by M.J. Fontana
attempt to save her. I try again to get up, I do. I walk and fall instantly to the forest ground though. Then I hear it, the sound of the car exploding. I close my eyes and reopen them. I stare up at the stars and moon through the branches above me with emptiness inside me. Tears stroll down my face. Kayla is gone; I just had everything I wanted in Kayla moments before. Earlier I was posing for photos with her. I close my eyes, unable and unwilling to move from where I lay.
22
I’m in an endless area surrounded by bright white light all around me. Confused I continue to walk with no clear destination in mind. The ground below me transforms into bright lush green grass. I continue walking. The area above me transforms into a cloudless blue sky with the sun so bright that I have to shield my eyes from it with my arm. I continue walking until I trip and fall onto the grass. From the ground I turn around to see what I tripped over. “Are you okay,” Kayla asks me lying on her back holding back laughter from my fall. The moment doesn’t feel authentic because I’m aware that Kayla has died from the accident. I don’t even think about questioning where I am because I don’t care. All I know is that I’m with Kayla now. I move closer to her and like her lie on my back looking above at the blue, cloudless sky. She takes my hand and grabs it. I want this to last forever, but it doesn’t. Abruptly, I don’t feel her hand against mine. I turn and she is gone. Fighter jets fly past me from above, leaving a trail of white streaks in the blue sky. I hear sounds of bombs going off in the distance. I open my eyes. My parents look down at me. I lay in pain on a hospital bed. “What happened,” I ask. “You were in an accident, you been out for two weeks,” my mom responds. “Kayla died, didn’t she,” I ask. My mom and dad both look down at the floor beneath them.
With crutches I walk down Kayla’s driveway. When I reach the front door, I knock. Kayla’s dad opens the door. “I’m so sorry,” I say tears crawling down my face uncontrollably. He opens the door wider to let me in. I close the front door behind me, and follow Kayla’s dad into the living room. I take a seat on the green linen couch placing my crutches at my side. “It wasn’t your fault. She loved you, you know. I never seen her that happy before,” he says taking a gulp from a can of beer clutched in his hand.
I let the natural silence ensue between us. I know it wasn’t my fault, someone in the car behind our limousine fired something in his hand and it all happened so fast after that. I’m certain the outlined figured I made out that night whom fired at our limousine was Joey Fontane but I don’t know for sure. “I loved her,” I say unable to hold back tears. “Let me get you a beer,” Kayla’s dad says getting up from the couch and into the kitchen. His body language is of a man who is defeated. He hands me a can of beer. “Kayla is buried at Hill Cemetery.” “Or that’s what we try to tell ourselves because her body,” he says before I interrupt him. “I understand,” I say. He takes another gulp of the beer in his hand. “Do you need directions for where it is,” he asks. “No. I know where it is”. I only know because it’s the same cemetery where Mrs. Snow was buried. I hear the front door open. I grab my crutches and walk toward the front door to Kayla’s mom. I drop my crutches on the floor and hug her. She hugs me back while she sobs. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her ear.
I stand in front of Kayla’s grave covered with an abundant amount of flowers. In silence I look down. If this is what life is, I want no part of it.
I walk with the assistance of my crutches among a crowd of students all heading toward the front entrance of the school. “Matt,” someone shouts at me. Caroline walks toward me. “I heard what happened, I’m sorry,” she says. “What is it Caroline,” I ask. “You been gone for two weeks, I should get you caught up,” she says. I continue walking saying nothing. “The rest of the team is dead. Fontane attacked the school. This time it was more personal.” I scratch an itch on my scruffy beard. The physical and mental pain and being out for two weeks hasn’t given me the motivation or the time to care about my appearance. “What are you talking about Caroline?”
“Joey Fontane and his gang roamed the hallways took out our team and randomly shot and killed students in classrooms and hallways.” I throw my crutches and toss them to the side in anger. “Don’t you need those,” she asks. “Forget me show me the footage from the surveillance cameras.” “Matt I checked the footage, that’s how I know what happened,” she says. “I limp slowly away from her. She catches up to me. “I want to see it so I could feel the pain of what happened,” I say.
