End Of 1865: Day 1

End of 1865

By: Christian David Gonzalez

DAY 1:

Not a single muscle, bone or tendon would cooperate with my mind. The ice-cold air went through every single cell this hollow body of mine held. I will never forget the look in her eyes. Death itself engaged me, seeing right through me. My eyes turned away since I couldn’t bear to see my mother lay in her deathbed. Focused on my feet, I ran my hands through my smooth brown hair, hoping to inhale a lung full of relief. But then it happened. The exasperating beeping of the machine went flat. Part of me had died instantly while the rest just slowly tried to hold itself together. Just as I looked up at my mother’s empty body, a stampede of white coats had managed to burst into the room, surrounding her. They were determined to give back something that didn’t belong to them, to any human being. Life isn’t given or taken. It’s earned by looking out for it. “I’m sorry for your lose Mr. Smith. We tried our best…”

My eyes immediately opened. The lovely New Yorkian sun embraced me with its presence and filled me up with its optimistic warmth. Slowly my heart-beat went back to its regular pace. I couldn’t get a grip on why I had been having this excruciating dream lately. After tossing and turning for a good 30 minutes, I realized how late it was. Another tardy would definitely get me removed from Steinhardt. I quickly gathered myself back together and got out of bed. My head was pounding harder than a group of Aztecs hitting their drums as praise to their false gods. Having a couple of drinks to bring myself to rest wasn’t that great of an idea, but it was definitely worth the try. I smoothly dashed through the kitchen and out the door, quickly grabbing all belongings on the way out. Magneto doesn’t have shit on my “Grab n’ Go” skills. As I reached the lobby, I heard someone yell my name.

“Craig! Wait up you fucking ass-wipe!”

I recognized that voice, but my tongue stumbled upon the lad’s name. Wilton? That would be an obnoxious name to be given. “You fucking walk too fast man. Can’t you just wait for me in the corridor?!” the young adult said loudly. Puzzled and frantic about his long greasy hair, I kept walking away until it hit me, His name is Wilson Convoy. Born and raised in the city of Miami. Blonde hair with blue eyes and annoyingly tall is how I would best describe him. Wilson is not too great at knowing when to stop talking. Continuously nags about how high he was last night or how hammered he got the morning of. If whoever created Earth decided to make a compilation between mankind and a bird, Wilson would be the final product. “Dude, you should seriously get out of your boring ass apartment sometime soon and hit the streets with me!” he said perturbed.

“Listen mate, what I do with my life is none of your business, alright?”

“Calm down Mr. Potter. Sorry for stepping on your broomstick…”

At last, I had managed to make Wilson quiet as a tree. Not for long but I should still feel accomplished for bringing him to silence. We chatted about how our weekends went, laughing hysterically at the fact that our answers never change. After walking a couple of blocks down Bartow Avenue, we reached our destination. Fellas, welcome to our Alcatraz, Steinhardt University, the playground to the wealthiest lads in New York and utopia to the passionate artistic minds of our city. Another semester had begun, which meant only one thing to Wilson and I, girls, girls and more girls.

The courtyard has never been as full as it was that day. It felt as if I was part of the world’s largest ant colony. I mean people were everywhere, LITERALLY everywhere. We had to push our way through just to reach the “Student Schedules” table on the far left side. May I say, it was the hassle of a life time. Last time I recalled using so much power and will, was back in Oxford, my hometown. It was winter; snow rapidly fell from the sky. Felt like if I was walking through clouds, making it difficult to know where I was walking. Growing up in a broken home wasn’t very easy as others may say. Never knew who my father was until my mother was laid to rest. I will never know why my father did it. Repeatedly stabbing a skinhead doesn’t bring justice to this corrupted world, it just made him part of it. We became strangers. Mum always told me, “You know he loves you right?” That phrase became part of my morning routine. Repeatedly thrown at my small white ears, but never once ever penetrated the walls of hatred and disappointment I had towards what society calls “my father”, until May 19, 2007. It was a very weird day in town. Crime rates had been increasing for a good couple of days; it made it hard to feel safe on your way to places. It’s a Saturday that I will never forget. I remember looking at the rusty old clock hanging on the faded wall in the room. 9:25pm: my mother slowly opened her eyes. I could see the pain she was going through just by starring into her ocean-blue eyes. She waved at me and gestured for me to come over. “Craig…” she said in her angelic voice.

“I’m sorry for all I have put you through. You’re a good kid with a beautiful heart. Hopefully how I lived my life doesn’t make you ashamed of me, but please promise me you will give your father a chance. Just. One. More…chance.” As soon as she whispered this to me, I witnessed life being taken from her. I watched those slowly sink into my heart. I knew what I had to do. Next thing I knew I was sitting in front of a window. Blended by where I was, I realized there was another shape on the other side of the window. Could it be him? The one person I’ve hated with my guts over the last couple of years? I slowly reached out for the phone hanging from the right side of the window. “Hello?” I nervously forced those words out of my system.

