A Day In The Life Of James Rider (Then)
In a two story house, on a quiet street called Shepard St outside Chicago, a boy of 17 lays awake on his bed. The clock on the nightstand read 3:46am. His eyes trace patterns in the ceiling design all night until the 6 o’clock alarm rings.
Two and half more hours pass. He hits the off button before the alarm even sounds. Quietly but stealthily he hurries through his room. The light washed jeans sprawled across the floor whip onto his body, the plain white tee clings to every muscular curve. He grabs the jean jacket off the desk chair and he leaves his room. The time is 6:03.
He skips over the fourth step up, and then the eighth to avoid creeks. The hallway from the stairs to the kitchen which is lit. This means his stepfather is up. He looks back to the front door and then back to where he can see half the kitchen. Slowly he glides backward to the door, his eyes on the kitchen light. Beside the door are his tattered red converse. He reaches down and picks them up and then runs out the door, he hears his name being called out disturbing the peace on Shepard St.
“James Rider!” his voice echoes and dies.
James chuckles to himself as he walks down the street going no where. He lights a cigarette and pushes his long black hair over his head. A strong summer breeze pushes against him, styling his hair into a windswept look. He walks through downtown Chicago lighting cigarette after cigarette. He leans against a wall of some hotel and watches the people walk the streets. Theres the lady with the big southern styled hats, today its flowers in every shade of purple. Then the mother with her two twins walking into the bakery to buy the daily donut. And here comes the teenage girls ready to go shopping, they eye him across the street and giggle and smirk amongst themselves.
James watches the shadows of skyscrapers crisscross over each other as the day lives its course. He counts the clouds, the cars, the birds, and the people. All the counting just to pass the day. The sun tells him its late evening and it’s time to go home. He pushed himself off the wall, tousled his hair and makes his way home with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He counts his steps to home: 2,576. Thats ten more than yesterday.
All the lights are out in the neighbors homes. Infact all the houses are quiet except his own. He takes a deep breath and walks through the screen door as quietly as he can but it’s no use. His step-father, Ben, is sitting in the living room beside the hall. He’s been drinking, there’s beer bottles littering the coffee table and a few scattered across the once white carpet.
He stands up and stumbles toward James. James holds his breath and looks to his feet. His step-father walks to him and comes close, so close a mere two inches separates them. James doesn’t dare move a muscle. The silence is deafening now. Ben laughs a menacing laugh and walks around James. The breath James held is let out in relief. He moves to walk down to his room but before he can he is knocked to the ground by Ben’s fist colliding with his face. Blood is filling James mouth, but he dare not spit it out. Ben leans down over him and whispers into his ear, “You filthy, good for nothing, waste of space, bastard.” The stench of beer fills James nose. The pain of Ben’s words mark the spot of another scar upon James body.
He breathes deeply through his nose before slowly getting up and sulking down to his bedroom. In the bathroom he washes the blood from his face and mouth. James stares into his blue eyes turned stormy grey in rage. They gloss over and tears threaten to spill onto the sink. He collects himself and continues. He removes his jean jacket and shirt. The revealed skin would be beautiful, if not for the bruises and scars. His torso is covered in light yellow patches and some dark purple. His fingertips caress the swirling colors that have painted his body. They move up his chest, onto his shoulder and then down his arms to where old scars transition into healing slashes. He lets the new blood flow down the drain with all of his anger and sadness.
He moves into bed and stares at the ceiling and allows sleep to wrap around him. He closes his eyes and see’s into his clouded mind. A dream of some place dark, deep and cold ecompasses him. He awakens only to remember those feelings move across his body like the softness of water.














Loss
Wind whistles through the air sharply pushing the swings on the playground hauntingly. Grey clouds are rolling across the darkening sky. James trudges into the playground and sits on a swing. His hands sit in his sweater pocket and his gaze watches the ground.

His head is hung low and his shoulders hunch over. The only sound is the creaking of swings and his heaving breath. He sits in the silence but it’s so loud to him. Every thought running through his mind is screaming, every feeling is pushing on his borders. He falls onto his knees like a fallen soldier and hits the ground with his fists. His hands ache from the mulch leaving splinters but he only feels agonizing internal pain. The once beautiful face is contorted with pain and anger. A loud angry scream escapes his mouth. He pulls at his hair now and leans his body into the ground. The tears come freefalling now and stain the hard mulch beneath him.

