Part Forty-Five (May 5, 1972)

We woke up, the next day, groaning as Charlie let the light into the room. After I showered and ate, I went to find Jeremy. I discovered him in my room, playing with a yo-yo. "About time…" He said.

"Sorry," I replied, "I eat slowly. Where're Charlie and Tom?"

"Tommy's getting ready, and Charlie offered to mow the lawn for your folks. Are you ready?"

I nodded, and we took the box downstairs. I told my parents that we were leaving early for school, so that we could throw away some old comics. They were okay with that.

When we were about halfway to the school, we stopped. We found a nice open field, a bit away from the road. "Okay, Lyle." Jeremy said, "Are you going to do this? I'll support whichever decision that you make. If you're not ready, then that's okay."

I briefly looked into the box, before hesitantly setting it down. "I don't know if I'm ready." I said, "But it needs to be done. Hand me the match."

He did so, and I lit the box. I watched it, as it slowly crumbled away. Jeremy out his arm on my shoulder. "Any regrets?" He asked.

"Nah," I said.

"Are you sure? Even though it's twisted and weird, you're still technically losing porn."

"Yeah," I said, "But, in my delirium, I somehow had the common sense to destroy the crappy stuff. I'll be okay."

We both laughed, for a couple of minutes, before I decided to change the subject. "Last night, you talked about your dad." I said, "If you don't mind my asking, what did he do to you, exactly?"

Jeremy was silent, carefully choosing his words. "My dad was once in the military." He said, "But he was discharged for instability and public drunkenness. After he came home, for about a year, he would savagely beat me and my mother, for no real reason. Then, when I was about eight, Mom had had enough. She tried to leave, but Pops wouldn't have it. He picked up a steak knife, and he stabbed her, ten times. I watched in terror, as my mother was murdered. I tried to run, but my dad managed to stab me in the side. I escaped to my closet, which I barricaded, and waited until it was calm enough for me to pick up the phone. I called the police, Pops was canned, and I was sent to the hospital for surgery. Ever since then, I've been living in a foster home, where I have very few friends. Because of that, I'm cold and bitter, which is why I've always been hostile to you guys."

"I'm sorry." I said, "I'd had no idea."

"No one ever does. I never say much about it. But, anyway, I know your secret, add you know mine."

We stood there, until the box became little more than ashes. We then took turns, urinating on the flames. It was in this moment, as we both walked to school, that I truly became friends with Jeremy Maxwell.