Caroline tries to help me walk. I wave her off. When we finally reach my headquarters in the abandoned section of the school I take a seat at the desk of televisions in front of me. Caroline plays the footage. I watch Joey Fontane and his gang walk casually through the hallways open firing at anybody who’s in their path. I watch them as I see Justin and the other members put up a fight only to eventually fall to their deaths. I watch them as they storm into classrooms and open fire upon innocent students. In a middle of a lecture taking notes I imagine. Then the footage cuts off.
At the end of the day I walk in pain still without my crutches to assist me and go through the door that leads to the roof of the school. I feel at peace up here watching as students get onto their busses to be taken home, seniors one day closer to graduation.
I look down from the roof at the parking lot in silence until a loud explosion startles me and then another. Two busses exploded. I lift myself up, taking me three attempts to get up. I look helplessly down at the bus parking lot as students who didn’t get on their bus yet run back toward the school; others run off their busses. A minute later another bus explodes damaging the ones parked next to it as well.
I walk as fast as I could to the exit door from the roof. I push through the pain. Another loud explosion followed by shouts of terror. I open the door and hold the stair railings as I make my way down and into the hallway. I want to run but the pain coercing through my body makes it impossible. Finally, I make it outside to the parking lot of terrified students. I hear some crying. Caroline finds me and stands next to me. “When will this all end,” she murmurs to herself. Another bus explodes, then another. Caroline and I along with the rest of the student body watch the random busses explode right in front of our eyes. What hope do you feed the student body when you have no desire to live and no hope to offer? A thick billow of grey smoke rises from the bus parking lot into the air as each and every bus explodes simultaneously.
The next day after school I walk gingerly into the run down bar to talk to Bruce. He sits alone at the bar talking to the same bartender that worked the last time I came. I take a seat to his left. He turns in my direction and waves off the bartender to give us privacy. “Set me up with one of Fontane’s men,” I say. “You don’t look so good,” he says. He looks at my thick scruffy beard and unkempt hair. “Set me up with one of Fontane’s men,” I repeat. “You’re not going to just be able to go in there and shoot him. He does have security, you know,” he says. “I don’t plan on being armed,” I say. “’I just want to talk to him.” “What you want to see him and have a nice little chat,” he asks. “Set me up with one of Fontane’s men,” I repeat again. “Fine, fine I’ll let someone know you want to have a meeting with Fontane,” he says. “Good,” I say. I get up from behind the bar and walk in pain slowly toward the exit.
The following day Bruce grabs me at the entrance of the school and pulls me to the side, away from the crowd of students entering the building. “Easy man, that fucking hurts,” I say. “Be at the catwalk at noon. Unless it’s a set up you’re going to get that little meeting with Fontane,” Bruce tells me. “Bruce, thank you,” I say. “Don’t thank me”. “I hope you find what you’re looking for after all this,” I say. “Two more weeks then I’m out, and thanks I hope the same for you kid,” he says. I smile and give him a nod as he walks through the front entrance.
It’s 12:20pm. Whoever was supposed to meet me and take me to Fontane is late. “Hands up, turn around slowly,” a man says loudly behind me. I lif
t my hands and turn around. Three men in suits surround me with assault rifles aimed at me. They search me for any weapon that could be used against them. “Clear,” says one of the men. They blindfold me, and then stick a needle into my left arm. Suddenly I feel sleepy, lose my balance, then my eyes close as darkness encloses around me.
I sit on a beach towel next to Kayla at the shore. Victoria walks past us giving me a flirty look in the process. “What is she doing here,” Kayla asks. I look at the scenery around me. Two teams mixed of adults, teens and young kids play volleyball to our left. Victoria is standing at the shoreline where only her feet would get wet after a wave breaks. I see myself, another me walk up to her. I recognize the scene unfolding in front of me. This is the beach I went with Victoria and her family last summer. The beach where Victoria and I snuck off into her room leaving her siblings alone to experience sex for our first time, and where we walked along the shore before the sun would rise, where I knew I wanted to be with Victoria forever.
“Do you still love her,” Kayla asks. “I did love her”. “So you have