Rain sprinkles down from the sky mixing with his tears upon the ground.

“No, no, no, no!” His fist comes down a last time as he shouts into the empty air around him.

James lifts himself into a kneeling position and leans his head back allowing the rain to hit his red, swollen face. The rain and tears flow down his face and neck. Never before has he felt so broken, lost, and alone. She left him without even saying goodbye. Quietly she fell asleep with a smile on her face; she never woke up.

Through the rain James sat staring at the sky. He will never be the same again.














Something Found
James hurries into the basement while stripping off his wet clothing. Rain poured from the sky like a waterfall. Casting his old clothes aside he puts on new, dry clothes. He can feel the cold crawling through the air and it send shivers through his body. He needs something more to enclose warmth.
Quietly he walks to the other side of the basement where there is a closet. A horrendously loud creek emerges from the hinges as he opens the door. He flinches at the sound then listens for his stepfather to wake up and come to him with another beating. But all is quiet except for the humming emitted from the piping. A sigh is let out from James lips and his body relaxes. He looks up to see two fluffy, wool blankets.
As he pulls them from the shelf something small and frail flitters to the ground. The edges are yellowing and stained with age. There is a date written on it in neat, swirly, feminine writing. James reaches down and turns it over in his hand. His breath rises and is caught in his throat. Quickly he stands and turns to go to his room.
The paper is placed on the bedside table face down while James prepares his bed. Once in he reaches out and takes the item in his hand.
Under the mass of blankets James twirls the square paper around in his hands. The light from his phone illuminates his face and high lights the single tear flowing down his face. The tear falls onto the small piece of paper he holds in his hand. Slowly he wipes it away so not to damage the image printed upon it. It’s a photograph. It’s of his parents, his mother and real father. His mother wears an elegant but simple lace dress. It’s hard to tell the color but James wishes for it to be white, to signify her beauty. This is the first time James has seen his father. He looks like him. Handsome, tall, black hair, angular face. His finger caressed the image as if the image would flow his skin and carry through his veins into his brain where it will be permanently etched. He looks back to his mother’s image; it’s the first time he’s ever seen a smile upon her face since he can remember.







Memory
My feet crunch onto the fallen autumn leaves upon the sidewalk; I love that sound. It’s strangely satisfying. I laugh out loud to myself as the aura of pumpkin coffee, and chilled air fill my nostrils. The leaves had just fallen, pumpkins and corn were everywhere, and apple cider was in the fridge. October was the greatest month, it was rich in childhood memories of the classic leaf piles and carving pumpkins.
I can’t help but to smile as my own memories come flooding back. Leaves would get stuck up my jeans and into my jacket sleeves. The slimy, gooey insides of a pumpkin left it’s scent on me for days. My foot kicks through a small assortment of leaves sending them into the wind to be carried through the streets. I watch a purple one float to a play ground. My body automatically stops in place. Every sound stops except the haunting breeze. I feel as though I've been taken back in time. Everything I see is blurred.
A memory of this place clouds my sight. I'm watching myself walk, hands tucked into pockets, toward the swings where Sophie has jumped onto a swing with her feet up on the seat. A truly happy smile is painted on her face, her laugh rings through the empty park. Her wavy, chocolate brown hair flies in the wind like a wave in the ocean. The hard gusts of wind have put leaves of all colors into her now tangled hair. The brown scarf around her neck is unraveling behind her as she moves in the wind with each swing. Now I'm standing beside her watching her magnificence in awe.
Faintly I can hear myself speak, "You're going to fall if you continue like that." I can hear the laugh in my voice; I sound happy. Unconsciously I begin to walk forward, into my memory. As I do so every aspect of that day enters me. The scent of wet mulch is there in my nose. The force of the wind pushes on my back and the sun peaking out behind white clouds illuminates the swing set and blinds my eyes.
"No I won't!" She laughs out at my younger self.
A strong gust of wind pushes her too high, I can see that her feet are slipping from the swings’ seat. Then her hands let go of the chain. Instinctively I move to catch her but then I remember that I'm reliving a memory. I keep my eyes peeled open to view every second of my past replaying in front of me. My past self steps forward and catches her and attempts to ease her fall into the hard mulch ground. It looks as if it happened slowly and gracefully.
We had lay there staring into each other, breathing heavily. My hand caresses her hair and pulls out the leafs that have made their home there. Absentmindedly, I continue to glide my hand across the waves falling from her head.
On the hard cold ground, a patch of warmth surrounded us. We lay tangled together in utter silence. The silence was beautiful.
I blink and look down to see myself sitting in the same swing. The grey sky hides the sun and the light breeze is back. I slide out and onto the cold ground. This is where we fell in love.























