Big Damn Project

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Furball didn’t want to admit he was looking for Jon at first, because, well, he didn’t. But the others were happy to let him know that Jon had found his way into the basement. Furball padded down the steps, trying not to alert Jon to himself. Jon wasn’t really paying attention. Like Furball had done so many times before, Jon curled up on the couch, staring at the TV. He couldn’t tell if Jon was asleep or not. He crept over to the couch and sat down quietly, folding his legs in front of him. He knew Jon was aware of him, but he didn’t open his eyes. Furball sat quietly and waited.

Finally, after what seemed like a long, silent debate, Jon opened his eyes. He drew back a little.

“Hi,” Furball said. Jon smiled a little.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” His smiled faded. He lowered his eyes, avoiding Furball.

“How are you feeling?” Furball asked. It was becoming the group’s ‘hello.’

“Pretty crappy.”

“Yeah…” He waited for a response and got none. He shrugged and leaned against the couch. He didn’t mind that Jon didn’t want to talk, but he didn’t want to leave him.

It took Furball awhile to realize the TV was actually on; Jon had muted it and never bothered to unmute it. Which, really, was for the best. The TV lobbied its usual fare of flashback episodes and very special reunions, and there seemed to be a competition over who could get their Christmas movie on the air first. It was a time of formulaic writing and cliches. Furball smiled a little. Jon had been the wonderful cliché, though Furball was sure, given the chance, Jon would have gotten home as soon as he could have made it.

“What happened to your wrist?” Jon studied Furball carefully.

Ty insisted that Furball bandage his wrist, to keep germs out. Furball was beginning to suspect it was a reminder meant for him. “It’s nothing.”

“I guess you’re getting there now, huh?”

“Where?”

“To that point. The one where everything seems hopeless and contrived.”

The calico thought a moment. “I guess…”

“What’s the bandage for?”

“I was feeling really bad last week and I decided to stay home and…” He stopped.

Jon gave an interested ‘hmm.’ “You’re gettng there.”

“It was stupid. It’s not going to happen again.”

Jon nodded. “I guess they told you about me?”

Furball nodded.

That seemed to make Jon smile, if only a little. “They’re storytellers. It’s true, by the way. I’m glad I could be an example.” He rolled on his back and draped his arm across his eyes.

Furball sat back and waited. When Jon turned back, he seemed surprised that Furball was still sitting there.

“We really don’t know each other too well, do we?”

“No. You kind of left before we could.”

Jon winced. “Yeah. I kind of did.”

“Why did you?

Jon folded his hands on his chest and let his eyes explore the ceiling. “You know, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought she loved me and I thought I loved her, and I was so tired of just sitting in school every day and not really learning anything. I thought I could handle it.”

“You couldn’t?” Furball sat forward.

“I could. And then Jace left. That’s when I came back.”

“Why did she leave?”

Jon sighed painfully. “I dunno. I think she decided I wasn’t worth it anymore.”

The hurt in Jon’s voice stung Furball. He wanted to hug him, but he knew Jon would pull away. He sat and felt helpless, his ears pinned against his head.

“I woke up last week and she was gone. She took everything but my clothes, and left a note saying she wasn’t coming back…”

Furball winced. “I’m sorry.”

Jon shrugged. “I should have seen it coming.”

Furball sighed.

“Are you OK?”

He looked up. Jon was watching him, studying him with his slate eyes. “I’m fine,” Furball said.

Jon didn’t say anything, but Furball suspected the look on Jon’s face meant he didn’t believe him.

“I wish I could help.”

“Help me?”

The calico nodded.

Jon dropped his eyes. “Why?”

“I just do.”

Jon considered this. “This isn’t, like, a Farly thing, is it?”

Furball smiled a little. “A Farly thing?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you or anything, but-”

Furball let out a little laugh. “No! No, it’s not like that. I guess I just want to be a good friend.”

Jon nodded.

“So, how come you let Farly get so close to you and no one else?”

Jon couldn’t hide the fur on his face turning a soft shade of red. “Well… you know…”

Furball smiled. “Yeah.”

Jon shrank into himself, willing the blood in his face to leave. He and Furball sat together, sharing their silence.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more to say,” Furball started. “I’m not very good at conversation.”

Jon tilted his head. He looked at his hands.

“Once, I went to this camp with Bryan and Ty. It was a camp for ‘gifted’ kids, and they totally belonged there. People were happy and excited, and talking about all kinds of things I had no idea existed. They were all really smart. I felt left out, so I spent a lot of time hiding.

“One night, this guy came and found me in my room, and he sat down and started playing guitar. That’s it. Just played. And I said the exact same thing you did, because these people expected that sort of thing.”

Furball sat back and let Jon tell his story. This was more than he had ever heard Jon say. Ever.

“The guy stopped playing, and he looked at me and said, ‘My exgirlfriend wrote me a poem, and it said in it, we may have spent our time together in silence, but at least we spent it together.’

“And that was it. He went back to playing.” He paused and scratched behind his ear. “I’ll never forget that.”

Furball let that sit between them. Jon went back to staring at the ceiling, Furball at the TV.

Jon shifted behind him, standing and stretching. He helped Furball up, and Furball followed Jon up the stairs. They both said their goodbyes, and were met with almost ritualistic hugs, mostly for Furball. Farly caught Jon and trapped him in a tight embrace, and rested his head on Jon’s shoulder for a moment. Furball thought he saw Jon smile a little, but got pulled into Ty before he was sure.

Jon and Furball stepped into the cold November air. Jon started off towards his home, and Furball followed. When Jon looked back, Furball said, “I live this way, too.”

Jon slowed his pace so Furball could catch up. “Did I miss something? I mean, with everybody?”

“No one told you?”

“I guess not.”

Furball explained the week as they walked together, about Bourbon, about the party, about how he had cut himself. Jon listened, neither interrupting nor commenting. Finally, when Furball finished, he said, “You guys have been busy.”

“I guess so. Too much stress, really.”

“Is it over now?”

“Looks that way.”

“Good.”

They stopped in front of Jon’s house. There were fresh tire tracks in the driveway, and the heat from Ms. Davis’s car had made something of an oasis in the snow.

“Will you be OK walking home?”

“Yeah,” Furball said. “I think so.”

Jon turned and began down the walk to his front door. He stopped midway and turned back to Furball. “If you ever need anyone to talk to…”

Furball nodded. “You too.”

Jon nodded and went inside. Furball stood at the driveway, watching as the door closed behind Jon. He felt something in his pocket, small and folded, and he pulled it out. In his hand was a battered piece of paper, folded into a square. He carefully unfolded it, and moved under a street lamp to read it. It read:

To whoever finds this:
I’m sorry.
That’s all I can think of. I’m sorry for every failure, for every person I’ve let down.
I tried as hard as I could. I wanted to make my friends happy, to be something worth-while to my parents.
But I failed again.
So, I’m sorry.
Please don’t feel bad for me.
Everything’s OK now.
I’m better now.

It was signed:

Furball.

Furball shook his head. He read the note over again, then tore it into tiny squares. He smiled a little, feeling newer than he had last week, and he turned back the way he came, walking home, little pieces of paper fluttering to the ground behind him.

[the end]

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Tags: 7 days, 7days, anthro, fiction, furball, furry, glbt, high school, jon, lgbt, serial, teen, teenagers, web fiction, YA