I was supposed to be strong.

All the time, people looked up to me. I was always forging ahead; creating strategies to at least try when failure seemed like it was already there. I was told by a lot of kids that they looked up to me.

I really wished they didn’t. Because at times like this, I wouldn’t feel like I was betraying them all.

“Johnny?” I call out. The fog is so dense I can’t even see him, and I can’t see the cliff’s edge. Taking wary steps I could only see so much more in front of me. The dew on the grass was soaking my socks, and soon I could hear the slight splash when my foot stepped down into the sole of my shoe.

My hands shook and my arms were taut. I felt strained. I felt like I should pivot and run the other way, far away from here.

I knew what was here though, and I had to figure out why.

“Johnny?” I say, getting closer.

“I always hated that nickname,” I hear towards the right of me. Johnny’s voice is deep and throaty, like he’d been crying.

“What?”

“Johnny. I always hated that. I like John. I don’t even mind Jonathan, but, of course, no one listened and Johnny stuck.”

I stared at the thick fog, where I presumed Johnny was-or John, I guess.

“I’m sorry,” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Whatever.”

I took a few steps closer, and finally I could see his back. His dark hair was stuck up in a bed head like formation and his red shirt was clinging to his body like it was soaked. He looked like he was drenched.

“What are you-” my stomach churned and my mouth went slack. I knew the answer to that question. Clenching my eyes shut and shaking my head a little, I ran my hands through my hair trying to avoid the inevitable answer to that question.

Taking a shaky breath I tried to relax, and then I took another step towards him.

“How long have you been out here John?”

He didn’t move.

Taking another step, I reached my hand out towards him. “John-” I touched his shoulder and he shrugged me off.

“Don’t touch me,” his tone was such a quiet rage, it made me nervous. I took a step back, practically on reflex.

Only now did I see how close he was to the edge. His toes were off of it, only his heels kept him up on ground. He seemed to teeter between falling off and staying on, as if he couldn’t decide.

“John, could you please take a step back?” My voice was high like a child, and it shook as bad as I was.

“I’ve been here all night.” I scrunched my eyebrows together at this answer.

“John.”

“I’ve been right here all night.”

Oh. That was his answer to both the earlier question and what I just asked.

“What do you want, Fletcher?” He asked, crossing his arms, still rocking on his heels to the middle of his foot, not quite to his toes.

He had been like this all night? The idea made me jumpy.

“I wanted to see if you wanted to go to a game-jeez John, what do you think I’m doing?” I wanted to slap myself. What the hell am I doing, that was not helpful.

“Well stop it. I don’t want your help. This is my decision and mine alone.”

Looking down at my shoes, I tried to think of an answer. There wasn’t one, not really. He wanted to do it alone, I didn’t want him to. We were at an impasse.

Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I tried to think of something. I couldn’t get my eyes to leave the edge. That drop off was famous. Bunch of people have died falling off of it. You either hit the rocky water below or you hit the bridge near the bottom, depends on where you are and how far you propel yourself. Drunks usually hit the bridge because they’re throwing crap at it and accidentally fall. Others fall into the water.

I can’t help but shudder just thinking about it. Death was a fact that I never wanted to pay attention to.

Taking another slow step forward, my stomach dropped. Everything was telling me to turn away and run, that John wanted to do this alone and I might as well let him, but I couldn’t. Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the edge, my hands shaking.

Crouching near the edge, I plop down and cross my legs, sitting maybe an inch or two near the edge. If I were to sit with my legs out, they’d dangle off the edge.

“What the hell are you doing now, Fletcher?”

“I’m sitting.” My voice was shaky.

“Have to be the hero, huh? Is that what you’re doing? Always coming to the rescue, always moving forward and winning the game? Is that what you’re trying to do here? It’s not your damn battle to fight Fletcher, so go home.” John wasn’t sounding as angry as before, but nervous.

Finally I could see his face. His face was sunken and shallow, pale too. He had tear streaks down his face and his eyes were red and tired but still wide and bright all at once.  