A conversation at a shared meal

It’s six o’clock. Far too early for me to be home on any normal day. I couldn’t help it though. I was running out of things to distract myself with after sitting in the mulch of a deserted playground. The door slams behinds me with a bang as a gust of wind hits it. I let out a sigh knowing I’ll be in trouble for that. Soon enough I can hear Bob, my step father, running down the hallway to punish me.

“God dammit boy, I-” His fist is raised, I don’t even flinch or bother to move. I barely feel his anger anymore.

“Bob what are you doing? It’s time for dinner.” My mother’s voice echos toward us and freezes Bob in the act. She moves into view from the hallway. Her wild curly hair is pushed back into a bandana like a hippie from the 70’s. She’s beautiful. A spoon in her hand is dripping something brown onto the floor, “Let’s go boys!”
I remove my shoes and smirk toward the ground. Every now and then my mother chooses to get up and act totally normal and cook for us, converse with us, and all the other good things. I try not to get used to it though, tomorrow she’ll be back in bed hiding away.
“Hi mom,” I peck her on the cheek taking in her forest scent and turn to the small dining room table.
“Hello dear, how has fall break been?” She asks me as she serves me a large helping of beef stew and mash potatoes. She is smiling and her hazel eyes are sparkling for the first time in months.
“It’s been good.”
“Psh, what can be good about doing nothing? All you do is walk around going no where,” my stepfather interjects with a dirty scowl upon his face. I stay silent.
My mother and I exchange looks. Hers worried, mine annoyed. The single light above the table flickers a few times and is still. The tension in the air is so thick it could have made the grease smears upon the cabinets. We haven’t sat down for dinner in weeks. Last time it ended in a disastrous fight over nothing.
“Fix that light later boy,” Bob sneers in my direction.
“Why don’t you do it?” I mutter under my breath before taking a drink from my glass of milk. of course you said milk. bc you fucking love milk.
A hand comes swiping across the air and knocks the glass from my hand, spilling the contents onto the dirty tile floor and shattering the glass. I sit in shock with my mouth agape. My hand is still raised as if it were still holding the glass.
“What was that, boy?” Bob is now standing up leaning over the table to get close to me, his breath is rancid and smells of stale beer.
“N- nothing,” I stutter out averting my eyes from his gaze, “I’ll clean it.”
“Yeah, you better.” He sits back down and goes back to his food. I glance up to my mother. The gleam that was in her eyes moments before is dead and she is staring at her hands that are folded onto the table. She doesn’t move. A few minutes pass in a stilled silence.
I’m no longer hungry. I wish to excuse myself from the table but the knot in my throat prevents words from forming. Swallowing deeply I take a deep breath.
“May I be excused?” It comes out sounding pathetic, barely over a whisper and cracked.
“Clean up the mess you made,” Bob says through mouthfuls. Disgusting.
“You mean the one you made?” I leap up from the table as I speak to get as far from Bob as I can, knocking over my chair in the process.
A sick smile is on his face, he can smell my fear, “Yes, the one I made. If you don’t watch your mouth I’ll make another mess out of you.”
“I’m sure you will.” The light flickers again casting an angry shadow across his face. Everything in the small enclosure seems to grow dark, like a demon is standing in front of the light casting darkness upon us. The cracks in the table look deep, the cabinets, once a bright yellow now a dull golden brown, seem to deepen in color. I become more aware of my surroundings in the sudden chill casted around us.
I blink and suddenly I have my back up against the wall and a hand around my throat. Black dots are forming in my vision and my breath is hitched inside me.
Behind Bob’s face I see my mother. She locks eyes with me.
“I’m going up to bed,” She stands slowly and starts to walk away. Her fragile hand grabs hold of the back of a chair and reaches out to press against the wall as if to steady herself. Wrinkles embed her skin and the silkyness of her hair is drained. I hear her steps creak on the stairs. She’s left me. I’ve been abandoned.
My eyes don’t dare move from the deathly stare of Bob’s gaze. Black blotches splatter onto the canvas before me. Me head is drifting around like a feather falling from the sky. I feel myself drowning into a pool with my name etched into the side. I feel as though I’ve been here before.
The force against my neck is removed and I collapse onto the ground and into the glass shards rather than the cool pool. My legs and elbows flare up in pain. My coughs vibrate through the house in correspondence to my stepfathers laughter.
“Clean up boy.”
Now I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone.