“Hey there son…glad I finally get to meet you.”

LOOK OUT! - My face smashed into the tree, falling on my back, with excruciating stinging pain in my nostrils, I quickly tried to shake it up and walk away. But that tree really hit home. After admiring the courtyard on my ass down there for a good minute, a hand was extended in front of me. The sweet scent quickly woke me up. My eyes locked onto to those beautiful polished fingers. I slowly looked up, to finally see the beauty behind the enchanting scent. There she was. Her gorgeous dirty blonde hair became one with wind, being blown away and having a mind of its own. Those light green eyes of hers, fiercely pierced through the dark thoughts my mind had clogged up and once again I felt the light of day. “Are you okay?” that’s all it took for her to quietly snatch my heart out of place and place it in her back pocket. I’d never saw myself falling in love at the age of 19, but I guess love is just like a wave. It can quickly gain strength and its friction will wildly knock you off your feet. “My name is Sarah, Sarah McKinley.” Her gentle pronunciation quickly brought me to my feet. For some reason, her presence made my body feel awkwardly strange. I’d like to think I was under a spell but I finally managed to get some words out of my chest.

“Well, nice to meet you um, Sarah? I’m Craig, Craig Smith” Just throwing it out there, my social skills were pretty much down the drain at that moment. She giggled and with a smirk on her face walked away slowly, looking back every now and then. I’ve never felt the way she made me feel that day. Rarely would I focus on a lady but gosh did she sweep me. No one could know about our encounter, well besides the fact that Wilson was right there. “Were you really standing next to me while all of this was happening?” I asked with a little humor behind my tone.

“Bro, may I say that was some funny shit man!” laughing hysterically after making that statement, we dashed towards our class, unfortunately we shared a classroom.

We managed to make it to class on time, but since we always are shit out of luck, there were no more available seats. “Can you guys just go stand in the back? You are kind of in the way.” Immediately annoyed, I turned around slowly to admire whose high-pitched vocal chords projected that astonishing sentence. She went by the name of Laura Forlin. Not only was she the most popular girl on campus, she also had a big reputation for counseling and not in a good way. Let’s just say her methods involved less talking and more fucking. I mean, according to my faithful resources, which only include Wilson; these methods have done more than just counseling. Let’s just say it brought a cap and gown to her doorsteps. Feeling brave, which rarely happens, I began to gather up some oxygen. My fluent British accent was about to unleash a fury-storm of swears. Suddenly she turned around and hopped right back in the conversation she had been part of before her rude comment. As Wilson and I made our way back, I realized that Laura wasn’t just talking to anyone. She was talking to Her. The girl that made this Oxford soul dwell around the gravity of hope. I stared at her with praise, hoping I would get a smirk back. But all I got was an empty look, a look that made my pale white skin as cold as a glacier. Shocked and puzzled, I still managed to make my way to the back of the classroom without causing some sort of collateral damage. It just didn’t make sense to me. Why would she give me that look? Wilson noticed how bugged I was by the pathetic scene, so he decided to do the usual.

“Ayo, this class already blows man. Want to light one up?”

“You mean a spliff?” I whispered trying not to laugh at the same time.

“Listen man, in AMERICA we call them joints alright? So shut the fuck up and walk with me”.

I find it pretty humorous how half of the “young adults” in this University focus more on drugs and sex than their actual future, but I’m no one to judge knowing that I’m one of them. We secretly made our way to the back of Building-5, what people called in this campus, “the helipad”. For some reason they interpret the art of inhaling ganja as a flight. I would usually mock the bloody hell out of this champs but I could relate to what they were saying. As soon as Wilson pulled the spliff out of his back pocket my nostrils acquired the smell, that natural yet sweet scent. Snapping out of dreamland due to splendid smell, I realized it was my turn to take a puff. I hadn’t taken an inhale in so long I felt embarrassed just by looking at it. Slowly reaching out for it, I made sure I took my sweet time, just to calm my nerves down. I looked up at Wilson and may I say he looked slightly annoyed by my time-wasting motions. “Fuck it.” I put the spliff against my lips and inhaled so hard and deep that my lungs felt like an oven working overtime on a Thanksgiving dinner. It was only a matter of time before I caved in and started my coughing extravaganza. I missed this feeling. Just not caring and flying away from everything. Sometimes we need to just pull back and take some time to relax. We know our problems are going to be waiting for us, so why the rush on getting through them? I had to get a grip of myself before looking like a total idiot in front of everyone so I decided to sit on a bench. Still coughing horribly, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Wow, no invite? I thought we were friends.” smirking throughout the statement. It was her, smiling like if nothing had happened. Oh how I wish I could have spoken my mind, but there was something about this girl that made me…indubitable. I couldn’t help but feel oddly strange. Why was she being nice to me now? Was it that fact that I was nobody in society’s expectations? Or was it the fact that her best friend didn’t find me worthy of exchanging words and stares with. Avoiding the reality of my love life, I started to make my way back to the front of the school with Wilson. His eyes were bloodshot red. No one dared to comment on his eyes. Let’s just say Wilson gets easily irritated when people make statements about his diabolical eyes. I was hoping he didn’t bring up the whole scene with Sarah, at all. Wasn’t quite in the mood for it, but knowing Wilson, I gave it a couple of minutes before his thin chapped lips started producing obnoxious questions.

