The Day I Almost Committed A Felony
A Dark Young Adult Comedic Short Story
By Kimberly Van Meter
Copyright May 2011 by Kimberly Van Meter
What do you do when your best friend in the whole world starts dating a Class A Superior Scum Bucket? You’re in luck. I have experience with this very thing. Listen up, because this is choice advice.
First and foremost, you must sabotage their love-fest at all costs. The less bodily fluids exchanged the better (especially if you are unfortunate enough to be present when they are swapping spit. Ugh.)
Second, if at all possible, set up surveillance (high quality digital is best) so that you can catch the Scum Bucket doing something disgusting, such as picking his nose, butt, ears or any other pickable extremity (bonus points if he eats his find!) but mostly, what you’re hoping for is Scum Bucket macking on some other chick because you’d be surprised how forgiving girls can be when it comes to the “love of their life.”
Then, you must download, print (8.5 x 11 glossy is a must) and distribute — anywhere and everywhere. You can post on your social media but it’s much easier to pin down who sent what from your IP address and then you could be facing harassment charges and whatnot so going old-school is preferable. If performed with diligence, the aforementioned Scum Bucket should disappear and you won’t have to share your best friend with a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal. That solves that problem.
But here’s the thing…what do you do when your best friend in the whole world starts dating a psycho who enjoys using her as his own personal punching bag, doormat, and Kleenex? And worse, she insists, in spite of it all, she loves him. Now you’re getting where I’m coming from. This goes beyond Scum Bucket. This calls for bigger action. This is when it gets complicated…and messy.
Confession time: I can’t say what I did was right, but it worked. I definitely can’t say I recommend it, because unfortunately (or not) results will vary, and prison sentences never look good on a college application. But let me start from the beginning so you can decide for yourself.
It all started when Jon Pinkerton, a senior who had transferred from Riverside High, came strolling over and started talking with us. I guess we were kind of awe-struck, at first. I mean, most seniors didn’t spend too much time hanging around with sophomores. Not that we weren’t superior sophomores, of course, but things being the way they were with high school hierarchy, technically, we were still lower classmen. Anyway, I digress. (Ha! I’ve always wanted to use digress in a sentence.)
I could tell right away Mareka thought he was cute because she has this funny little giggle when she’s flirting. When she liked Ben Whats-His-Face I thought her IQ had actually dropped from all the Playboy Bunny hair-twirling and fake smiling she’d done to get his attention. Thankfully, that obsession hadn’t lasted long or I may have lost my mind. Anyway, the giggle was in high gear with Jon Pinkerton. Personally, I was over it. When you got past the whole I’m-An-Upper-Classman thing, his personality wasn’t much to write home about. Frankly, I didn’t like him. Why? Well, for starters he monopolized every conversation like he was the end-all-be-all and if you happened to know more than him and called him on it, he scowled like a pinched toddler until someone — usually Mareka — soothed his ouchie. And I don’t know about you but that kind of attitude doesn’t do it for me. I guess I’ve always been a bit mature for my age (unless you hold my anime collection against me) and Jon was an immature, insecure douche. Unfortunately, Mareka was too busy fawning over his biceps (which I admit were pretty impressive) and flirting in overdrive to see his true character. Before I knew it, he had Mareka’s full attention, and I was left to shred blades of grass for entertainment.
They started to spend more and more time together, which inevitably edged me out of the picture. I was cool with it, I mean a girl’s gotta have a social life, right? And I certainly wasn’t a nun but the fact that she was blowing me off to spend time with Douchey-McDouchey rubbed me the wrong way. I even brought it up, not that it did any good.
“Wanna hang out? Go play Mall Rat?” I asked one day when walking to English Lit class. I hadn’t seen Mareka in weeks and I was missing her. I was even willing to troll the most awful place on earth — the mall — just to spend some time with her and I think that said a lot.
“I can’t,” Mareka said, biting her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“How come?” I asked, whining just a little. “It’s been forever since we hung out and I’m seriously jonesing for some bestie time. You know?”
“I’m sorry…I’ve just been really busy.”
“Doing what?”
“You know…stuff.”
Stuff. Somehow I knew stuff included Jon. Blech. “C’mon,” I pleaded. “I’ll spring for smoothies.”
Mareka looked tempted — smoothies were a secret weakness and I was not above exploiting it for my gain — but she turned me down. “Sorry. I wish I could but I told Jon that we’d hang out later. Plus, I’m trying to give up the sweets. You know, to lose a few pounds.”
