For the Love of Peter Jones

by Adaeze Okoli

  I walk towards Inglewood Public Library on Manchester. This is the only place I can go inside of without being looked at in a suspicious way. Whoever came up with the library concept was my guardian angel. I could finally sit down and stretch out my tired legs. I laid my head down on the wooden table, and tried resting for a bit. But one thing. There was a thought that kept coming into my mind. No matter how far away I tried pushing it. X. even though I was trying to focus my thinking on Trinity, X kept creeping up into the back of my mind. Why though? I wasn’t close to him, nor did I like him. He was a complete selfish jerk. Who killed two innocents without getting blood onto his hands. But the more I thought about him and the situation, I felt bad for him. I felt guilty feeling that way, but it’s the honest truth. I felt bad because somehow in his twisted mind, he thought that he was doing what was best to provide. But to make things worse, I felt bad because I left him all alone in the house while he begged me not to go. Most of all I felt bad because X thinks no one cares about him in this world. He never told me that, but I can sense it. Is it because I was starting to feel this way too? I’m not condoning the things he’s done, but once my mind starts thinking, it never stops. What if it was true though? What if no one cared about X. I mean no one cares about me, not anymore at least, except Trinity. If it weren’t for Trinity though, I’d have no one. And that’s not me being dramatic. Trinity texted me again, but I didn’t reply I needed to save battery on my phone.

  After resting for a bit, I got up and started heading outside to continue my walk that would lead me to nowhere. Walking was beginning to become very painful. I don’t understand how people make an actual effort to walk and run every day. My upper thighs burned. Where was I walking to? To answer that question, I don’t know. I don’t know where I’m going. Part of me wanted to go back and check on X, and another part of me wanted to leave him to be buried alive. I hated myself for allowing X to enter my thoughts. Because X doesn’t deserve the time or day. By thinking of him, I’m only making Jasmine and Austin’s death justified. Why would I keep thinking of a murderer? It was after that last thought that I heard my mom’s voice in the back of my head.

  My mom said, “Forgiveness.” I started having a flashback.

  “Everyone deserves forgiveness, even murderers, and rapists.”

  I looked at my mom like she had said a dirty word.

  “Why?”

  We were in the garden and she was watering her plants. She stood up and smiled at me.

  “No matter what a person has done we should always forgive them. That doesn’t mean we have to like them and act like they haven’t done anything bad.” Scrunching up my nose I looked at my mom. I was confused and didn’t understand what she meant at all. My mom put her hands on her hips.

  “Peter, what happens when a plant doesn’t get any water or sunlight?”

  Of course, I knew the answer to that question; it’s a very simple answer.

  “Duh, the flower stops growing, loses its color, then becomes kind of hard and crunchy, then dies.”

  Mom laughed a little, “That’s right, that’s exactly what happens to the plant. Well, like what happens to a plant if it doesn’t have water and sunlight. Can happen to our hearts if we don’t allow forgiveness. If we don’t allow forgiveness, then our hearts can become bitter and not have room to heal and grow.”

  At the time I didn’t know what my mom meant when she said all of that, but I do now. I need to forgive X for what he did and move on. The thoughts about him and the two young ones won’t leave my mind until I have peace. I’m going to go back to X’s place after I eat the other half of my muffin. I’ll let X know that I forgive him. Like my mom said forgiveness is something everyone needs in order to heal.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After I finished my muffin I texted Trinity back. I was shocked, the muffin filled me up a bit. I’m glad it did because I wouldn’t be able to walk all the way back to X’s place on an empty stomach. The walk would at least be fifty minutes, so a little under an hour. I wish I had my earplugs, so I could walk while listening to music off of my phone. I could always find a tune to match whatever emotion I was feeling. Whenever I walked while listening to music I would feel like I’m in some music video. I looked down at my pants. I noticed my clothes still looked somewhat clean. I’m guessing it’s because I was wearing all dark colors. My hair was getting pretty greasy though and my teeth felt like they had a little film over them.

  Reaching the street X’s house was on I started rehearsing what I would say to him when he opened the door.

  “Hey man, I’m sorry I walked out on you the way I did,” no, that’s horrible.

  “X I’m sorry about the other day, can we start over?” No, that doesn’t sound right either. That sounds like we’re in a relationship.

  “Hey, X. What you did can never be changed, and is definitely unforgivable. I was in a deep shock when you told me what happened, and that’s why I blew up the way I did,” close enough.

  That would have to do. I rehearsed the words in my head over, and over until they became familiar. I can give him the other half of my Starbucks sandwich as a peace offering. For some reason, I was getting nervous. I guess I had a good reason to be. We didn’t end on good terms. Approaching his front door was a difficult thing for me to do. The palm of my hands started sweating and my heart started racing. I knocked on the door feebly and waited for him to open the door, but he didn’t answer. Huh, what if he wasn’t able to hear the knock? I knocked a little harder, but still no reply. The third time I knocked the door cracked open a little. That’s weird the door was left unlocked. I pushed the door open and walked in. I set my backpack down by the door and called out to X.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing, I got no reply from him. I shut the front door and started searching for X. This was strange, where was he?

