Chapter 7:

Can We Try to Erase All the Pain?

Leaning over the toilet, my head spinning, I tried to focus on staying on my knees until I was done being sick. I didn't know if that would happen, though. I kept seeing Brain's hands covered in Alex's blood . . .

I felt paralyzed by everything that had just happened. The school was in a total mess, from what I could make out beyond the restroom doors. Everyone was getting evacuated, and some of the kids were flipping out.

"Hey, Howie?" Brian called quietly.

I was still crouched in front of the toilet.

"Howie," he said more urgently.

It was at that point I realized all I was doing was dry-heaving and tried to pull myself together. I left the bathroom stall and saw Brian at one of the sinks washing his hands off. He stood there in just jeans and tennis shoes, scrubbing and scrubbing all the way to his elbows. He had wads of paper towels and tons of soap. The water looked close to scalding. I squinted. His hands were getting red and raw. I reached over and turned off the faucet.

"No! I gotta get it off!" Brian objected. I saw panic in his eyes and knew I had to stay calm.

"Hey," I said, trying to guide his hands away from the water. "It's all gone, Brian. Look." I showed Brian his hands.

He looked less convinced and more agitated with every second, moving on to another sink that I wasn't guarding.

In no time I was at his side, my hand on his preventing him from turning on the hottest water possible. He actually fought me 'til I grabbed his arms and he figured out I wasn't letting go.

"Howie! Don't! I gotta get it off!"

I saw his eyes were bright with tears. Still, with a hand on his arm, I wiggled out of my shirt and got it on him. It was snowing out and Brian needed a shirt on. I was shaking, but I felt hot all over and snow would feel good to me.

"Brian, listen to me! We gotta go see how Alex is. Come with me and we'll find Kevin and Nick and then you can go with me in my car, all right? Trust me!"

Some of the edge left Brian's gaze and he nodded slowly at me. Inside, I felt sicker than before watching him try to make one last grab for the faucet when he thought I wasn't looking.

No amount of washing would make this go away . . .