Chapter Thirteen, B: The High Cost of Living in Calistoga

I thought a lot about what dad Dad said as I got ready for bed.   I wondered if this was the right path for me.   This path being not telling Jack what my intentions used to be.   I was not going to back out of a this relationship now.   Things had changed.   When I woke up I didn't think about Josh anymore.   I thought about Jack and what we would do that day.   Dad told me to treat him right and spend some money on him.   And that That was when I decided that I would take him on a date.   Not to any restaurant.   I would take him in to a park where we would have a picnic.   Cliché, right?   No, people are never too romantic.   There is a lot less romance in restaraunts full of people you don't know rather than a park with lantern and the person you are almost in love with.   I came up with the menu that night, in bed.   Chicken caesar salads, salmon (cooked to a recipe that Mike's wife taught me) and a nice white, perfect.

I woke up at noon.   I checked my messages.

You have two messages to review p- (BEEP)

First message.   Sent yesterday at eleven o'three p.m.

Hey Zach, this is Jack.   Just wanted to tell you that I had a great time.   Hope we can do that again . . . soon.   Well, call me back.   (BEEP)

To sa- (BEEP)

Second message.   Sent today at twelve twenty-three a.m.

Hey Zach, this is Jack again.   I guess you're asleep.   When you g-

My call waiting beeped.   I clicked over to the other line.

“Hello?”   I asked.

“Hey.”   It was Jack.

“Hey.”

Silence.   I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked around my room.

“So, what's up?”   Jack asked.

“Nothing, I just woke up, really.”   I replied.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I felt something retangular in my back pocket.   Upon taking it out I relaized that I hadn't taken my wallet out of my pocket when I went to sleep.   The menu was under my right arm.

“What are you doing today?”   Jack asked me.

I had to ask him now.   “Well, I had planned for us to do something tonight.”

I could see Jack smiling in his room.

“Really?”   Jack's voice raised to it's old pitch.

“Yep,” I started to really look forward to this.   “It's going to be a night-time picnic in the Bothe-Napa Valley State Park.   You know that one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause we are going there.   The dinner will consist of caesar salad as an appetizer.   The main course will be salmon.   Not to get ahead of myself, but the salmon is going to rock your world!   . . . Served with dinner will be a nice Zihnfandel.   Of course, if a patrol rolls by, we'll have to stash it.”

“When?”

“Your call.”

“Sixish?”

“Cool, we'll meet at the entrance.”

“Alright.”

Jack and I hung up.   I wasn't sure why though.   There was still a lot of time that I could spend talking to him.   But I forgot about that as I quickly got wrapped up in getting the materials for our dinner.   It was harder to get the food than it was the wine.   And when I had gotten the food, my next challenge was to decide whether to cook it there or not.   It would be easy enough to cook the salmon on the grills they had in the park.   The salmon would only take 45 minutes.   I decided to make the salad before I left and to make the main course on the grills there.   Once I had everything together, I had carefully packed and re-packed them into my bag.   Right before I left to for the park, I packed a small barbecue and some sodas into my trunk.

I showered and wore my black kahkis and expensive black, silk, shirt and an expensive pair of black dress shoes.   This was all to be complimented by a brown cordueroy jacket (not too expensive) .   I arrived at the park five minutes early.   I spent every five seconds of those five minutes picking a stray piece of lint off my pants.   My pant ' s were not linty by any means.   One's mind plays with him when they are he is anxious and wondering if they look he looks okay.   Jack rolled in a minute early.   When his eyes caught me in mid-pedal, he hopped off his bike and straightened his clothes.   Jack went for the ever so different approach at casual wear.   He was wearing a pair of green parachute pants, a tight green T, combat boots and a camoflauge jacket.   My stomach lurched when I saw what he was wearing.   I saw what had happened in that dank basement between Mel, Jack, Sean, Josh and me.   I was too focused on what he was wearing to pay attention to his greeting.

“Earth to Zach.”   Jack said.

“Sorry, man,”   I apologized.   “You look nice is all.”

Jack smiled, “Thank you.   You don't look so bad yourself.”

“I hope your hungry.”   I told Jack.

“I am,” he replied.