Scariest Moment
There is no reason to push on. The fight for survival has abandoned me and I don’t wish to look for it. I’ve given up and I’m okay with that. I’m at peace with my decision. There is no anchor keeping me tied to this hateful place.
Nothing can cause me anymore pain. There isn’t a single place on my body that has not felt the sadness that lives within me. Hope is but a foreign concept I can no longer grasp. It flittered away like a bird a long time ago, never to return.
The only thing I feel is pain. Torturous pain. It stabs at my insides with each breath and step. For a while I was able to escape it. But it always came back knocking on my door; I let it in. I never learn. I don’t think I will either, not after tonight.
This is the only way. I don’t fear it. I embrace it. I want it to come and engulf me so I never feel this pain again. The nightmares, abuse, and loss have become too heavy a burden to carry upon my shoulders. I am not Atlas.
In my bathroom is a medicine cabinet. Here a bottle of white pills beckon me. They sing to me like Sirens. There is no escape now that I have heard their song. My hand shakily pulls the bottle from the shelf. I set it onto the counter and grasp the sides to compose myself. My knuckles whiten from my killer grip. I stare into my reflection before me and feel only hatred. A few deep breaths later and I am ready.
First I only down a few. Then a few more. Then a few more. Then a few more. And then a few more still. The effect is nearly immediate. My fingers and toes numb. A tingling sensation works it’s way slowly up my limbs.
I lay myself onto my bed and stare into the ceiling. My thoughts are blank. Nothing bothers me now. My eyes close. I slip into a deep sleep. I start to dream. I’m submerged in a deep dark pool of freezing waters. All around me the water is still as I sink deeper and deeper. The tingling is making its way further through my body as I go deeper into the depths of the black water. The surface above me shrinks. The small light grows distant and small. I know I am close.
Every nerve in my body tells me that the end is near. I can feel the numbness closing in on my heart. It’s close. My eyes droop and become heavy. So close. I no longer feel the coldness that surrounds me. It’s nearly there. I want it to be over now. Now.
My eyes are blinded by a sudden beam of light hitting me and dismissing the darkness. A figure of elegance glides through the waters to me. It’s a young woman. Her long, brown hair moves behind her through the water like clouds through the sky. It looks so soft even in the water. She wears a dress. It’s white and clings to her breast then drops to her feet like a nightgown a young girl would wear. It flows through the water in the most wondrous way. Is she here to take me to hell?
She comes closer to me. My awe turns to fear as I realize who she is. My horrified and fearful expression doesn’t faze her. I try to swim away but the numbness is creeping upon my heart and I cannot move.
An understanding smile meets her lips and brightens her dark eyes. Her hand reaches out and rests upon my chest in the most gentille way, right above my heart. She leans down and comes within an inch of my face. Our eyes never lose contact. My heart sputters in my dying moment. Her lips come down upon mine in a single kiss.
Suddenly I’m back in my room awake. Alive. I jerk up wide awake now as the realization of what just happened hit me. My heart is racing still and sweat is dripping down my face. My breath is catching in my throat and is becoming loud and near the verge of hyperventilation. I look frantically back and forth in my room trying to grasp the fact that I’m here again. Even though I know I never left I have never felt a more real dream. I feel sick.
I saw her. And I was never so scared in my life.










Holiday

The small tree in my arms weighs nearly nothing and is easy to carry but I walk slow as if it weren’t. My feet nearly trip over each other and tried to turn back more than once before I reached the end of my short walk. This cedar I carry is a symbol of everything I no longer have-- a reminder of the love and happiness that had surged through me. It’s smart to plant it here since this spot was the energy source of everything I had felt.