My stare narrowed. “Lose a few? You’re perfect. Who said you need to lose weight? Let me guess…Jon?”
“He’s just looking out for me. He knows I like to look my best,” Mareka said, immediately on the defensive. “Anyway, I can’t. Catch you later.”
You can imagine how that conversation had not sat well with me. Let me give you some background. Mareka was one of those incredibly beautiful girls who thought she was ugly because in junior high she hadn’t exactly been a knock-out. But over summer break our freshman year, she turned into this, like model-hot, chick that kinda made me jealous until my boobs grew the following summer before our sophomore year and then it was all good. We were two hot chicks, only I had a bigger rack and I wasn’t afraid of using it.
So, now Jon was really pissing me off. Who was he to tell Mareka she needed to drop a few pounds? I might’ve said something to that effect, I don’t remember exactly, but it didn’t matter. By this point, Mareka was drinking the Kool-aid and riding the crazy train with Jon Pinkerton at the throttle.
More weeks went by and Mareka all but dropped out of society. No parties, no weekend get-togethers, no nothing and I called her on it.
“I’ve never been much into the social scene,” she’d said when I’d managed to corner her at her locker. I hated to resort to stalking but she was my best friend and I was getting a weird vibe.
“There’s a difference between being an introvert and a hermit,” I’d protested, angry that she’d cancelled yet another of our plans for reasons that sounded suspiciously like something the Superior Jackass would say. “What’s going on with you Mareka? I’ve known you since kindergarten. I’ve seen you pee your pants in the first grade. I know you. Something is up. I can feel it.”
She slammed her locked shut when Jon started walking toward us. I fought the urge to scowl. “I’m fine. Really. I promise we’ll get together soon,” she said just before Jon slipped his around her shoulders in a way that made me want to take a crowbar to his ugly mug but seeing as I didn’t actually pack hardware of that nature in my backpack, I settled for a mean glare. Of course, it bounced right off him. He could care less what I thought about him.
Then came that fateful day in the gym. The showers were going and steam filled the room. The dance routine we’d practiced that day completely wiped me out and sweat poured down my face. I felt as if every muscle in my body was quivering at the abuse but I didn’t care. I’d totally mastered the dance steps and I’d wanted to crow a little.
I turned to give Mareka a hard time for missing a few steps. We were highly competitive with each other and usually she danced circles around me, but that day I was actually able to keep it together and I couldn’t wait to rub it in a little. Before she could pull her jeans up, I saw the bruises. Holy hell. Big purple, black and burgundy fringed with yellow bruises to be exact. Her thigh looked like one of the maps hanging in the history class…or as if Mike Tyson had used it as a punching bag.
As banged up as she was I don’t know how she had kept up with the class… or was even able to walk for that matter. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to say but tears welled in my eyes. “Mareka?”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” she muttered, quickly dressing. “I ran into something. It looks worse than it is.”
My brain finally clicked on and I found my tongue. “Did he hit you?”
“It was an accident,” she said. “It’s no big deal.”
Some accident. Her leg just happened to accidentally get in the way of his fists. Later, I learned there had been a lot of accidents.
But what could I do?
“He's a nice guy, deep down,” she said.
Especially when she made bone-headed comments like that?
“How far are we digging?” I answered back. “I have a feeling I'll hit oil first.”
Knowing that I was going to lose the argument with Mareka on the subject of Jon, I backed off. But, I wasn't going to forget. I swore if I saw any marks on my best friend’s body again, I would go after the source.
I didn’t have to wait long.
That Friday the three of us were at the football game. It was the first home game of the season and Mareka and I never miss the home games. It was one plan I wouldn’t let him cancel. He wasn’t thrilled about spending the evening at the game with me tagging along, but I didn’t care. Besides, I was getting used to feeling like the fifth wheel, and I had become immune to his dirty looks and bad attitude. Besides, I enjoyed envisioning the entire football team taking turns dancing on his big, fat head after each touchdown.
What happened next I can’t really say. All I know is I went to get a drink at the concession stand and when I came back she was gone. Jon was leaning against the back of the bleacher with his arms crossed, and he was acting pretty nervous, which was unlike him.
“Where’s Mareka?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I'm not her baby-sitter.”
I was ready to pour my soda down his pants, but I didn’t want to waste a $3 Pepsi on a guy as worthless as Jon Pinkerton.
