“So Finn, anything you want to share today?” This is what Dr. Feinstein starts with every appointment,after her warm smile and shoulder squeeze, of course.
Once again, I am stuck in this plain, white office with the blinds pulled back so that the sun can ‘help fight my bad thoughts.’ What if the sun causes the bad thoughts? I don't really get an opinion on the matter either way.
“I'm fine,” my voice cracks. I spent another night telling secrets to my pillows.
“Listen, how about we just start from the beginning. Just start with the morning of and go from there. Can you do that?”
I'm sick of this. I am sick of everybody asking for my story and how I really feel. No one should want to know how I feel. The news reporters just want to know the behind-the-scenes scoop and parents want to hear lies that will make them feel better. The truth is, I'm not even sure what happened. All I know is that one minute, I'm feeling sorry for myself and the next, I'm attending dozens of funerals.
* * * * * * * * * * *
At 7:20 AM, my alarm lets out one last strong beep and dies. Batteries won't fix it this time.  I can hear the morning news and the clinking of coffee mugs; the same sounds I hear every morning. However, the silence will soon be filled with my mother’s disappointed voice and my father’s endless lecturing.
Getting out of bed, I pull on the closest shirt and begin my search for pants. Once dressed, I reach into the top drawer of my dresser and take out the ring. It's my father’s graduation ring. It was once a shiny silver but has now turned into a rusted copper color. The football engraved on the side has lines that will soon be completely invisible. He gave it to me before my first- and last-football game. He said it would make me just as good as he was. All it really gave me was a green thumb (the only finger big enough to fit on).
   I take a deep breath as I open my bedroom door and begin to mentally shut myself down. Maybe if I don't react, he’ll give up until dinner time.
             I reach the bottom of the stairs and by now my presence has been noticed. Stepping into the kitchen I am met with the top of my mother’s forehead as she desperately searches through articles in a newspaper. I can only imagine this is because she wants nothing to do with the battle that is about to commence.
             “You're grounded for a month,” he doesn't even bother to look at me as he says it.
            “The school is taking students to semi-finals. Don't you want me to really ‘experience the true sport of basketball?’”  There's no way I'm missing this game.
          “You should've thought of that before you skipped ‘experiencing the true sport of your track meet.’”
             Not even bothering to acknowledge his last statement, I head out the front door before things escalate. I got off easy this time.
          I spend my walk to school coming up with different ways to get on the bus. I already have a signed permission slip so as long as my dad doesnt call to keep me off of it, I should be headed an hour away from this god forsaken town.
          I can now see the school in the distance. I only need to make it through a few classes and then Ill be on a bus with my two best pals.
“Finny Boi! Get ready to experience some high class school spirit,” My best friend Derek shouts as he saunters his way over to where I’ve stopped walking, “Today is the day our school makes history. First time our small town has ever made it this far.”
        “You make it sound like we live somewhere in Alaska. And you hate basketball,” I mumble as we begin to make our way through the crowds of students occupying the Quad before classes.   Before Derek can reply, I am whisked away by a small blur of energy. “No time for chatting Grayson. We need to get a head start on this Spanish project.”
“Janie, why can't we just wait until tomorrow and enjoy the small amount of time we have to be at school? It's not even due for another week,” I whined out as she continued to drag me to the Spanish room.
“Because you'll never want to work on it and we both know you'll be sleeping the weekend away” Janie said in a hushed tone.
She has always been the smart one in our small group. Always making sure we all got our homework done but never offering to just do it for us. She's the mom of the group and never fails to cheer one of us up.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
           Dr. Feinstein halts my story with a cool, calm voice, “I'm just going to interrupt, if you don't mind. Was Janie on the bus? I don't remember seeing her name on the list of deceased.”
I think back to the conversation I had with Janie just before I got on the bus and answered, “No, she was meant to be on it, but her mom found out how late it was going to be when we got back. Her mom offered to take us but of course, Derek didn't want to have to leave the game early and I stayed on the bus with him to make sure he didn't get into any trouble.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Choosing a place to sit was a no brainer. Anytime we rode in a car, Derek needed to be next to a window. He says it's partly because he gets too nauseous but mainly because he wants to be able to have an escape-claustrophobia? So whenever we ride in a school bus, the seat with an emergency exit window is our go to spot.
“How long is this car ride anyways?” Derek mumbled, slouching into his seat.
“Only like, an hour. We’ll be there before you know it,” I sympathized. “Unless my dad manages to set up a roadblock to drag me home.”