I took out the carefully folded parcel from my trunk and we walked into the park.   The sun was starting to set a little.   It was six and in the summer still set.   It was six o'clock on that summer night so there was still some light to go before it got dark.   Jack carried the larntern for me.   He and I took another path that was less walked.   (And, therefore, less patrolled.)   We walked several hundred feet until we reached a clearing with two picnic tables and three grills.   I spread the clothe on the table and Jack lit the lantern and the citronella candles.    I set out the wine and he tossed the dressing into the salad.

“Looks good.”   Jack said, looking at the salad, expecting more.

“That's not it,” I said to him, “Don't eat too much because I am going to get the salmon started right now.”

I lit the barbecue and prepped the salmon.   This special recipe wasn't very special.   It was basically salmon with the bones and skin and a nice covering of brown sugar and rum.   (Plus a few extra good ingrediants.)   When the salmon is done, you can lift the bones out of the meat.   A pretty cool trick I learned from Mike's wife.

Jack looked a little nervous, sitting by me on the bench.

“You cool?”   I asked him.

“Yeah, just . . .”   Jack stopped.   He thought I would think what he wanted to say was dumb.

Could this be his first date?   I wondered.   “Just . . . ?”

“Nothing, it's cool, nevermind.”

Jack stared at the hearts and initials that had been carved into the wood of the table over all of its years.   I went back to the salmon, making sure that it was going to be okay.   Then, I sat down on the bench opposite of Jack.   Jack took a nother swig from the bottle.   I took two more and stopped.   I was going to drive Jack home and I didn't want to be drunk.   The thought that Jack could be on his first date was eating me up.

“Is this your first date?”   I asked him straight up.

Jack blushed,   “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”   I smiled at him, “It's cool.   This won't hurt.”

Jack smiled back and took another nervous sip out of the bottle.   I had brung brought glasses.   The way that he was savaging the bottle made me think that he didn't need a glass.   I noticed the face that Jack made this time, when he tasted the wine.

“UGH!” Jack said.

“What's wrong?”   I asked him.

“It's terrible!”   An exclaimation from Jack that would make only me laugh.

“Hey, it's not bad,”   I retorted, “It's cheap!”

“Yeah.”

More swigs are taken.   I take took one more and Jack takes took three.   We get got to talking about school.   Jack hated Drama.   They were working on a parody of “Plane Nine From Outer Space”, written and directed by Ed Wood.   Ed Wood was voted THE WORST DIRECTOR OF ALL TIME.   Jack was cast ed as Col. Tom Edwards; full-time colonel, part-time UFO Cover-up cover-up theorist.   He has had to memorize a lot of irrational lines.   He told me that   Noah, suprisingly enough, was a very good actor.   He was playing an antagonist though.   Which would be easy for him.

“So let's talk about . . . err, sex.”   Jack had, most noticably, lost his inhibitions.   “Boxers or briefs?”

“Boxer-briefs,”   I replied, “You?”

“Boxers- cut or uncut?”

“Uncut.”

“Uncut.”

We both giggled.   A sweet smell wafted towards me as the breeze changes changed directions.   The salmon was ready.

“Salmon's ready.”   I told Jack.

“Cool.”   He giggled again.

I felt slightly light-headed as I got up and walked towards the barbecue.   I'll still be able to drive.   I thought.   I lifted the foil off of the grill and brought it to the table.   Jack wouldn't be able to secure the barbecue so I did it myself.

“Mmm, smells good.”   Jack complimented me.

“Hold the compliments until we see how it looks.”   I removed the foil.

Inside was a perfectly cooked salmon.   The salmon, when I looked at the center, was the pink it should be.   I cut the salmon it length-wise and pulled out the bones.   I then cut each halve half into four parts and served them.   I waited for Jack to taste it before I did.

“Mmm!   Good!”   Jack's eyes widened as he said it.   Was he surprised that I could make something like this?

“Thanks.”

We ate the salmon in silence.   Silence during a meal isn't a bad thing.   It's escpecially not a bad thing when the person you are cooking for has just shoveled down two pieces of salmon.   Jack had three or four more drinks and I knew that he wouldn't be down for a good half an hour, at least.   I talked with him more until I felt confident with my driving skills.   We packed up together (Jack as much as he could) and loaded the trunk.

I took Jack's hand to lead him to the car.   He must have interperted it incorrectly, as he was against had me against the side of the car in a second.   Jack's mouth was all over me.   I could feel it on mine, the tongue probing erratically and then it would be on my neck, biting and licking.   His breathe wreaked of cheap wine.   I stopped Jack when his hands went to my pants.