He looked away in a dismissive manner that boiled my blood. It took everything in my power not to rip his eyelashes out with the tweezers in my purse.
“I just love it when you talk like the jerk you are,” I said angelically and then went to look for Mareka.
A short search found her in a dirty, little corner behind the south side bleachers. She was half-crouched, holding her sides and gasping for breath. I could hear a weird rattle coming from her chest, and just as I was going to ask her what was wrong, her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell over.
Right about then is when I completely freaked out. I’m not a doctor (obviously), but I knew something was seriously wrong. My best friend in the whole world had just keeled over and we hadn't even been to the prom yet.
I began yelling for help. Of course, the human maggot was the first to find us. He rushed over to help, but I didn’t want him to touch her. I pushed him away and hissed at him to call an ambulance. I think I may have had fire shooting from my eyeballs judging by the way he scrambled to find a phone. Once the ambulance arrived, I climbed in beside the gurney and tried to make myself as small as possible so that I didn’t get in the way of the paramedics who were working on her.
Later, a sympathetic nurse told me that Mareka suffered from a punctured lung. Someone had broken her rib at just the right spot and shoved the fractured bone into the soft tissue of her neighboring lung. It was a CSI moment, (as in that only happens on television) or a Final Destination plot thread (as in Death made that happen because there’s no way on earth that just happened naturally) except it was horribly real. The nurse patted me on the shoulder and said I probably saved her life. Me, a hero. But I didn’t feel like a hero. I felt…rage.
It only took one guess who delivered the punch, and I was not going to let him get away with it, either.
In hindsight I probably needed to take a time-out but I wasn’t thinking straight. I walked out of the hospital with a mission. I had to kill Jon Pinkerton. (Now remember, this was in the heat of the moment. I wasn’t thinking clearly.)
Our town is not very big so there were only so many places for him to hide. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t go home. Maybe my murderous rage had given m some kind of insight to the human maggot. I found him at the edge of town. He was in the park, sitting on one of the swings. For a moment, I just stood beside the car staring at him. It was only then that I realized I didn’t know how to kill someone.
I was a sophomore in a rural high school; I didn't own a gun. I couldn't stand the sight of much blood, so even if I’d had the foresight to bring a knife, I wouldn’t have been able to finish the job without first throwing up and I couldn't very well strangle him. He was much stronger than me. I was stumped. I probably should’ve Googled it first. Again, hindsight.
He looked up to see me standing there. It was like a stand-off, of sorts.
I needed a plan. What could I do? I looked at my feet. A palm-sized, jagged rock stared up at me. I imagined sinking the sharp end of it into his head. I could see the blood squirt and choked back a chili dog trying to rumble back up my esophagus. Now was not the time to urp up dinner; it was time for action. I focused my anger into strength.
I bent as if to tie my shoe and grabbed the rock. Concealing it carefully in my jacket pocket, I walked toward him. The spiky end of the rock poked my side, reminding me of my mission with each step. I pictured Mareka's face crumpled in agony as her own rib slashed through the tender lung tissue. That’s some serious shit for a kid my age to deal with, for Mareka to go through. Oh yeah, he needed to pay. I didn’t have much faith in the justice department doing its due diligence. People worse than Jon Pinkerton got off all the time and there was no way I was going to be okay with him walking away with a slap on the wrist and probation.
Finally, we stood face-to-face. The moonlight shone down, wrapping the playground in an eerie glow. I’d never really noticed how creepy playgrounds were at night.
“Punctured lung.”
I waited for a response, but he disappointed me by remaining silent.
“Do you understand, you jerk?” I asked, putting my hand in my pocket to grip the rock I was hiding. He looked as if he might try to deny that he’d hit her and honestly, I think I was waiting for it so I could use that opportunity to kick him in the nuts but instead he appeared broken up about what he’d done.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he admitted in a small voice. A moment passed then he said, “I was so mad because I didn’t want to go to that stupid game with you! And then…I just got so mad. It happened so fast.”
“She’s hurt pretty bad,” I said, unmoved by the sudden tears glittering in his eyes. Man, I never knew I was such a cold bitch. It’s amazing what you discover about yourself in extreme circumstances. And previously I thought I was bad ass for mastering a few dance steps.
“I didn't think that I hit her that hard. You've got to believe me.”
I remembered how she’d looked as she struggled for air, as the damaged lung began to wheeze helplessly. I could hear the life rattling out of Mareka’s body, and then I saw the bruises.
