that's a good Idea.”
“Yeah I barely talk to him myself these days, Jessica is very jealous, you know?”I nod. “Well I'm glad to see you, keep in touch.” she says, giving me another hug and then she walks away.
I met Jessica when we were five. She sat next to me in Kindergarten and we were friends ever since. She was the first one that knew I was gay.
“Why was she the first to know?”
Because she was the first to notice. She asked me herself and I gave her an answer, I knew I could trust her. She never made it a big deal but accepted the fact that I am gay.
I sit alone on one of the lunch tables by the windows. I watch a couple of kids throwing stuff at some kid. He looks pretty mad. They all laugh as he runs away. I always wonder why they put up with the taunting. Across the lunch room I notice Ian talking to Jennifer, they seemed happy.
I don't know many of the kids that go here. Everyone is so different since I left. So much diversity among everyone. I wonder in which category or group I'll be placed. Will I become one of the invisible kids that no one knows, or one of the preps, or better yet one of the Stoners.
I have one goal and that's to regain what I once had, without involving football. I had friends and family now I have a mother that can't speak to me, my father pities me and my brother, well what more can I say.
They never found his body, my mother still thinks that he's alive. I found the note on the table that my brother left behind. I ran all the way to the bridge, getting there as he fell. He fell until I couldn't see him anymore. They searched for days, all they found was one of his shoes.
It got to me, I let myself think that his death was my fault. Drugs took those thoughts from me, giving me chemical freedom. The last time I took drugs, they found me next to a dumpster close to death.
My mother had me placed in Rehab. It took me a long time to face what I had done. I had so much, so very much. I never thought of my parents, they could have both of their sons, now I'm a stranger in their house and Jason is gone.
After rehab I found myself unable to face those that I had hurt. I couldn't face Ian or Jennifer. I had let the team down on homecoming weekend. To my parents I was now an obligation, not a son. I had my parents enroll me at a boarding school where I could be away from it all.
Margaret gave me the strength. Unconditionally she gave me her friendship and guided me through everything, guiding me back here.
“Students I would like to introduce you to a new student,” says the teacher. “This is Tony farmer.”
I look up to see him, Tony Farmer. I watch as he sits next to Ian. I can already tell this kid is going to be football material. I notice something in Ian I've never seen before, he likes this kid.
“How do you know?”
He's giving that kid the same look I used to give him. It's the subtle way he glares at him. Look he blushes as that guy says something to him. The way he keeps looking over when he thinks Tony isn't looking.
I see Ian again as I exit the school. He is sitting with Jennifer his girlfriend on the hood of his car. They were talking to some other kids. I head past them, walking towards my car. I wonder if she knows?
“That's not who I think it is, is it?” I hear him say as I walk past him.
“What are you talking about?” Jessica replies.
“That's Matthew Weir. You know, he used to play varsity freshman year,” he says as I got into my car. “We were friends.” I pretend that I don't hear him.
I miss the days when football was my life. Letterman jackets, pep rallies and big rivalry games, of all those things, I miss the comradeship the most. I belonged to something and it made me feel worthy.
“What makes you say that?”
Well, when I played I was on top of the world. A freshman playing varsity and a starter to boot. Now I'm just an old story those who remember share. I'm that guy that used to do this, that did that. Now I'm the guy that overdosed and let everyone down.
As I drive past them, Ian looks at me. I fight the urge to stop. His deep blue eyes cut through me, slowing time.
I find solace In one thing, my paintings. It's something I never knew I could do. Now it keeps me occupied. I paint what I feel, I paint to get release from the bad moments in my life, I paint when I get cravings.
“I like it,” says Margaret. “It's really dark, though.”
“I painted this one the first week out of rehab.” The painting is of a red tree in the middle of a black grass field.
“You should ask your mother to get you a show at her gallery.”
“No I don't think that's a good idea.”
“Why not? I know your mother will do it.”
“It's not that simple Maggy,” I say. “My mother Barely talks to me these days.”
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
“No It'll only make it worst. It's how she deals.”
“Well anyways I have good news. I'm playing one of the leads in the play,” she says, smiling.
“What's the play?”
“Where doing “Titus Andronicus” it's Shakespeare.”
“I know what it is, who are you playing.”
“I am playing Lavinia.”
“Doesn't she get raped?”
“And her tongue gets cut off,” she says. “But Mr, Bryan is cutting the rape part out. He says it isn't appropriate for high school.”
“Well you know, we might just go out and copy those things,” I joke.
“Oh god your morbid,” she says looking at her watch. “Hey I have to go, my mom said she wanted me home before dinner time.”
“Come on I'll take you home.”
Margaret, isn't what you'd call well off. She lives with her mother and two sisters in a small apartment. She always wears hand me downs, along with the few clothes her mother can make. Yet she's one of the most genuine people I've ever met.
She struggles so hard working two jobs just to help her mother make ends meet. My mother offered her a job at her gallery but she refused. I think it embarrasses her that we know her situation. If anybody deserves anything good, It's her. She's the most selfless person I have ever met.
“I'll pick you up tomorrow morning,” I say, pulling up to her apartment building.
“Alright, I'll see you in the morning,” she says as she gets out of the car. I notice how thin she looks.
There is someone's car in my driveway. The person is sitting on the front step of my house. “Hey were you looking for someone,” I ask but he doesn't answer.