  Checking the bedrooms, I called his name again. Was he not at home? The kitchen counter was a mess there were alcohol bottles all over the place. One drink had spilled and was on the carpet. I looked at the couch, it looked crooked to me. I walked over to the couch, next to the armrest there was a mix of pills and cocaine. Getting worried I walked around to the front of the couch faster, and there he was. I stood there, I didn’t blink, and I didn’t call his name.

  There were a pen and a notebook next to him as well as a folded-up letter. I didn’t pick up either of the things I looked at his lifeless body. X was dead and there was no need for me to check and see. His skin color looked awfully pale and he wasn’t moving whatsoever. I started to feel my chest tighten up. I didn’t get to tell him I forgave him. Looking down I noticed the letter next to notebook and pen had my name on it. I was hesitant to pick it up. I knew that the letter was meant for me but part of me was too scared to pick it up. The letter was calling my name, I was too curious, I picked the folded paper. I was too curious to know what the inside of the note said. I walked to the room X had given me and sat on the mattress. I peeled open the letter. I took notice to X handwriting, his penmanship was incredible. I would never have guessed someone like him would have such beautiful handwriting.

  X’s letter read:

  Hey Peter, if you’re reading this then I was right about you. If you never came back and read this I guess the joke would be on me then. I know you’re most likely reading this and thinking, “What the hell,” but the more you read the more you will learn. I hope you decide to read this entire letter instead of crumpling it up. Age thirteen is a turning point in most people’s lives. They’ve entered their teen years. For me, age thirteen is when everything became hell. My mother had always had a drinking problem, but that was okay. It was okay because she was born into a pretty wealthy family and wasn’t abusive. I remember getting picked up from school, but something was different. Mother had a guy in the car. She introduced me to him and said his name was Eric. From the moment I got in the car, I didn’t like him. Why? Because the way he looked at me. His look wasn’t a hateful look or anything, I felt
like he stared at me a little too long. Let’s fast forward a little; I’m now age fourteen almost fifteen. My mom was still with the same guy. They had gotten into an argument and for the first time, and I saw Eric hit my mother. Like most people, I tried to intervene. Eric turned and looked at me and said, “I’ve been too nice to you, wait until tonight.” Me being how I was at the time I didn’t think too much about what he said. Now let’s say it’s ten pm still the same day. My mother and Eric got done drinking. Mom was passed out but Eric was wide awake. I was upstairs in my room writing a novel I wanted to get published. Eric called me down the stairs, I was very reluctant to come down but also afraid not to go down. When I got down the stairs Eric was holding a big wad of cash and two guys with cameras were standing next to him. As you can imagine I had a look of confusion on my face, but soon everything became clear…all too clear. “Take as many videos and pictures as you want fellas. I’m going to teach this one a lesson,” Eric called out to the men. To shorten this up a little, the men had paid Eric to watch me get completely humiliated. Eric would fight me while I failed to fight back. He would kiss me and touch me in an inappropriate place. Why? Because he’s an abuser, he got off on hurting others. I mean why not get paid for doing something you like to other? Picture me at age fifteen now. All of the same stuff was happening, but Eric was getting paid more money. He was becoming more aggressive with me. There was only one place where I had some peace. That was in my room on my laptop writing while listening to Eminem songs. One afternoon when I was at school my teacher stopped me. My teacher told me how incredible my writing was. She wanted me to enter the schools writing contest. I was ecstatic, I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mother even though I knew she wouldn’t care much. Stepping into my house I saw that Eric was hovering over my mother as she signed some papers. I asked my mother what she was signing. My mother replied to me saying, “ These papers state I’m allowing Eric have legal custody over you baby. Eric brought it to my attention that it would be easier if he too had custody over you. Since I’m always busy and such. Eric suggest coparenting is much easier.” My body went limp I knew it was time for me to run away. Things were getting too hectic so that night I did. I ran away and never turned back like Ludacris says in his song Runaway Love. Okay, so now I’m sixteen and I have picked up all sorts of bad addictions such as drinking, smoking, and doing drugs. I was headed down a dangerous road. Drugs had messed me up so bad I couldn’t speak without saying “uh” in almost all of my sentences, as you may have heard. Writing had been something I gave up long ago. I didn’t believe I had the power in me to create a masterpiece. But writing still calmed me down and was my escape from reality. I’m stopping at age nineteen because that’s where my story ends. I’m telling you all of this because I see an artist in you. From the moment I saw you I noticed you were very aware of everything around you. You are not a loud talker but when you do speak you grab everyone’s attention. You haven’t dropped out of school meaning you are still trying to learn. How could I tell you’re an artist? That’s because I used to be one. As an artist you can spot out another person who also has that talent. Peter, you have the power to share with people your wonderful talent. I left you a pen and notebook so you can start creating your story. You’ve been given a talent don’t let anything or anyone mess that up. My story has come to an end but yours is filled with lots of opportunity. Now go pick up that notebook and pen and start creating. ~ Wishing you peace, and much care, X.

