The expression on his face was bored, but a smile almost crossing his lips. As if everything was a joke. Nothing was real to him, as if what he did was alright. But it wasn't. As I sit on my bed, staring at the picture, his head cocked, his very manicured mustache placed just so, his eyebrows raised, as if he is remembering some private joke, a wave a sorrow washes over my soul.
"I could have saved him," I whisper to myself, for no one else is there. "He could be here right now, being a better person. It's all my fault."
Guy was mentally sick. He didn't know it, but everyone else did. It was only a matter of time before he was checked in, but first he had to do something bad. Finally he snapped. It was October 1st when it happened, I was talking to him, asking him about school, he was getting ready to graduate from high school, and wanted to go to college in the fall.
"Guy, Hey!" I cried, flagging him down as he walked stalked quietly away from the school, all alone, as usual. "I wanted to talk to you. I haven't seen you in such a long time. I just wanted to, you know, talk. So, how are you?"
"Fine, I guess." he mumbled, looking straight at the ground, as if nothing else mattered but the penetrating gaze he had placed on the cement. "You?"
"Great! I'm having such a great year, aren't you psyched for graduation?"
"No, I really don't want to go away from here. I'll miss everyone to much." Guy had strange attachments to everyone. I'm not sure what his attachment to me was, but I knew it would be hard for him to leave, we had been best friends for years, ever since I had met him in first grade. "Don't feel bad, everyone will miss people. It's just the normal 'graduation feeling'. What else has been going on, I never see you anymore."
"Were together for Art." He reminded me. I almost responded saying, but your always by yourself, but I decided against it, instead chiming in,
"Speaking of which, how's your piece going?" But in knew immediatly that I should have brought it up. The look on his face told me that I had reached the tipping point. Guy was funny in the way that one small thing could throw him off the edge, and he would run off to his room and not come out until two days afterward, even if it meant skipping school.
"Horribly Cassidy, nothing will go RIGHT!" he replied, starting to yell, and ran off without another word, leaving me alone on the street, halfway to my house.
I knocked on the door of his house, a perfectly polished mohogany piece of wood. I knew his mother would answer the door, so I waited patiently, knowing that she would be a minute, and soon she appeared.
"Cassidy! I'm so happy to see you! Come inside! We need to catch up. Oh wait, are you here to see Guy, because he just ran up to his room. You know how he is."
"Yes, I know Ms. Kellett, I just feel bad because it's my fault. I just, I wasn't thinking, and I wanted to talk to him, because, you know, I haven't seen him in such a long time, and then I brought up his project in art, and he snapped. I just wanted to aplogize for the trouble I've caused."
"Oh, Cassidy, don't feel bad," She responded in her usually calm and understanding nature. Ms. Kellett, and the rest of them as a matter of fact, were very kind, even Guy was so sweet it melted you heart. "You didn't know about the art project. He's just upset because he can't mix the right colors, and since he's a perfectionist it gets to him. Don't feel bad, but thank you for coming to say hello. I really love to see you here. So how have you been?"
She responding, acting as if this situation was totally normal, because for her, it was. The conversation continued that way for another 45 minutes, and I knew she enjoyed every minute of talking to a normal person because the rest of her family was a bit unmanagable. Her other son Sawyer had down-syndrome, and although her was only 18 months old, he was still quite a handful. Her husband was normal, but he was always at work. Mr. Kellett and Guy were always disagreeing, and althought Mr. Kellett loved Guy, sometimes he just had to get away. Ms. Kellett was always so kind, just to make up for the spazims of hate that always radiated throughout the house.
"You can go see him." She said, suprising me, I had never been allowed to see Guy when he was having one ove his horrible mood swings. Her comment caught me off guard.
"What?" I asked, clearly expessing my disbeleif.
"That's right, Guy and I went to a couple therapy sessions, and Mr. Fillmore, that was our therapist, said that it might help Guy get over his feelings faster if he could talk to the offender. I haven't gotten a chance to try it yet, you can be the first if you like."
"Ok, I'll try, but I'm sorry if something breaks." and started up the stairs.
My hand grasped the brass doorknob, but hasitated and knocked instead.
"Guy? Are you in there, it's Cassidy, can I please come in?"
"No" came a muffled voice from behind the door. "Leave me alone!"
"Your mom said I could come up here, I just want to apoligize." and that was the key, the door cracked open, and Guy's face peeped out.
"Yeah, I guess you can come in." The door opened fully and for the first time I peered into the room of Guy Kellett, and I was suprised.
Everything was perfectly organized. All his books here placed vertically, spine out, on his book shelf. His bed was made evenly, no lumps or indentations. Even as I walked into the room, Guy dusted the shelf, and straightened the books, making them even more perfect then they already were. But dispite the coldness that was presented by the maxi-cleanliness, the room felt warm and very welcoming, and I could understand why Guy felt at home here, it was quite obvoisly his sanctum. The walls were a dull blue, obviously worn away by years of wear. There was a dent in the wall by his bedpost that I recognized, because I had caused it. A few years ago I had agitated him, and similar to the situation at hand, I came to apologize to his mother, and while I was there heard the crash of his lamp severly denting the wall. I hadn't ever seen the dent in real life, but now I did, and it was worse than I imagined. The jagged crack steched about as long as my arm, and was as wide as my hand. It dented the wall about three inches at the deepest, and had failed to be covered by even the bed post. It was almost as if it was a reminder of the sin he had commited so many years ago. But Guy was so much better now. His tantrums happened rarely, and he was much calmer.