The park has been abandoned for a long time so I place the tree in my favorite spot knowing it won’t be bothered. I almost feel the warmth that was once there penetrate through the snow, but it’s all in my mind. Maybe planting this tree will bring it back. I set the tree aside and start to dig a hole in the ground beside the swing. My hands feel as though they have been frozen to the shaft of the shovel making digging a harder project than normal. I don’t mind though, this needs to be perfect and perfection takes time.
Images of the times spent here flash across my vision like a slideshow. The time we ate McDonald’s on the swings at midnight, when we ran from the cops and hid in the forest a few yards away, watching her spin around and around with music playing in her mind-- everything rushes in front of me. The image of her sparkling brown eyes watching mine from beneath me in this very spot appears the most often. I can still see the way they transfigured from dull, murky brown to shiny, sparkling orbs of chocolate. I knew then that she loved me.

Once the hole is evenly shaped, a foot deep and a foot wide, I remove the small, scrawny tree from the pot and place it in the center with care. I use my hands to gently place the dirt and mulch mixture back so that it is perfect. Next comes the red and gold ornaments with bells in the center. I place one on each of the short branches emitted from the trunk. Two years ago during a summer month Sophie and I had decorated a random tree near the school in the middle of the night like a Christmas tree as a joke. That night meant more to me than she would ever know. It was the closest thing to a Christmas I had ever gotten so I’ve held onto that memory with everything I’ve got. My little tree is misshapen, lopsided and skinny but it’s wonderful. It kind of reminds me of the tree from Charlie Brown’s Christmas and I almost laugh.

Standing back, observing my work, makes me almost rip it out of the ground and throw it as far as I can. My body inclines forward prepared to do just that. In my mind I talk myself down and my body relaxes again. This tree is here to preserve her memory. It’s one big metaphor no one would bother to understand but I know what it symbolizes and that’s all that matters. My hand flicks against an ornament causing a soft jingle to carry to my ears, then I leave.






























Safe Place

Down the way from where James lives, is a road. A road that is cracked and old, with dull grey pavement. Dirty, ruined cars line the curbs. Most of the year this street is ugly and dull with no spark to light anyones interest. Nothing special is apparent down this lone road with a dead end.

October is the only time of year where the street comes to life. Lining the street on either side are giant oak trees. Their usual green leaves transform into a splash of every color in the spectrum. They lean over the street encasing it in a bed of colors. The suns light hits the trees taking on the colors of the leaves. The light hitting the street takes on the colors of bright red, orange, purple, yellow and green. A kaleidoscope effect is in the air and it is so beautiful.

At the end of the street is a dead end. Here is an old, abandoned playground. The sun has direct access the this spot and gives it a halo effect due to the surrounding trees. It’s a simple park. There is only a slide, two swings and a broken merry-go-round. Brown mulch covers the ground beneath the equipment and leaves litter the ground. They fall softly from the towering trees above and are blown in with the wind.

It’s peaceful here. Children no longer live in this area, they’ve all grown up. But the air is filled with childhood memories. You can almost hear the sing-song laughter that once echoed off the trees. There was never a more glorious place to escape.















Lessoned Learned
The ceiling above me stares back with the same menacing scowl I’ve given it all day. My mind has been an empty landscape since I woke up. My attention span has been short today. I barely noticed the people moving along side me in the halls. They’ve been a mass blur of bodies. I don’t remember half the things occurring around me. Apparently I was in a fight? Thats a good joke. There was a person walking past me and they bumped me. The anger I felt was foreign. The part where I lashed out is foggy, like trying to remember my childhood.
My teachers leave me be. They don’t care. The bells calling for the next block break my trance and then it starts all over again. Peoples voices hum inside my head like a buzzing bee. I raise my hand to swat it away, but realize that I must look crazy to people observing me. I’m forced to endure the vibration in my mind until last block where the silence is truly quiet.
English. This class has become a drag. I’ve already read every book, completed every assignment for this semester, and now there is nothing for me to do. There is nothing left to interest me. My mind leave my head, leaving this air bubble above my body. My eyes move with the second hand on the clock. 1 2 3. The buzzing is starting again. 4 5 6. It almost sounds like a name. 7 8 9. I can hear it now. 10.
“James!” My teacher, Mrs. Wright, stands a few feet away from me with an exasperated look on her face.
“Hm, what?” My voice is mumbled and quiet, as if I just woke up. There is a ripple of giggles through the class. The bell rings.
Everyone shuffles out of the class loudly, bringing in the buzzing bees again. I let out a sigh and move to leave. I reach the door when I hear Mrs. Wrights voice behind me, loud and clear.
“Don’t take anything for granted.”









