"Sometimes people die because they have a reason that couldn't be heard when they were alive."
The desk second row from the left, the one next to the wide window, that's where he used to sit in math; from 11:30 AM to 12:50 AM. Notice how I said used too.
His name is Louis Tomlinson, he was different, in a bittersweet way. Star football player, stunning blue eyes, killer smile, and a great best friend. He dated about eight people in this school, I don't know about the ones before. Knowing he came from England, for unknown reasons. No one knows why he got moved out of Mayberry High School, which is probably much better than my school, Mary Smith High. All we know that is private document is in my Dad's locked up files.
My dad was a big help to his family, when that event happened, three months ago. My dad and his dad were good friends, one reason Mr.Tomlinson come to my dad for some help. Other reason being that Louis's dad is so he could 'cut some slack' on the amount of money he needs to pay my dad. We all known he was cheap. My dad works with family issues for a living. He doesn't talk about it much, but helps couples with adopting a kid, signing to get a divorce, school issues of students, and so on. My dad never spoke a word about the Tomlinson's family case after it closed and I wasn't allowed to ask about it either, so it remains a mystery. A mystery that might help me find out why Louis did the unspeakable.
Louis committed suicide last Wednesday. It was said he hung himself and his upstairs bathroom, not leaving a note behind. Leaving no one knowing why he did such a thing. Some people say he was greedy, but honestly for someone to take that far of a step, they must have a good reason. Or at least that’s what I think. The thing is, he had a perfect laid out life right in front of him - going to college, probably on a full paid scholarship, had a pretty girlfriend, and good grades. Nothing to worry about, but people hide their problems.
Rumors about why he killed himself have been buzzing around the hallways. Like: ‘He didn't like football, but his parents forced him to play it’ ‘He thought he was ugly.’ ‘He had depression’. No one knows what’s true and what’s not. But for some reason I think my dad may have a pretty good idea.
"Here we go again, Kian please pay attention," Mr.Banks barks, making me refocus on his bald head. I can't pay attention in class much anymore, I keep thinking about Louis. Doesn’t help no one has replaced his desk. Nothing has been the same without him - football practice, school, nothing.
"Sorry," I mumble, as his brown eyes stare deep into my soul. A bit dramatic, but whatever.
"Just please put your faces towards the board," Mr. Bank demands. The school bell rings, the clock reads 12:50, class is over.
Mr. Banks's face hardens, "Ugh, remember you have a test Friday. See you guys tomorrow. You are dismissed."
I rise from my seat and start to pack up my stuff, not in a rush to exit the room. Stepping out the door, I came into eye contact with Missy, Louis's last girlfriend.
"Hey Missy, how are you?" I question, walking next to Missy's and my locker.
"Alright, I guess, what about you?" She replies, as I unlock my locker, stuffing my supplies into the small locker.
Missy and I are actually good friends, I haven't known her as long ss Louis. But we have movie night every Friday and usually eat lunch together. Plus we always can count on each other to have each others backs. She was like the third one to our trio, until Louis well, died. Now it's just her and me.
"You kept staring at Louis's desk in math today, again. Are you sure? You have been pretty off," Missy claims, walking to P.E. together.
"Well what do you expect? My best friend is dead," I sigh, walking down the crowded stairwell to the gym.
"It's been for everyone, Kian," Missy declares, patting my back, softly.
"I guess, see ya," I say, waving to her goodbye, as we part our ways to go into the locker rooms. Being greeted by Zayn, another star football player on my team.
"What's up?" He greets, going in for a hug.
"Nothing much, just trying to get through, you know," I say, unlocking my gym locker, which is about three times smaller than my locker upstairs.
"Yeah, hey listen, everyone is going to the funeral tomorrow, want to stop by my house so we can go together?" Zayn ask, lifting his shirt to reveal his six pack.
"Um sure, what time?" I question, sliding off my gray t-shirt.
"Around four would be good, it starts at five, and it takes twenty minutes to get there," Zayn plans out, while finishing get dressed.
"Look at you, always planning ahead," I tease, sliding on my gym shorts.
"It's what you have to do to stay on top of things," Zayn declared, as we lock up our small lockers.
"I guess so," I sigh, walking beside him.
"I think today is a track day," he says.
"Gives me some time to think," I mumble, exiting the locker room, entering the loud, over populated gymnasium.
Waving bye to Missy, I get off the train and start walking down my street, hands in pockets, passing by dull colored townhouses.
Missy and I live more downtown than our school, because it's easier for our parents to get to work. Even know there is a lot of schools closer to where we live, our parents think Mary Smith High is better than all the city schools. Which I personally agree, knowing the crime rate of the city schools. I mean, Mary Smith isn't perfect either, but it is safer, at least that’s what my parents say.
Missy lives farther down into the city, about a ten minute walk from my house to hers. Which is nice, when you forget your homework and need to copy the problems; sometimes the answers too.
Breathing in the sharp February air, I get closer to my house. Soon I see a box on my front door step - a small brown box, propped against the front door. I began to walk a faster, breaking off from the sidewalk and into my front yard.
Picking up and studying the box, I realized it's addressed to me. In black marker it clearly states, 'Kian St. Clare,' messy hand writing but it still reads my name. Unlocking the front door, I enter a silent house, being the only child, it's no surprise. My parents usual get home around 9:30 PM.
I drop my book bag on the floor, running into the kitchen, to grab a knife to open the package. Opening up the package, I come to find tapes. Tapes you put in a Walkman player, everyone has one. Digging through the box, there's a small folded piece at the bottom.
Listen. Eight lessons, eight stories, eight past lovers them being all girls. - L.T
Louis. Louis Tomlinson. He sent the types or at least made them. Will this tell why he killed himself?
I carry the box, up to my room, and sit them on the bed. Rumbling through my night stand drawer to try to find my Walkman player.
I found my Walkman player, which had a pair of yellow headphones to go with it. I place myself on my bed, popping open my Walkman, ready to listen to why a perfectly fine teenager hung himself. Maybe I'm not ready, but I have to know. I can already feel my heart racing.