“No,”   I told him.

Jack looked surprised that I said no.

“You’re drunk.  This is wrong.”  I offered an alternative, “Maybe when we’re sober.”

Jack pushed himself off of me, off of the car, and sauntered over to his bike.  He started to detach it from my bike rack.  He shouldn’t do this, I thought.  He can’t do this.

“Jack,”  I tried to hail his attention, “What are you doing?”

“Going home,”  He growled.

“Let me drive you.”

“I don’t need a ride.”

“Yes you do.  You’re drunk, you need a ride.”

“No I don’t. Lay off!”  Jack added harshly.

“You’re going to regret this in the morning.”  I said, resigned.

“Probably.”

With that, he had sucessfully detached his bike and rode away.  This is just shit waiting to happen.  I thought to myself, I hadbetter go get him.  I hopped in my car and drove off behind him.  As I backed out of my spot, a bag of charcol slid off of the roof of my car.  Someone had neglected to put that way.  I put the car in park and scrambled to get the briquettes in either the garbage can or its bag.  After I had thrown the charcol in the back, I set off to find Jack.

Jack was waiting to turn right towards Calistoga at a red light.  I had almost pulled up next to him as the light turned green.  When it did, he swerved into the middle of the street (on the line between lanes).

“See,”  Jack yelled back at me with his hand off the handle bars.  “I’m fine, I can drive.”

“Jack, pull over and get into the car.”  I pleaded with him.

We weren’t anymore than 50 feet out of the intersection when Jack executed a wheelie.  Well, he didn’t execute it.  He fell when the front tire hit the ground.  This is my chance, I thought as I stopped the car and opened the door.  This was about when I noticed a very bright glint in my rear-view mirror.  Unknown to me, someone in a white Acura had the keen idea of running a red light.

Usually, when people remember a trauma, they imagine that it had happened to someone else.  That it wasn’t them, because they could see it happening to someone who looked like them.  Some survivors of traumatic experiences recall seeing themselves from a third-perspective.

And this wan’t any different for me.  I saw myself from the median.  I saw myself step out of the car and look behind me, expecting to see the car slow down.  I saw myself jump back into the car, as the Acura ran past at 40 miles per hour, taking my car door and . . . Jack’s bicycle with it:

Zach was knocked under the dash when the car hit.  The airbags deployed from the impact.  It took a few seconds until he could find his own way out.  Once he had escaped the car, he notice that car door was missing.  He looked out to where Jack’s bike was.  To where Jack’s bike should be, had it not been hit by a car.  Zach looked down the street, followed the skidmark with his eyes.  20 feet from where the skid marks had begun, the car sat.  It’s brake lamps had an eerie glow to them, they were unreal.  They had a fuzzy glow around them.  Zach became aware of what had happened and ripped the air bag out of his car.

“SHIT!”  He exclaimed.  “FUCK!  FUCK!!  FUCK!!”

He ran to where the car had stopped.  A woman was standing over a bike that was wrapped up in cloth.  She had a cellular phone to hear ear.

“I have to go.”  She said into the phone.

Zach felt the anger rise up in him.  This woman hadn’t been calling for help, she had just ended a conversation with somone who was probably meaningless.  And now she exerted no effort towards calling emergency services.  Zach roughly took the phone out of the woman’s hands.

“What the fuck were you doing?”  He dialed 9-1-1.  “Didn’t you see that fucking red-light?  What the fuck were you thinking?

“Were you even fucking thinking?!  FUCK YOU!  YOU JUST HIT A FUCKING PERSON!!”

“I’m sorry I-I didn’t see it.”  She seemed to be shut-off.

“You ran a fucking red light!  And you had 100 fucking feet to stop.  You had your fucking HIGH-BEAMS on.”They were the reason that Zach could see that she had a phone.

A woman’s voice came through on the phone.  “9-1-1, is this an emergency?”

Zach regained some calm.  “Yes.”

“What is your emergency?”  The operator asked.

“I . . . need to go.”  The woman by the car said.

“Hold on,”  Zach said to the operator.

Zach walked around to the driver’s side of the car and took the keys out of the ignition.  Things had become quiet suddenly.  He noticed the crickets and the mellow humming of his car’s engine.

