THE JACK DAWSON DIARIES
Chapter Three
An older boy was sitting near
him. His blond hair was as wet as Jack’s, though a black hat was covering his
head. He was covered in bruises and was holding his arm out, a needle in the
other hand.
"What you looking at?"
he snapped.
Jack shrugged. "What’s
that?" he questioned.
"What’s what?"
"That," he said
pointing to the needle. "The needle thing."
The older boy smiled and laughed.
"This? You don’t want this. It’s too nice for a kid like you." They
sat there in silence for a few minutes before the older boy said to Jack,
"So...what you doing out on a night like this?"
"I could say the same to
you," he replied.
The boy laughed again. "Oh,
Mr. Smarty Pants, are we?"
"Not really." Jack
sighed.
They were silent again for a few
minutes, until the boy added, "You having a tough time or something?"
"Kind of."
"Is it your dad? Your mom?
Booze? Gangs?"
"Everything," Jack
answered. "Everything in my life...it just ain’t worth living. What’s the
point?"
The older boy sat up slowly.
"What is it, though?"
Jack shrugged.
"I’m not gonna post it on
fucking MySpace, you know," he said, raising his voice a little.
Another few minutes passed.
"It’s my dad."
"What about your dad?"
"He...he...he drinks. A lot.
He gets through a bottle of vodka in a day."
"Whoa. How does he manage
that?"
Jack shrugged. "I don’t
know. But that stuff’s pretty nasty, even by his standards."
"So? Why aren’t you in a
foster home?"
"That’s just it. We’ve been
visited by a social worker loads of times. And because we knew they were
coming, we pretended it was all okay. But it’s not fucking okay!"
He was crying now, tears
streaming down his pale, stricken face.
The boy was looking at him.
"What’s your name, kid?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Well, I can call you it, if
you want..."
"Jack. Jack Dawson."
"I’m Jim. Jim Carroll."
Finally feeling like he had
something worth living for, Jack smiled. Just as he smiled, the sun began to
rise over the city.
"Listen, I gotta go. My
dad’ll beat the crap out of me if he finds out I’m gone. And someone’s got to
give my little bros their food and my sister her milk."
Jim smiled. "I’ll see ya
around."
Would he?