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” I admitted, my Adam’s Apple bobbing in my throat from swallowing. “In fact, I’m terrified. How are you doing?”

“Jesus, Fletcher! Can you please leave me alone?” His shoulders were shaking. He took a few steps away from the cliff.

“Can I ask why?”

“If you had been paying attention before you might understand why. But you weren’t. No one was. Because I’m the loser, aren’t I?” John’s fists were clenched up and his knuckles were turning white.

I stiffened, staring at him as he paced so close towards the edge.

“You trained everyday. You trained all night, too. You studied at the same time. Running on the treadmill while doing calculus problems which you’d always erase and rewrite because the handwriting was so terrible. Then afterwards you’d practice your trumpet for hours-you always were working. I know.”

“But do you, now?” John said, gesturing towards me as if sarcastically saying I had solved everything. “You think that’s it. You think that’s why I’m out here? Because no matter how hard I tried, I always, always, failed?”

Shakily, I stood up.

“You didn’t always fail. You were the smartest guy I knew, and you could run faster than anyone.”

“Anyone but you, right?” John smiled, but his eyes were narrowed and cold. It was as if he was trying to jab at me, but he was dodging around actually using an insult.

“All I’m ever told to do is try my best-but there’s so much behind those fucking words. Try your best is a lie. It means nothing. Try your best means you better be the best. Trying your best means that you better be good, because otherwise you are worthless!”

I opened my mouth to think of an answer, but I understood that. I couldn’t do anything but just watch him.

“I can’t do fucking anything good enough. I try, and I try, and I try, and I always lose to something. And I can’t be mad that you’re better, Fletcher, because you trained to get good too. But it makes me so damned mad to see that I’m always running, always training, and still I can’t surpass you. You don’t train day and night, all the time, yet your grades are high, you’re the prized possession of every damn sport, parents all over envy your parents because they would love a son like you. Whereas I am second. Always. And there’s nothing worse than being second, you wanna know why?”

Tears were filling my eyes. I didn’t realize, I didn’t know, and I still don’t know.

“Because even when you’re last you’re noticed. Middle of the pack you’re noticed because if you pass a record you surpassed your middle of the pack standards for a moment that makes everyone pleased. But second? You’re always compared to first. And when you can’t beat first? You’re always just a benchmark. You were as good as me when you were a sophomore, now look how far you’ve grown. Good to know. Congratulations. I make a record? You beat it. Same thing with every other thing I do. I try to get the best grades, I’m still not good enough at calculus. I try to be first chair, and again, I’m second. No matter how hard I work, no matter how long I try, I always am a failure. I finish second place and yet I’m always last. I was born second place, which means I was born as nothing.”

“You’re wrong.” I spit out. “I’m sorry that-I didn’t mean for that to happen, but you’re wrong.”

“Wrong about what? Please, enlighten me.”

“Right there. Fucking enlighten. You’re so much smarter than me, man. I would never use a world like ‘enlighten’ and if I did it would shock the entire school. I’m the grade A asshole jock, barely passing, riding on my sports. I have tutors, in fact, my mom wanted me to ask you. Everyone thinks I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, I know I don’t want to be a basketball player. That’s what my dad wants. My dad wants me to pass my grades, but everyday my mom is disappointed with me because I’m merely passing. You’re so much smarter than I am. You think I don’t understand? I envy you. Most of the people on the team? They’re in the same boat as me, and the ones who aren’t “the top” are smart like you-but you. You’re smart and you’re damn talented.”

John shook his head and began pacing again, even closer to the edge.

“You can try to talk me out of this all you want. You can try whatever you want. But it won’t work.”

Goddamn it. I’m so fucking sick of this. How do you prove to someone that their life isn’t worth ending? I’m not a therapist, and apparently John’s had a vendetta against me for forever.

I’m trying desperately to find something, but he doesn’t want to hear sympathy. I don’t even know what he wants.