“Sit on the fucking curb and wait.”  Zach snapped at the woman.

Stay calm Zach, you can get through this.  Zach thought to himself.  Don’t panic, you can’t panic.

Zach went back to the conversation with the operator.  “This woman just hit my friend on his bike.  She dragged him until she stopped, she’s here right now, I took her keys.”

“Where are you, sir?”

Jack coughed.  Zach slid on his knees to Jack’s side.

“You need to handle this, okay?”  Zach sad soothingly to the woman.  This was the only way he, he knew, to get the woman to follow his directions without shutting off even more.

The woman took the phone and began answering questions.  Zach had purposly avoided looking at Jack.  He didn’t want to see what had become of him.  In a way, he hopped that Jack was dead.  He didn’t want to see the pain that he did in Jack’s eyes .  Jack was curled into the fetal position, his bike was laying against his side.  Jack’s left arm, the one against the ground, was peeled to the pulp.  It was white and had not yet begun to bleed.  Once it did, it would not stop for hours.  Jack’s face had flaps of skin hanging from the bone.  He no longer had a left eyebrow.

“Zach,”  Jack said in a scared voice.  “How does it look.”

Fucking awful, Zach thought.  “You look fine. You’re pretty banged up, but you’re going to make it.”

Jack started to push off the bike.  Blood had since started to come from the wounds on his arm.

“Jack, don’t.  Don’t move.  I don’t know if you’ve broken anything.”  Zach stopped him from moving.

“Oh, that wouldn’t be good would it.”

“No,”  A tear ran down Zach’s cheek.

He didn’t want to show how scared he was.  But the way that Jack looked, he couldn’t help it.  Jack looked terrible.  There was something missing from his eyes.  They seemed dull and glazed.

“Don’t cry, man.”  Jack tried to reassure Zach.  “It’s fine, I feel fine.  It’s doesn’t hurt.”

A small puddle of blood had formed around Jack’s arm.  His shirt was now brown from the blood that had come from where the peg of the bike was.  Zach examined it closer and saw that Jack was impaled on the bike.  He took a closer look at a peg that was sticking out towards him and saw that they were hollow.

Jack is going to die.  Zach thought, Jack’s dying.  “Oh my god, Jack.”  Zach burst out into sobs.

“The ambulance is coming . . .”  The woman said, “. . . 6 minutes.”

“Thanks,”  Zach sobbed.  There was still a little hope left for Jack in Zach’s mind.  The ambulance would arrive in 6 minutes.  If Jack could hold on that long.

“Get this fucking thing off of me.”  Jack yelled, as he pushed the bike off of him.

The blood-flow coming from Jack’s side swelled and turned into a fountain.  He was losing blod fast.  The first rule when dealing with large objects that had been stuck inside the body is never to pull it out.  And Jack did that.

“Shit, dude!”  Zach exclaimed as thre the bike out of his way and applied pressure to the bleeding.

“Fuck!  That hurts!”  Jack exclaimed.

“Well, you just hurt yourself more.”

“Can I help?”  The woman asked.

“Quiz him, we need to keep him aware of what’s going on.”  Zach told her.

“Ummm . . .”  The woman thought, “What’s you’re birthday?”

Jack said, “September 17th, I’m going to-”

“He’ll be sixteen next week.”  Zach involuntarily answered for Jack.

“Favorite color?”

“It used to be red.”

The three  chuckled at the irony.

“Favorite food?”

“Pizza.”  Zach and Jack said together.

“Pinapple, right?”  Zach asked.

“I always hated pinapple, man.  I just ate it because you did.”  Jack smiled at Zach and shuddered.  “I’m cold.”

It was still 75 degrees outside.  Zach knew something had gone more wrong than it already had.  The bleeding wasn’t stopping.  His hands had gotten slippery because of the amount of blood.  It was difficult to apply constant pressure.  Zach pressed harder.

“Oh shit.”  Jack exclaimed.

Jack vomitted up.  It was blood soup, served with Caesar salad, cheap wine and Zach’s special salmon.  Zach tore off a piece of his silk shirt to wipe off Jack’s vomit.  Jack vomitted again . . . and again.  Jack couldn’t stop vomitting.  Zach became manic.  He jumped up and started jumping on the ground, he didn’t know what to do.  He wanted to do something.  He didn’t know how to react to this.

“Zach!”  Jack managed to spit out.