“Saying sorry won’t make this all better,” I said, pissed that he would even try to make it all go away by offering some lame apology.
“I know,” he acknowledged, a contrite look crossing his features in the moonlight.
“It’s time for you to feel some pain,” I said softly, griping the rock so tightly my fingers were starting to ache.
It was payback time. A prayer seemed a little inappropriate, but I said one anyway, hoping that God was in an avenging mood.
“What? You wanna hit me?” he asked incredulously as he jumped out of the swing. Oh big surprise, his angry face replaced his sad face.
I stepped back. My heart was slamming against my breastbone so hard I thought I could feel a bruise inside. It was now or never. Time to put up or shut up. My grip on the rock was sweaty. I was afraid that, in the crucial moment, my weapon might slip out of my hand.
Mistaking my step back as a sign of fear, a dark expression covered his face, and I caught a glimpse of what Mareka might have seen the moment before he crippled her lung. He fed on fear, needed it. Well, I wasn’t Mareka. Fresh anger pumped through my veins and I decided that there was no time like the present to get down to business. I lunged at his head with the rock. I closed my eyes and sliced downward. The rock hit something solid and Jon yelped.
I opened my eyes to the sound of Jon screaming and holding his head. Home run! I hit him again. He sank to the ground without another sound.
I stood over him trembling. Suddenly, the playground that I had known since I was a girl in pigtails took on a surreal quality. The pale light shining off the faded equipment made everything look strange and sinister. Standing there with my childhood memories ricocheting in my head, I wondered how badly this act of vengeance was going to affect my high school career. Certainly the cheer squad was out. Knocking off a fellow student was not usually considered an act of school spirit.
Suddenly, I realized I had a much bigger dilemma on my hands. Well, aside from the fact that I’d just committed a felony.
I looked down at Jon. His eyes were shut peacefully and one arm was resting across his chest. If it weren’t for the blood splattered down his shirt and drooling from the hole in his head, you’d think he was just catching a siesta.
I had to think. What was I supposed to do now? Another instance where planning ahead would’ve been useful.
Grabbing Jon by the ankles, I nearly herniated a disc by dragging the big lug away from the swing area. The work was slow but the fear of prison added strength to my screaming muscles and I managed to drag him to my car without being seen. In hindsight, I suppose someone was smiling on me that night.
After propping him up and strapping him into the seat belt, I quickly stripped and redressed. Luckily, I had a change of clothes in the backseat from a recent sleepover. (Thank God for laziness.)
In between grunting and cursing and dragging his body, I hatched the perfect plan. Well, as perfect as any plan could be given two seconds of thought. It was so crazy it had to work.
If it didn't, I would be sitting the rest of my young life behind bars.
I drove back to the hospital and started screaming my head off the minute I pulled into the emergency bay.
“I found him at Carleton Park,” I explained in a rush as people came running out. “Please, help him. I can't believe this is happening!”
I began to sob into my hands, at first in an attempt to hide my insincerity, but suddenly real tears started to pour. Maybe it was the stress or the horror of the whole night, I'm not sure. Whatever the reason, it’d worked just as well as a lucky rabbit’s foot. Before I knew it, a big-chested nurse was consoling me, clucking at me like a mother hen at her errant chick.
I’d watched enough television and movies to know the basic routine. I knew a cop would come to take my statement. Of course, I would tell him everything up until the part where I smashed a rock to Jon’s cranium and snuffed out his miserable life. Seemed simple enough. If only I could work up a few more tears.
My thoughts flashed to the bloody rock, sticky with gross stuff (I don’t even want to know what) and strands of hair. It was still sitting in the trunk of my mom’s car. The thought made me more than a little uneasy.
A nurse walked toward me with a stern expression. I braced myself for the news that Jon was dead. I mentally prepared myself to look shocked and horrified, perhaps even a little heart-broken. When the nurse reached me, her face erupted into an unexpected smile.
“I have some good news. You're friend is alive.”
What! My mouth dropped open and I could hardly breathe. He was alive. Oh God, I was going to prison now for sure. As soon as he was able, that rotten jerk would sing like a bird. My life was ruined. Goodbye cheer squad. Goodbye college. Hello orange jumpsuit, bad hair and starchy foods.
“He's alive?” I managed to whisper.
The nurse took my response as one of relief, instead of the terror that I felt. Maybe I should’ve gone into theater. Apparently, I was pretty good at lying through my teeth.