Love Letter
Dear Sophie,
I know I shouldn’t be writing to you, it probably isn’t healthy. My mom noticed all these letters the other day and told me I should stop. But I need to make amends with my self and this is the only way I know how. Speaking to you even though you can’t read this or respond gives me a release.
Most of my letters have been about my anger, but I don’t think I’m angry anymore. There’s this feeling inside of me that I can’t really explain. It’s like an eraser is coming through and removing all the bad from the canvas leaving only the good things. It moves slowly but the job is being done. There isn’t much good but it’s there in the back of my mind. I can feel it growing in me like a tree, slowly but surely.
You’re death left me beyond shaken. Everything you had built up in me left; the love, hope, happiness, it all disappeared and I was back to the broken shell I never wanted to become again. This time it was magnified to heights I never knew existed. I began to understand why you left the world. I almost left too. It was like drowning. I don’t really comprehend how I’m alive right now but I am.

I wish I could have told you the way I felt about you. The way I loved the glow your hair left around your face and the way your laughter carried in the wind. I thought you were the most glorious creature that ever walked this damned planet. I caught myself staring at you in awe and wonder, and then looking away when you looked at me. I think that means I was in love with you. Perhaps if I didn’t look away and continued to look into your eyes I would have noticed the pain and torture that lay there. Maybe then I could have saved you from the sadness that swallowed you whole. That is the only regret in my life.
Everything I’ve done is exactly what I wanted at the time so my one regret is going to haunt me for ever. I can feel it’s weight sitting on my shoulder as I write now. I’m getting better and coming to terms with my past. I still have those nights where I never want to wake up again but I know that I need to be strong. For you.

Love,
James



A Day In The Life Of James (Now)
In a two story house, on a quiet street called Shepard St outside Chicago James lays awake in his bed. The clock on the nightstand says 7:00 am and an alarm is going off. He reaches his hand over to smack the off button and leaps out of bed. He turns on the radio and lets it play loudly. He moves around the messy room dancing in his boxers and sings into a hair brush. His voice is terribly off tune but he doesn’t mind so he belts out every word as if he were performing at a concert.
A few songs later he remembers he needs to get ready for school. It’s the last day and the excitement of summer glows in his features. He is going to follow Warped through the northern states with his friend Austin. He is finally getting away and he is fearless.
He walks upstairs still dancing along to the song stuck in his head. He nearly falls and laughs out loud at himself. He hasn’t let out a laugh like that in months. The type of laugh where you tilt your head back and the noise echoes through the room. It’s a beautiful sound. His mother's laughter mimics his own as she hands him a plate of pancakes. Bob, his step-father, left them two months ago. His mother now comes out of her room and is the woman she was in the photo.
The pancakes on his plate are gone in a minute and he just about runs out the door.
“Have fun at school!”
“Thanks mom,” James stops and kisses her on the cheek swiftly then grabs his jacket and leaves.
Swinging the jacket on he realizes he needs to put more patches on the sleeves. It looks empty. Mentally he adds that to the list of things to do today.
A few houses down Austin walks out of his own house and runs up to James. He punches him in the arm and remarks how the jacket needs more patches. James lets out another true laugh at the irony.
At school they take their separate ways to their classes. The day drags on in a painfully slow way, like a slug trying to cross America. Six hours later it’s the last block of the day and James is bouncing in his chair in anticipation. His english teacher, Mrs. Wrights, whom has grown to be his favorite, allows them to have a free period since they finished finals last week. James speaks to her about his plans for summer. She can see the sparks in his eyes ignite when he talks about seeing his favorite bands at Warped.
His hands move to exaggerate the words that he can barely get out off his mouth because he is speaking so fast. He speaks the hour away and class is over. He moves back to his seat to grab his bag and get the hell out of there.
“James wait up a minute,” Mrs. Wrights calls out to him.
He turns on his heels and moves to her desk.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to have these,” She pulls out a few old tattered books from a drawer and hands them to him, “for the road.” A small, somber smile is on her face, she is going to miss him terribly.
James sifts through the books, there’s Pride and Prejudice, Great Expectations, The Great Gatsby, and Jane Eyre. They are his teachers copies of the books they read through the year.
He is at a lost for words.
“Hey man lets go,” Austins standing at the door beckoning to him.
James nods at him and turns back to his teacher, “Thank you, for everything.” Mrs. Wrights smiles and nods at him. He leaves the room and walks out with Austin. He didn’t notice but Mrs. Wrights had a tear glistening in her eye.