Free Paranoid Park by Blake Nelson

just went along?”
    “No. No, I’m just saying, you were the one who wanted to get the condoms. So I thought we would get them together.”
    Jennifer accepted this. “Oh,” she said. “Okay. I thought you were talking about something else.”
    “No, that’s all I meant.”
    “Okay,” she said. “Well... we’ll do that.”
    “Okay then,” I said.
    Jennifer left me alone for the rest of the day. Then, before last period she told me she couldn’t go; she had an appointment at the dermatologist. That was a relief.
    With nothing to do, I found Jared and those guys and skated with them on the steps behind the cafeteria. That made me feel better. I felt like I was getting my skate-legs back. I liked my new board. I could do stuff again.
    Later, while we sat around drinking Cokes, Jared told more details about his college trip and the weird college girl he hooked up with. He had told this stuff before, but people liked hearing it again. It was quite a story.
    As I listened, I wondered if I would ever tell anyone about my night at Paranoid Park. It occurred to me that I never would. That was the only way. It would be in lockdown. Like when a submarine springs a leak and you have to seal off that part. I would lock down that part of my life. I would close it off and seal it. What else could I do? Risk trying to tell someone? Gamble my whole life on if the police and the lawyers and the judges decided a skater has a right to defend himself? I was sorry. I felt bad for the security guard and his family. But there was no fixing it now. It was done and over with. We all had to move on with our lives.
    And if it weighed on me, if it meant some sleepless nights, well, that was a sacrifice I would make for the other people involved. For my parents, for my brother, for the people who had taught me and helped me and invested in my future.
    For them, I would bear the burden. For them I would be a man.

JANUARY 6
    SEASIDE, OREGON
    (Morning)
     
    Dear__,
    Having some coffee this morning. That’s one thing I’ve learned here at Uncle Tommy’s: how to drink coffee in the morning.

    But anyway-that was the situation. The first couple days were pure hell. The next couple totally sucked. Things got a little better after a week. And at ten days, well, the worst of it seemed to be over, the crisis had passed. I might walk around like a haunted zombie for the rest of my life, but at least I would have a life.
    Then one night, I came out of the shower and stopped in the TV room to watch the end of Crossing Jordan with my little brother. I was drying my hair with a towel when a newsbreak came on. The newcaster lady said something about a scandal with the new Trail Blazers coach. Then she said, “And police now think that the body of a protection officer found dead at the train yard in southeast Portland last week may have been the victim of murder. Stay tuned for all these stories, sports, and weather at eleven.” While she spoke, a little graphic of train tracks appeared beside her head.
    Then there was a commercial for the new Honda Odyssey.
    I sat stunned, unmoving. Henry sat on the other end, kicking at the base of the couch.
    I tried to breathe. I couldn’t. I tried to lift my arm, to continue to dry my hair, but I couldn’t do that, either. I managed one short, stunted breath. On the TV, the Honda Odyssey had a family in it, a happy family, with a dog and kids watching TV screens in the backseat. My stomach tightened up so much I thought I was going to throw up.
    I managed to stand up and walk to my room. I sat on my bed and gradually got my breath back. Then I went to my computer. If it was on TV, it would be online. I clicked on the local TV news Web site. It was the main story on their home page:
    Train-yard Death Now Possible Homicide Police department officials have reopened the case of Cole R. Stringer, the protection officer who was found dead in southeast Portland on the morning of September 18. Initially, police treated