“Jack, oh my god.”  Zach held Jack.  “Jack, I love you so much.  I want you to know.  I love you so much.  Please don’t leave me.  We just really got to know each other.  We need more time.  You can’t leave now.  You can’t.”

Jack passed out.   He hadn't had enough oxygen; his body was too taxed; he had lost too much blood; he was too injured to survive; the help didn't arrive fast enough.

"Fuck!"   I screamed at Jack.   "You can't fucking leave me.   It was just starting to get good!   Fuck . . . Jack . . ."

And I fell to my knees and cried.   I cried and cried.   I cried until my eyes burned and there were no more tears.   The ambulance came 8 minutes later.   It had taken them 23 minutes to get to where we were.   I rode in the ambulance as the paramedics tried to bring Jack back.   One of them asked me questions that they were supposed to ask.   He had health insurance, but he wasn't over 18.   His parents could be reached at this number.   He was drunk.   The person in the white Acura had run a red light . . .

Jack was never revived.   An officer drove me home in case I tried to do anything stupid.   My parents were glad to see that I was okay.   My mom cried with me when I told her what had happened.   My dad hugged me and told me that if I wanted a few days off school he would understand.   Jack's parents took a day to acknowledge that Jack was dead; he was never coming back.   Then they called me.   They wanted to know what had happened.   They wanted to know if I was responsible for what happened.   If I had killed him, they would kill me.   My mom took the message.

I locked myself in my room for two days.   My parents made sure that I wasn't sitting in my tub with my wrists slit open by delivering me meals.   I would never commit suicide though.   Jack hated people who tried to commit suicide.   He called them "weak" and we agreed that they were cowards afraid to face the world.   I will never commit suicide.

When I came back out, I learned that Jack had been cremated and that there would be a service the next Saturday.   I had to convince my parents to let me drive myself to school.   Suicide was on everyone's mind, they just didn't want to say it.

It was a bright day.   Streams of white light were reflecting off the buildings at school.   It seemed to be covered by a strange haze.   Yet, nothing seemed happy.   It was all fake, a set.   The student body watched me as I walked to my locker.   As I walked past Jack's locker, I was drawn to it.   It had been decorated with flowers and pictures of Jack with prayers and kind words.   I felt warm as I picked a picture up.

"I miss you Jack."

It was a photo of Jack, Mel, Sean and Me.   We were at some ski resort up in Tahoe.   I remembered that trip well.   Jack and I shared a room.   There was only one bed and he was up tight about sleeping in a bed next to a guy.   When he did finally get under the covers he spooned up close to me and fell asleep immediately.   I couldn't sleep that night; I was concentrating on how it felt to be wrapped in another boy's arms.   I remembered wanting to wake Jack up and see how it felt to kiss another boy.   I had a dream about him that night too.

I belted out all that I had left.   It hurt so much.   There was so much pressure.   It hurt in my chest, it hurt my head, it hurt my arms, it hurt my legs.   It hurt on a molecular level.   Mel walked up to me and wrapped her arms around me.

"I'm so sorry Zach."   Mel said, "I know how much you loved him."

I hugged Mel back with everything I had.   "Thank you, Mel."

"I need to get to my locker."   I told her.

She let me go, "Alright . . ."

"Mel?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you help me clean out Jack's locker after school?"

She smiled, a warm, soothing smile.   I could feel how much she needed me to smile back.   She could feel how much I needed her to tell me it would all be okay.   I had to keep my integrity though.   I had to stop crying.   She didn't want me to cry.   I never cried.   I sniffed and smile back at her.   She gave me another big hug.

I was late to my class because I stopped in the bathroom to wash my face and get a drink of water.   When I walked into English, everyone watched me.   Did they expect me to do something?   I sat down and listened to the teacher say hello to me.   I returned her greeting and told her that I've had times.   She went on to teach whatever the hell she was teaching in that class.

"I wanted to commend your bravery.   On Monday morning, the principal told me about what had happened.   About how you tried to help Jack."

I wanted to run out of the class and scream.   "I am not a hero, Jack is dead!   I was the one that got him drunk!   I didn't try hard enough to get him into the car!   It was all of my fault that he was dead!"   The inside of my head was screaming at me to say something.   But outside I smiled and forced my tears back . . .

