This is Chapter 13 of J.D. Tin. You guys are giving me great comments and I LOVE YOU ALL! Sometimes J.D. Tin gets updated earlier on my site. Http://www.th380y.net
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J.D. Tin Chapter Thirteen: The High Cost of Living in Calistoga
I thought a lot about what 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 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. That was when I decided that I would take him on a date. Not to any restaurant. I would take him to a park where we would have a picnic. Cliche, 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 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. 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 pants were not linty by any means. One's mind plays with him when he is anxious and wondering if 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. 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 swig from the bottle. I took two 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 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 took one more and Jack took three. We 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 as Col. Tom Edwards; full-time colonel, part-time UFO cover-up theorist. He 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 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 it length-wise and pulled out the bones. I then cut each 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 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 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 had better 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 panie. 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 here 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." "I lo- -u too." He said, between convulsions.
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