“Hey were you looking for someone?” He looks up at me, It's Ian and he's crying.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to park in your house. I have no where else to go,” he says.
I take him inside. He has a cut above his forehead and a big bruise under his eye. “Who did this?” I ask, he doesn't answer me. “Did you get into a fight with someone?”
“You could call it a fight.”
I pull him to the bathroom, I take off his shirt, There are more bruises all over his ribs and stomach area. “Take a shower I'll get you a towel and then we can clean up that cut.”
“Are you going to tell me who did this?” I ask as I clean his cut.
“It was my father,” he says.
“Coach Lewis?” I ask, he nods. “Why would he do this.”
“Ahh, that hurts.”
“It's alcohol, it'll sting a little.”
“Sorry I'm a little out of it,” he says. I'd be a little out of it too if my father beat the shit out of me. “My father he, well let's just say he doesn't approve of me.”
“I don't understand,” I say, handing him a bag of ice.
“I'm gay,” he says, “I like guys.”
“I'm sorry Ian,” I say, holding his arm. “You can stay here, if you want.”
“Yeah,” I say leading him towards my room. “I still have the bunk beds.”
“I remember those,” he says, startled when he sees all my paintings. “You did all these?”
“Yeah I started to paint a year ago,” I answer him.
I watch him as he looks at my paintings, I feel like I am doing the same thing he is doing. I admire his beauty, even when he's broken he's beautiful to me.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.
“Yeah what's up?”
“Where did you go?”
“Well, that's a long story.”
“We have time,” Ian says, sitting next to me.
“Well after my brother died, I dealt with it with something I shouldn't have. I got into drugs, a lot of them. I was doing them for months, more and more every day until I got addicted. One day they found me next to a dumpster, I overdosed. My parents put me in rehab, and after I got out, I was too ashamed to face anybody so I had my parents enroll me at a private school up north.”
“I never knew you were going through all these things,” Ian says, holding my hand. “You should have told me.”
“I didn't tell anyone, not even my parents. They never knew I was addicted until they found drugs in my room.”
“There was a rumor around school that you were sent to military school.” I laugh.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh.”
“It's Ok,” he says, pulling my hand closer. “When I was younger I used to like you. I thought that you were so perfect. To me you had everything and anything you could ever want, but I wanted you. I still want you, I know you aren't gay and,” I stopped him.
“Wait you used to like me?” he nods. “I used to like you. I can't believe it.”
“Do you still like me?” he asks.
“Well, yeah I do.” I say as he leans closer to me, gently pulling my head closer. I panic and I move away. “I don't think that's such a great Idea.”
“Why not?” he asks. “I really like you Matthew.”
“Because I don't think it's appropriate after all you've been through. Come on, let's go to bed.”
Ian sleeps so peacefully, I tossed and turned, eventually I just watched him sleep. Could I be happy with him? Can I be happy with? I have so many questions and I am a skeptical person by nature. How is it that on the first day I'm back Ian wants to be my boyfriend?
“Don't you want him?” Asks the watcher. “I thought you loved him”
I do love him but something tells me that it's too easy. Things like this do not happen, especially not to someone like me.
“Well Ian you can stay here as long as you like, I'll make up the spare room for you,” says my mother as we ate breakfast. “Matthew do you want more,” I shake my head.
“Thank you Mrs. Weir,” Ian says as she fills his plate. “I don't mean to put you out.”
“No Ian It's alright, and call me Janet.”
I am annoyed. I know my mother so well, Ian is another Jason for her. I see it in the way she treats him, Jason was her favorite son.
“Do I sense Jealousy?”
Yeah, you can say that. I was jealous of my brother when he was alive, I thought that I had to be just like him if I wanted my parents attention. My mother barely says a word to me in months, yet she treats Ian like he's her own son. How do I respond to that? I am grateful for what they have done, I really am, but would it kill them to treat me like their son, like I'm here?
“Matthew can you pass your father the orange juice,” my mother asks. I hand it to him.
“So your father did all this?” asks my father, pointing to the cuts and bruises on Ian's face.
“Yeah. He said I'm not a real man and I would never be one in his eyes,” Ian says as tears form under his eyes.
“That is a bit harsh isn't it? Why would he say such hurtful things?” my mother ask Ian, handing him a handkerchief.
Ian hesitates for a second, looking at me to see if he should go on, I nod. “Well my father found out that I am gay.”
My father's face twists with anger. My mother grabs Ian's hand.
“I have a few phone calls to make,” my father says, standing up. He leaves the room.
“Why don't you guys head for school, we'll talk later,” my mother says.
“What are you going to tell Jennifer?” I ask Ian.
“I don't know.”
“I think you should keep away from Coach Lewis,” says my mother.
“I think that's a very good Idea, I don't think I'll be going to practice any time soon,” says Ian.
“Alright, I have to go pick up a friend so I'll meet you at school.”
“Do you think I could ride in with you?”
“Come on I don't want to be late.”
Something is Definitely wrong at school. Everyone is running around crazy. Ian runs by me, pulling me with him. “Run Matthew,” he yells. We make it halfway to the front doors when I hear a loud sound, followed by a horrible pain.
I fall as Ian screams, blood spreads beneath me and my vision blurs. “Matt,” I hear Ian say before everything goes dark.
“Welcome,” the man before me says.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“What you forget me already? I'm the watcher, I believe we've spoken before.”
“You just died.”