Treatment for me was the same in every class.   Individual condolences.   Hallmark cards.   Concentrated sugar blocks, glazed and flavored licorice: neatly   surrounded by saran and a black bow.   On each one lays a white happy face.   They were cute.   By lunch I had been given a number of cards and flowers.   I didn't want special treatment.   I just wanted everything to be the way it was.   I wanted Jack to come back.   I didn't want him to be ashes in some fucking vase on a mantel in Jack's parents' house.   I wanted Jack back!   But that wasn't going to happen.   Mel wanted to carry my tray for me at lunch but I refused her offer.   Everyone was watching me, whispering behind their hands, speaking in lips.   They all wanted to see me snap and pull out an Uzi and level the entire room.   And, I'll tell you, I was close to snapping.   I was on the verge.   The next person to offer me special assistance I was going to strangle.

Josh was sitting at my table.

"Do you want to sit somewhere else, Zach?"   Sean asked me.

"No," I replied, "It's fine."

My anger level had just spiked.

Josh had a card for me.   "Here" he said.

I read it:

            Sorry your boyfriend bit the dust

            He meant a lot to all of us

            That's okay

            He was probably a bad lay anyway

Josh whispered into my ear, "Now that the ruse is out of the way.   Do you want to go into the bathroom and see what a real man is like?   I know you want to."

Snap.

"Sure, let's go."   I replied.

I quickly came up with a game plan before we were at the door.

"Josh," I said it low enough so that he would have to come very close to hear me.

"Yeah?"

"FUCK YOU!"   I screamed at him.

I head butted Josh and threw him against the wall with all of the strength in my body.   I pummeled the boy.   My fists connected with his rib cage over and over again.   I was going to show him what crushed ribs were.   He tried to block, but I had overpowered him easily.   Everything became a blur.

"You fucking cunt!   You asshole!"   I spat in his face.

I stopped for a few seconds to catch my breath.   A security guard tried to restrain me but I kicked him off of me.   Four more came with their pepper spray drawn.   That's when I stopped kicking Josh.   He had been rolled up in a ball since I clocked him in the chest.   When the security guards took me, I made sure to plant a nice lugey on Josh's face.

I was suspended from school for the rest of the week.   They let me clean out Jack's locker before I left though.   Mel and Sean told me that most of the school had seen what I had done.   They were all scared.   There were rumors already circulating that I had told one of the security guards that I would bring a gun to school once I was off my suspension.   The school told me to be at a hearing a week from Monday.   Two days after Jack's funeral.

At home my parents were angry that I didn't just deal with it in a non-violent way.   Only "idiots" use force, people that don't have language skills.   Why the hell did you blow up?   So I told my parents about what had happened between Josh and I.   My dad expressed his homicidal feelings towards Josh and my mom mothered me, wondering if I was okay, if he ever hurt me.   I didn't tell them that Josh had kicked me.   And that he had tried to rape me in the bathroom.   I never told them about that.

Jack funeral was slow, informal.   A bunch of old people standing around talking about how great he was.   He was going to this college.   He was going to study this.   He had so much potential.   . . .   And then they would look at me.   I was the anomaly in the group.   I was the one that was with him when he died.   I hugged him; I heard his dying rasp.   To them, the old people and his parents, I was the angel of death.   I had taken Jack's soul and sent it to where ever souls go.   I was the bad guy.   But where the fucks were his parents?   They hadn't come to the hospital until the next day.   Some parents.

I was later expelled from Pearson High School.   The staff felt that I was a danger to the students and themselves.   They gave me names of other high schools in St. Helena.   I had to start all over again.   Later that year, once I had become less suicidal and settled in to St. Helena High school.   I told the school what Josh had done to me.   It was too late for them to do anything, they said.   I should have come to them earlier.   I fought them for a week and then gave up.   My dad went back to his construction work, a house in the Oakland hills.   During Christmas, he came back, saying that he had found a really cool place to live and an even cooler school.   It was Moraga Alternative School in Moraga.   We moved to that place within three weeks.   People accepted me a lot more in the alternative environment.   And I finally felt at ease in my surroundings.   I even met a boy.   God, I felt so guilty about that.   But this is a happy ending to a sad story.   I must admit: it didn't seem like it wouldn't be getting any better.   And it certainly didn't end like I would have suspected.   If anyone would have died, it probably would have been Josh.   But I'm just not in control of that.