  Some tears were rolling down my cheeks. This was an amazing letter, it made me want to run over to X and shake him awake. I knew he wouldn’t wake up if I did that. I wish someone could roll back time so I could have stopped X from killing himself. This letter proved that he still had it, that he still had his writing talent. His speech may no longer be the best, but when he writes he knows how to create a scene. X can make you feel like you’re right there with him.

  I had no hate for X, he was another human who got off track and believed his life had no purpose. I got up off of the bed and went back into the living room to pick up the notebook and pen. I stuffed it down into my backpack and walked out the door. When I was down the block I stopped and asked a lady for some change for the pay phone. She gave me some change and I found the next near pay phone and called the police department. I told them that I thought someone was hurt or dead. I gave them a fake name and told them the address where they could find X.

  I continued walking and soon found a little park where I could lay in the grass and rest my eyes. The clouds looked grey but so fluffy and pillow like. The cloud-like pillows mesmerized me. It’s going to rain, I stopped looking at the clouds and zoned out. X, I’m sorry about how I yelled at you the other day. I’m sorry those are the last words you heard. My heart hurts knowing the pain you were caused in your childhood. You won’t be forgotten, I promise. More importantly, I’m sorry for leaving you alone when you needed someone the most. But most of all I forgive you, X.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Days have passed by and tomorrow I would be going back to school. I felt sick. Not the type of sick where you have a cold and your mother makes chicken noodle soup so you feel better. When I ran out of food to eat I started drinking with some couch surfers who let me crash with them at night. I would drink in the morning with them and pop pills at night so I could push my pains away. I wasn’t trying to start popping pills, I fell into it. One night when I was sitting on the ground, a guy had passed me. He asked if I wanted some good stuff. Something that would take off the edge. At this point, I didn’t care and took what he was offering. He didn’t ask for money, he handed me the pills and left. They worked, and I liked it. I found myself no longer hungry, I was at peace. I know I said I wouldn’t drink or do drugs, my intentions were never to end up like that guy. I’ve let myself down, and above all else I’ve let my mom down.

  I searched for more, anything that would let me feel like that first high again. I haven’t texted Trinity since I last told her I would see her soon. Every time I even consider texting her, my mind interrupts me with millions of reasons as to why I shouldn’t.

  Lately my thoughts have been consumed with finding food. Which would turn into find a drink or some pills so you can get your mind off of food. Which then causes me to feel guilty and result in me wanting to harm myself. How could this have happened to me. I’ve gone from ok, to suicidal in about two weeks. I’ve played out my death one hundred times in my mind. The only thing that has been keeping me company during these times is the notebook X gave me. I decided to write a story that started a while ago. A story that no one else can say they actually wrote because I know every page by heart. I was writing a story that would break people’s hearts.

  Like X, writing now only seems to be my escape from reality. The weather could be freezing, but as long as I was writing I didn’t mind. All the noise that goes on outside, I can’t hear while I write. The pen was my tool and the notebook was my canvas. Words seemed to flow without effort on the blank lines of the pages. I didn’t have to give much thought about what I was going to write. Everything was already programmed in my mind. There was a certain rhythm that I had when writing, this rhythm fascinated me.

  My story would be one of the first of its kind. It wasn’t going to be sugar coated; this story would have nothing but the truth. I’m not going to add anything to make it more attractive because people need to hear this. I don’t know why I was so adamant about getting this story out. I guess I felt like it was something noteworthy. Whatever it was I was going to make this story heard. I’m doing this for X because he deserves this, doing this for my mom in hopes that this would make her proud. I’m doing this for me, doing this so I have something I’ve accomplished that I can be proud of.

  Tomorrow will be one week that I’ve been gone from school. My anxiety is shooting through the roof. I’m praying that everyone will leave me alone. Even though I have this notebook it’s not enough to protect me from the cruel people at that school.


  Slumped down next to me was a guy who looked out of it. He looked like a skeleton with a thin layer of skin covering his bones. The drugs he was on made him forget that he hadn’t eaten in a few days. He smiled at me showing all his stained yellow teeth. The man was passing me a needle I took it and said, “Thanks”.

  His glassy bloodshot eyes looked empty and lifeless.

  The guy who was slumped down next to me said, “No problem man, you’re going to need it.”

  I looked at the man. What exactly did he mean? He turned his face away from me and stared off into space.

  “What do you mean?” I asked the guy.

  “Eh, I don’t know man, you got one of them looks about you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Today was the day; it was finally time for me to go back to school. I got up off the ground where I fell asleep. The man was still completely out of it. Making sure he was still breathing I checked to see if he had a pulse, and thank God he did. My phone was off but I knew it had to be around 5:30 am because it was still a little dark outside. Everything was still in my backpack as if I had never missed a day of school. The day was cold and a little foggy outside. The fog hung in the sky like a thick blanket.