“Bruh, what was that back there?”

“What do you mean THAT?”

“That thing with the Sarah thing…thing”

“Oh. The Sarah thing was nothing mate.”

“I know you man! You like her!”

“Is it obvious?”

“Wait, you do? Holy shit, does this mean I was right?”

“Bloody hell mate.” We obnoxiously started to laugh. Actually, it sounded more like a group pigs “Oinking” their lives away after watching a speech by George W. Bush. Just as we arrived to the main courtyard, the “crew” had established. Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to, Brad Porter and the faggy-pop boyz. Yes, boyz with a “z”. In my opinion, which half of New York would agree, I don’t think they are masculine enough for it to be spelled “boys”. Or even “men”. Brad is a chump from Newcastle. Queen Elizabeth has nothing on how wealthy this chump is. Let’s just say he can become the owner of Steinhardt University in the blink of an eye. Of course, the result of being raised with having money as toilet paper isn’t always the greatest. Not only is he responsible for my first black eye in these sacred grounds, but he is also untouchable. Wilson and I always mock the way these champs behave. Stupidity is more of compliment when it comes to them. But Wilson noticed something different this time. I can’t comprehend how I could have missed it. My body was numb.

“Ayo, that girl freakishly looks JUST like Sarah…wait, DUDE THAT’S SARAH!”

“Thanks for pointing that out Wilson…”

“No problem dude. Always here to help, you know?”

Silence overruled our minds as we made our way back home. I felt dead inside. I know, it’s pathetic of me to react in such an emotional way about a stranger. Love at first sight was just a myth to me, until now. Once we got to the apartment, I decided to call it a day.

Pounding sound waves began to overwhelm my small apartment. Dazed about what was going on, I rush to the door. Wilson…

“DOGGY, I FOUND US A PARTY TO GO TO TONIGHT!”

“A party? Since when are we popular enough for parties?”

“We are not man, but after watching Braveheart, something in me changed…” Wilson shed a tear.

“Buddy, are you drunk?”

“Don’t judge me man! Only William Wallace can. Anyways, get ready bitch.”

Next thing I knew we were standing in front of this luxurious hotel. I had a bad feeling about this. Tonight was going to change the way the world revolved around us. Two lambs affiliating with a pack of hungry lions. If there is someone watching over me, this building should of burned in flames right about now.

“Going up?” the middle aged man asked us.

We nodded. I took one last deep breath before the elevator doors shut completely. If curiosity killed the cat, what will it take to kill a pack of selfish lions? That my friends, is an answer I’m willing to die for.

I could hear the music blasting on my way up to the penthouse. Butterflies were overruling my abdominal area, and not in a pleasant way. Next thing I knew, we entered the lion’s den. Girls stripping on top of counters, intoxicated out of their minds. It made it really hard to see clearly due to all the smoke being held by those walls. Your nose wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was marijuana or hookah or cigarettes being in inhaled. We made our way to the bar section of this wonderland. It made more sense if we were caught in this popular gathering drunk than sober. Sometimes being drunk gets you out of hot messes. In a matter of twenty minutes, we managed to pound fifteen shots of hardcore tequila without any chasers, and literally drink around a good ten beers each. My mind is still not clear about what happened after that. I slightly recall dancing shirtless with a babe, and falling right after embracing her lips for quite a moment. But there is a certain memory that I’m not sure if it was fact or fiction. While I was laying on one of the couches, fighting over the power of choosing whether to throw up or not, Sarah walked over to me. She was looking beautiful in a black dress. I would describe you the dress but there is nothing to describe about a BLACK dress besides the fact its black. She leaned over and whispered to my ear.

“Craig, you need to stop being around me. I can’t really surround myself with someone I deeply love…”

She kissed me, for the last time in her book. I immediately blacked out after the kiss, not knowing what else might have happened.

My alarm clock goes off. I toss and turn with the biggest hangover on my court. Quickly shutting the obnoxious beeping off, I managed to clearly see what time it was. “1:30PM” the clock read. What happened last night?