CHAPTER SEVEN
"So, she just told you to be careful and walked away; nothing more?"
"Yes."
"Mhm; that's interesting." Mother took a sip from her herbal tea, her face registered a calm expression even though her curt 'mhm' left me wanting to hear more of what she meant or thought about my five seconds chat with Pam.
"I wonder what she's up to." I added. "I mean, I've never seen someone so ungrateful in my life."
"Ungrateful? Bradley the last time I checked you were about to paint an ugly picture of her to show it to the world because you hated her."
"Yes, mother but things have changed."
"What changed them? You or her?" At that point, I opened my mouth to talk but didn't know what to say. "You sneaked up at her in the hospital a few hours after you argued with her at the park; now you sit here telling me she's ungrateful."
"She should've said something nice." I said.
"I wouldn't say anything nice to you if I were the one."
"Why."
"Because you were an idiot."
"Mother!"
"Bradley, I have to be honest with you. I'm still not happy about you going to the hospital. Not that it's a bad thing, but it’s dangerous."
"I wanted to be sure it wasn't Phil."
"As the first visitor, you'd be a prime suspect of what could have happened to her had she been attacked." I was mute. She sighed and continued. "Look, if you like this girl, fine; but you have to understand one thing: she's not ordinary. What I mean is she has a special problem that probably made her how she is and you can't change that."
"How did you know that; you don't know her."
"Yes, I don't know her, but I've been there once. This whole cancer stuff had pushed me to the edge that I became mad with everyone. You know the hell I made you go through."
She's right about that. We both went through a lot when she was diagnosed of breast lump. We passed through the different stages of grief; the denial and anger stages been the worse time of our lives.
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you will go through hell to cope with her. She's a ticking clock and that's what makes it worse. She needs a friend but only if she could let someone in. It's your choice." She sipped her tea again. "Talking about friends, what are you and Phil up to; still not talking to each other?"
I had an instant recollection of the look in his eyes when he saw me with Pam. "He's still angry, but he'll come around."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes mother. He's no big deal, I can handle him."
"You do that fast; if you're going for a girl like Pam, you definitely could use a friend like Phil, at least for emotional support."
"Now you sound wicked." I said. She laughed.
The next day at school; I resolved to confront Phil; I saw him outside class with two of our friends so I walked towards them. I was harbouring a little bit of anger in me when I got there.
"Phil, I want to talk to you." I asked
"About what?"
"About this madness; angry at the little misunderstanding you are finding hard to let go."
"Madness you say; the last time I saw a mad man was in a mental home." He chuckled, the others laughed.
"You think this is funny right?"
"Damn right it is; madness is a word that hardly qualifies someone like me. I mean, I'm not the one that fell for a mad girl I happened to hate a little while ago. I'm not the one that goes about accusing my best friend of unimaginable things and I'm not the one that..."
"You told me you were going to the park to search for her even when I tried stopping you."
"I didn't go to the park, Brad."
"What the hell do you want me to think after all you said?"
"You should've thought rationally but you didn't. You should've given me the benefit of the doubt, that I couldn’t do such a thing. "
"I did."
"Liar." His voice was rising. "I was the one you first thought of when you saw the girl in the hospital, that's why you picked the phone and called me. You didn't give me the benefit of the doubt."
"Did you just call me a liar?" I asked, coming closer.
"You heard me; liar."
I pushed him on the chest and he pushed back. The others grabbed us just when we were about to start throwing punches.
"You can fuck off to hell Brad." He yelled.
I hurled myself at him and punched him in the face. He punched back and before you know it, we've created a scene: struggling to get free from the grip of the boys; yelling and cursing at each other.
After much effort, I was dragged off to one side and him to the other side. I had a bleeding mouth; he had a bleeding cut just above his left eye. A lot of students have gathered at that time, looking at us, but my anger made me not to care. I walked away from the place angrier than before we started the fight.
My mouth tasted salty having a mixture of blood and spit. My anger swallowed the pain in my mouth.
The restroom was empty; good for my state of mind. I splashed water on my face, rinsed my bloody mouth, starred at myself in the mirror and observed that, except for the squeezed jacket and rumpled hair, I didn't look that messy.
"Are you alright, mate?" It was Henry Gordon, a classmate. I sighed.
"Yeah, I guess." I said, looking at myself in the mirror
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing. Just nothing." I said and walked out.
My desk was abreast Phil's in class, but I hardly noticed his existence there, for I already had a resolution just when I stepped out of the restroom: to hell with Phil.
I went to my room when I got home, that's after a brief stop at the kitchen fridge to scoop some ice for my mouth and waited for mother to come home. I didn't tell mother about the fight. Though I sensed she had observed the little oddity on my face but I'm sure she couldn't tell exactly what it was.
I painted wild. My state of mind was gingered; I succumb to its blind force and painted carelessly. It happens to me sometimes, especially when I'm in a bad mood. I deliberately didn't consider thinking about the mood I had wanted the work to have, I just applied the oil and scrubbed the brush to blend it. Mother peeped into my room once, said the painting is taking real shape and went out.
I never thought rolling solo, minding one's business could be fascinating. My resolution over Phil had gotten me free extra time to do other things on my own. Phil made us go through time consuming, silly adventures most of which I ended up not deriving any satisfaction whatsoever from them. But now that all those were shelved, I saw me with useful extra time to read, browse, see some teachers of mine on personal art advices and go home to paint.
At home, I helped out with the dishes, the garbage, went to the grocery store, did the laundry and even went to the club a couple of times at night to catch glimpses of drunken women. I seemed to love how things turned out for me without Phil, at least for a couple of days, I think, not only did I became a little more serious but also more organized.
This new self-discovery had initiated a series of remorseful flashbacks of my old self; never had I known how pathetic dependency could be. When you are deep into it, you become blind of your own possibilities to greatness. Not only did the flashbacks made me feel like some years from my age have been wasted for nothing, they also made me feel stupid as well. But then, I know I shouldn't be thinking about that now, it's a stupid mistake and it's gone; lesson learnt.
I won't let it happen again.