“You saved his life.” The nurse's eyes were full of admiration. “I'm sure that he's going to say you are his guardian angel. It was blind luck to have found him so quickly. If he had lost anymore blood...” she tsked at the possibilities.
The little tremors that had been making my knees quake grew to the point where I had to sit or fall down. Could you say nightmare? I had no doubt Jon would be calling me names but guardian angel probably wouldn’t be among them; more like psycho bitch would be more like it.
I opened his door with a frozen expression. Jon was lying partially propped up with a huge white bandage on his head. He looked at me with a blank stare as I came into the room. When he managed a smile, I almost fainted.
“Hi. I'm so glad that you came to see me,” he said, his voice weak.
“Really?” What a sick bastard! He was toying with me. I should have driven around the block a few times before bringing him in.
“I wanted to thank you for bringing me to the hospital. If it hadn't been for you...” His eyes began to mist over at the thought of his brush with death. “Do you think you could call my parents for me? I don’t seem to have my cell with me.”
He wanted me to call his parents? Not sure I could do that. Surely that was grounds for a lightening strike to the nob. Before I could say anything, the doctor came in.
“You are one lucky guy,” he admonished. “If it hadn't been for this friend of yours, I can't say that I would have been able to give such news.”
Just as the doctor finished talking, there was a polite rap on the door and an officer came into the room. “If it's all right, I’d like to take your statement,” he said, taking out a small notepad.
The room had begun to tilt. Panic paralyzed me. I was going to prison!
A puzzled look came over Jon, and he gave the same blank stare to the officer that he gave me when I came in to the room.
“I don't remember.”
The air whooshed out of my lungs. The officer and I both looked to the doctor. I forced myself to appear concerned when in fact I was dancing like a crazy person in my head.
“It is possible that you have some short-term memory loss, which could have happened when you were attacked or when you hit the ground. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to restore that. Only time will tell.”
I tried not to let my relief show. I did my best to look disappointed.
“So, are you saying that whoever did this, could get away with it?” I asked, sounding as angry as I could manage without sounding like a bad actress in an equally bad movie.
“Well, unfortunately, it doesn't look good if our key witness has lost his memory of the event. Unless we find the weapon, that is,” the officer ventured.
Again, my thoughts jumped to the incriminating rock lying in the trunk. Criminy, I needed to ditch the evidence.
“Here's my card. Let me know if you remember anything…” the officer handed Jon the card and then shook my hand before leaving. I prayed that my hand was steady. The doctor followed the officer, and suddenly, there was just Jon and I. Had he really lost his memory?
“You honestly don't remember, huh?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I remember my name and where I was born, stuff like that. But, I can’t seem to remember anything after the first kick-off at the football game. I don’t even know what I was doing at that park. It's like someone erased that part of my memory.”
“I guess everyone is getting a second chance tonight,” I said cryptically. In my mind’s eye I saw Mareka, only a couple doors down from Jon’s room. “Here’s the thing…sorry about the bad timing and all but Mareka wants to break up with you.”
“Why?” he asked, grimacing. “Never mind. I get it.”
Smart boy. He might not remember the incident that landed him in that hospital bed but he knew he was no angel. I turned to leave — no, make that skip — from the room when his voice at my back stopped me.
“Tell her I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve treated her better.”
“You got that right,” I muttered and hustled out of there, eager to get away from him and put some distance between myself and the whole felonious affair. I smiled and left the hospital.
Mareka didn't press charges because he didn’t even remember what he had done to her and he seemed truly sorry, but she agreed with me and decided it was best to stop seeing him. Surprisingly, Jon still hasn't regained his memory of that night, and for some reason, he seems a lot nicer.
Of course, I have my own theory. Maybe his memory is just fine. Sometimes I wonder, but I’m not worried. I dropped the rock into the nearest
lake, detailed the car and then convinced my mom it was time for an upgrade. She enjoys driving her new car, and I enjoy having my best friend back.
I suppose if he did happen to remember and tried to go to the police I might have a problem but honestly, who would believe him? I saved his life. If it weren’t for me, his sorry life would’ve dribbled out in the dirt. I think deep down, he knows this. Seems a taste of mortality can do wonders for Douchey McDouchey types.
Now, it’s back to real life, filled with cramming for tests, trying out for the cheer squad, finding a date for the prom and of course, playing the occasional mall rat.
But one thing is for sure, I am going to college a hero, and, let me tell you, that will look pretty damn awesome on my application.