“You know what, Fletcher? You are stupid, if you think you’re stupid. If you think you’re smart, than you’re smart.” My mom’s words echo in my head, “Believing in yourself is the first step to anything. Even if you have to act like you believe in yourself, after a while, acting becomes true confidence. Whether you believe it or not.”

That’s an idea. But if it doesn’t work, he’s going to jump for sure.

Standing up, I brushed off my pants then crossed my arms, staring John in the eyes.

“You’re right. You’re a damn failure. You think you’re a failure, than you’re a failure, sure enough.”

John spun around and stared at me, wide eyed. Not angry, but unexptected.

“Is that what you want to be? A failure? Because you will be as long as you keep thinking like that.”

John stood stock still, his hands at his sides, poise.

“You didn’t use to think like that. I remember. You thought you could do anything. I can run another three miles, and if I can’t, I’ll do two hundred crunches. You kept going and going, what happened to that guy?”

John looked down.

“I wish you’d take a step back, but if you didn’t, I’d understand. I would. But you’re a senior. After this year, you don’t have to see me, you don’t have to talk to me ever again.”

John stared at me for a moment. He began moving his fingers like he was snapping, but not hard enough to where it made a noise. That’s what he always did when he was thinking of strategies. The whole team knew about it, every time he did it they’d yell “Johnny’s thinking! He’s thinking!”

John sighed and opened his mouth for a moment, still thinking on his words. “Fletcher, it’s…” He bowed his head and closed his mouth.

“Believing in yourself is the first step to, like, anything. I believe that you could beat me hands down, but it doesn’t really matter much if I believe in you, does it? Because you’ve got to believe in yourself! You used to! Just get that back!”

“Don’t lecture me, Fletch, you’re no good at it,” John smiled and took another step back.

“No, that I’m not. Never have been. Speeches are my worst nightmare.”

“Mine too.” John smiled.

“At least you can form words. I start using ‘like’ ‘and’ ‘um’ all over the place,” I laugh.

John laughs a little, a couple of tears leaking from his eyes.

“I shake, I get so nervous that I shake. It’s visible, people can see it, but most people are pretty nice to me afterwards about it.”

“I think it’s because they do it too. No one likes speeches, not unless they’re politically inclined or crap like that.”

John laughed for a moment. He took another step back and another. I couldn’t help but grin. Part of me wanted to jump around and cheer.

“You may want to take a step back there, Fletch.”

I gasped and lunged back. I had been centimeters from the edge.

John began chuckling and hit my shoulder.

“Fletcher, can I ask a question?”

I gulped. I don’t know if I can take anymore questions.

I nodded finally. John smiled, but it was small.

“How did you know where I was?”

I looked out towards the fog for a moment, only now realizing that I was drenched.

“I knew because that was where I was. I figured that if you weren’t at your house, you had a similar idea.”

“And what got you to back away? Was there a you in my situation for you?”

I shook my head and John sighed.

“I didn’t back away because I figured out the right thing to do. I took a step back because death terrifies me. Everywhere. The thought of you dying man freaks me out. The thought of anyone dying freaks me out, and I couldn’t even bear to do it. I got to the edge  and when I finally realized how close I was to the face of death I yelled and ran away. I haven’t been here since.”

John nodded, then nudged me.

“Well, thanks. I think I would’ve gone through with it if you didn’t show up.”

“How long were you out there?” I asked. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning, if that helps.”

“I stood at the edge for four hours, but I’ve been there since ten last night.”

I nodded, stuffing my hands in my pockets like John has.

“Then I don’t know, man. Maybe not.”

“I guess. Maybe not.” 

sorry for such a long wait! Here's a new chapter! I took off the last one because it didn't quite fit the rest of these memories, so sorry for the wait. Hope you like-please comment if you have any comments or suggestions! 

(for some readers who are using electronics that use the APP version of WATTPAD-I apologize that this chapter of the story is currently not being shown (though it says it is up on my profile). The chapter is rated PG-13 so it isn't that. I will be sending a report to wattpad officials shortly and hopefully this will be corrected. Sorry for the inconvenience) (July 11, 2013)