I try to think of my family as a reason for me being this way,
especially after my friend Michael stopped going to school one day last spring and we heard Mr. Vaughn’s voice on the loudspeaker.
Boys and girls, I regret to inform you that one of our students has passed on.
We will hold a memorial service for Michael Dobson during assembly this Friday.”
I don’t know how news travels around school and why it is very often right. Maybe it was in the lunchroom. It’s hard to remember.
But Dave with the awkward glasses told us that Michael killed himself.
His mom played bridge with one of Michael’s neighbors and they heard the gunshot.
I don’t really remember much of what happened after that
except that my older brother came to Mr. Vaughn’s office in my middle school and told me to stop crying.
Then, he put his arm on my shoulder and told me to get it out of my system before Dad came home.
We then went to eat french fries at McDonald’s and he taught me how to play pinball.
He even made a joke that because of me he got to skip an afternoon of school and asked me if I wanted to help him work on his Camaro.
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