Fried Chicken

The sun does not love you. If it did it would stay. It wouldn’t abandon you after three months. Three months of joy and freedom isn’t long enough for anyone. A person needs at least a lifetime of adventure and play and exploration to achieve self-actualization. Trapped in a prison camp, forced to study minerals and long division, who am I supposed to be beyond a statistic in a messed-up system I don’t fully understand.

It's 7PM and I’m in the backyard behind my treehouse so no one can easily see me dig a grave for myself. My dog, Buddy, lies by the base of the treehouse, watching me swing my shovel up and down, up and down. Usually he’s playful and energetic, but tonight his melancholic eyes watch me carve a hole in the earth that’s just my size. I hate that he sees me like this.

As I dig, my happy self lies next to the gravesite. He’s engulfed in a giant trash bag with a bunch of duct tape over it to bind his ankles together and his arms to his torso. He shouldn’t be able to breathe, yet he still talks. 

“We should try that new burger joint across town. I hear it has this burger with a patty made entirely of bacon. We HAVE to try it,” he says to himself, yet he recites conversations he’s had with Baxter, back when leaves dressed in lush green and white clouds sail under blue backdrops and friendship was forever. “No, I’m not making that up. I know how much you like bacon…What?...Why would you do something like that just for bacon?...You should get tested for diseases or something.”

Baxter never got tested. Instead, we shoplifted from the toy section of our local convenient store. It was one of the latest action figures from the Robo Warrior set with remote controller functioning; the Storm Soldier model that can do a hurricane kick, according to the back of the packaging. Our parents would have never brought it for us. We graduated elementary school, which meant emerging adulthood according to them. We could not accept this. Bax carried the Robo Warrior by his hip with me on the other side of it, both our heads lowered. As soon as we reached the registers, we bolted out of there before anyone could do anything to stop us. 

We forgot to steal batteries for the remote controller. We were too afraid of getting caught to steal again, and we couldn’t come up with a feasible lie to get our parents to purchase batteries for us.

The grave is deep enough. I squat near my happy self to roll him in. “Stop! That tickles, Bax,” he laughs. I can see the outline of his smile from under the plastic. His laughter is cringe—how could I ever sound like that? I roll him into the grave. He drops with a thud, but he’s still talking, still smiling, still laughing. I hurry to shovel the dirt back onto him to muffle his voice.

It’s 9PM when I shovel the last scoop of dirt onto my happy self’s body. My arms haven’t been this tired since I played volleyball against Franky on the beach a month earlier. All the kids used to call her a boy because she played sports better than the boys did. It took every ounce of my energy to keep up with her and still she demolished me. I wanted to call her a boy after the game, to really drive the point home how she’s bad at her gender, but the sun’s glorious rays made her more visible than classroom fluorescent lights ever did. I’ve never seen a girl my age in a bikini before that day.

I’ve had a hard time talking to girls since then.

There is an owl that sometimes comes out at night. He has a nest on top of the treehouse. We named him Jedidiah. I can tell Jedidiah is here because of his familiar hooting, but they’re very sad sounding hoots this time. Larry the deer leaps over the fence into the backyard. Then Shifty the raccoon makes an appearance, along with Jayquan the rabbit, Fernando the rat, and the Turner family, which is a colony of ants 1000 strong. Finally, the aardvark arrives, whom I generally do not acknowledge because Mom says it looks like me, which has tainted our relationship. I appreciate him showing up, however. They all looked dejected, but this is a funeral, after all.

We bow our heads. 

“We are gathered here today to remember my happy self,” I begin, “who was pure of heart and full of joy. Who laughed and played and enjoyed life as life was intended to be enjoyed. Who was never corrupted by chores or homework or vegetables. Who lived among people in comradery and not rivalry. Whose cheeks had cute dimples when he smiled, dimples that will never bless this world again. Merciful God, please make the consumption of his flesh by maggots a painless process. Let his soul ascend to heaven on a dirt bike like he always dreamed. May he spend his afterlife the same way he spent his life: carefree. Amen.”

Everybody cries from the eulogy. They console Buddy and me with tender embraces. I’d rather not make physical contact with Fernando, the Turners or the aardvark, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to admit it at this time. 

“ARTHURRRR! DINNERRRR!” my dad calls. That means Mom’s working late.

“IN A MINUTEEEE!” I call back. I brush the dirt from my clothes as best I can and say goodbye to the wild animals.

Dad always looks tired after work. And stressed. When he’s stressed, he picks up KFC chicken, his comfort food. No one talks. I listen to him and Buddy chewing while I let the chicken breast sitting on my paper plate get cold.

“Nervous about middle school tomorrow?” he finally asks. It’s not that simple, I want to say. I want to explain to him how my life will never be simple again. Tomorrow I’ll start seventh grade in a school I still haven’t learned the name of, surrounded by strangers short and tall, old and young. The day after that I’ll grow hair on by back and my knees, and I’ll have to get a job and pay taxes, The day after that I’ll have to get married and have kids and watch the news and always be tired. The worst part is that I’ll never see Baxter or Franky or any of my other friends again. None of this is fair. Why can’t everything stay the same?

I want to say all those things, but my fate is sealed no matter what I say. So instead, I ask: “Is there anything fun about being an adult?”

He sits in silence, until finally he says, “Sure. As an adult, you can by KFC as much as you want.”