“Dude. Please don't tell me you're still letting your dad trash talk you. I thought not showing up to the meet last night would handle it all. Why can't he just accept that his son has two left feet and belongs in a bubble wrap suit?”
“He's still my dad, Derek. It's not like I can swear him off forever; I live in his house! And besides, not showing up last night caused me to be grounded for a month. I'm not even supposed to be on this bus! He was so angry that he didn't even want me attending a sports event. How ironic is that?”
“OK OK. I get it. All I'm saying is that you need to start living your own life. You're 17 years old! You need to be finding yourself, realizing who you really are.” Derek points out and lowly adds, “Not living out the dream of some washed up football player.”
“I just-” Before I can answer, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
This is it.
I pick up my phone and am not the least bit surprised to see him calling.
I twist the ring-his ring-around my finger. I imagine him cursing at the wall while my mother tries to calm him down but is too afraid to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Last time she did that, she needed three stitches above her eyebrow. He claimed it was her fault. She knew not to sneak up on him like that.
The phone has now stopped ringing but only a few seconds later it starts up again. I twist the ring faster. I have to answer it.
“FINN GRAYSON!” The ring feels tight around my thumb, “I swear to god as soon as your ass is home, you are going to military school.” He doesn't yell the last part, he simply speaks in a stern and growling voice.
“Do we have to do this right now?” I whisper. I want to fight back but now is not the time, I need to do something that makes me happy.
So, I look over at Derek who has been watching intensely and address my father, “I will never be you. I don't want to be you.” With that, I pull the phone away from my ear, hit end, and power it down along with my emotions. I'm not letting him ruin anything else.
“Finn...I-”Derek begins to put his hand on my shoulder but I shrug him off.
“No, we aren't talking about this. Let's go have the time of our lives,” I say unconvincingly.
“Alright alright,” he surrendered, raising his hands, “I can do that. I can be a par-”
Derek is cut off by his own scream. The bus is skidding to the side; it feels like there are only two wheels on the ground. I grab the back of the seat trying to brace myself but it's no use. The bus has now hit the guardrail and our bodies are tossed around and around. Its almost as if a tornado has captured the bus and is now hurling us at the sun.
All thoughts of protecting my head escape my mind. The girls that were once sitting across the aisle from us are now laid across seats. I don't see them move. I look over at Derek who I am crushing with my own body. His big brown eyes stare into mine. I forget the drills, I forget where the emergency exits are. All I can think about is the sharp pain in my leg, Derek staring at me unblinking, the sun shining into my eyes as I look for a way out.
All I can think of as my consciousness slips away is, ‘The emergency exit window didn't do s*** for us.’
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“I stay up until the sun rises trying to think of what he was going to say. It probably meant nothing, just Derek joking around as usual. But to have him finish his sentence with a throaty scream...it's not the warrior’s death he dreamed of,” I finished.
“Finn, that must have been so tragic for you. Have you talked to Janie about this?” Dr. Feinstein says quietly.
“She talks less than I do,” I murmur knowing full well that Janie didn't talk at all. Not anymore. “It isn't my place to say anything but I think she needs help. She wishes she were on the bus with us.”
“Thank you for telling me that Finn. I'll take care of it, ok?”
Her words made my stomach drop. Janie would never talk to me again if she knew I had told someone, but I couldn't let anything happen to her. She's the only one I have left.
A knock at the door disturbed the quiet that had settled in the room. As I stood up to leave, I couldn't help but smile. It felt refreshing to let someone inside of my mind. Talking things out make me feel human again, like I make an impact on this Earth and that I don't just waste oxygen. My feelings make me who I am and no matter how much I want my thoughts to end, they make me feel more alive than ever.
“Finn, lets go,” my dad grumbles.
Ever since the crash, he has gone through two bottles of vodka, three twenty-four packs of Coors Lite, and four bottles of Baileys irish cream. The crash was two months ago. My mother said it is because he feels guilty. She didn't explain what he felt guilt for. Whether it was because he didn't succeed in getting me off that bus or because his last words to me would not have been ‘I love you.’ Or maybe it's because he finally realized that he spent seventeen years of my life, trying to recreate his, Not only did his attempt fail, he failed his own child.
“So, uh, did talking help?” his voice is even raspier than before.
“Talking it out won't fix it this time,” I said as I turned on my heel and walked out into the light of the sun. This time the rays didn't bring bad thoughts, only new adventures.