Free Broken Road by Elizabeth Yu-Gesualdi

yourself,” responded Jarrod, never looking away from the television and still clicking away. “I don’t need anything, if that’s why you’re here.”
    “That’s not why I’m here,” said Alec. He ventured into the room a little more and picked up a baseball that was collecting dust on top of Jarrod’s desk. He began to toss it gently in the air and catch it.
    “Put it down,” said Jarrod without emotion.
    “Why?” asked Alec as he continued with the soft toss.
    “Just put it down,” Jarrod said with a little more force. He finally looked away from the television and said to his brother, “If you’re not here to find out if I want anything, then why are you here?”
    Alec put the ball back on the desk and said, “I was wondering if I could borrow your car.”
    “No. You can leave now.” The bitterness in Jarrod’s voice caused Alec to flinch. Jarrod finally stopped changing the channels and left it on a Spanish soap opera.
    “What the hell are you watching?”
    “ Lagrimas de Sangre ,” Jarrod responded while simultaneously destroying the beauty of the language with his atrocious accent.
    “You watch this every day?” asked Alec, dumbfounded.
    “Most days.”
    “Do you understand any of it?”
    “Nope. I make up my own storyline based on their reactions.” Closing his eyes and tossing his head back against the pillows, he asked in a bored manner, “Why do you want to borrow my car?”
    “Joey and Brendon don’t have cars.”
    Jarrod abruptly turned his head toward Alec and asked suspiciously, “Where are you guys going?”
    Without showing any hint of satisfaction over the fact that Jarrod was finally exhibiting more or less some form of interest in something other than lying in bed, he simply said, “Cemetery.”
    Jarrod said nothing. He turned off the television and turned his head to stare out the window. Unfortunately, from where his bed was located, his only view was of the tall, leaf-resplendent, oak tree that stood directly outside it. He was so damn tired of looking at that stupid tree.
    “Yes or no?” said Alec.
    “What?” Jarrod responded as his thoughts returned to Alec and his request. His mind had wandered far away, as was becoming the norm recently.
    “Yes or no? Can I borrow the car?”
    Jarrod turned his face toward his brother and nodded. Then he said, “I’m coming too.”

Chapter Eight

    T he four friends surrounded Dante’s grave in total silence. A heat wave had recently hit a large portion of the East Coast, and as Jarrod stood there drenched in sweat, he found it almost impossible to breathe. He looked at the large mound of raw earth stretching the length of the grave, which stood a bit higher than ground level and was covered in both desiccated and fresh flowers, the bright, colorful unsullied flora lying atop the dried-up, old, decaying ones. There was no headstone, just a simple wooden marker with his name on it. Alec noticed the irritated scowl on Jarrod’s face as he stared at the marker and said, “I heard Mom tell Dad that Mr. and Mrs. Malone ordered a nice headstone. I guess it’s going to take a while for it to be made.”
    Hearing this, Jarrod seemed to relax.
    Joey staggered back quietly to the car, opened its windows, and then placed a CD in the player. He raised the volume to the maximum, and as the music began to play, he rejoined his friends. As the boys stood quietly surrounding their friend’s grave, AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” could be heard in the background. A solemn tribute to their friend.
    Alec wiped away a tear, cleared his throat, and spoke first by saying, “We miss you…” But he wasn’t able to continue. He tried swallowing past the aching lump that had formed in his throat, but just couldn’t get past it.
    Joey lowered himself as best he could and gently placed flowers on the grave. He looked up toward heaven and said, “I hope you’re invited to every rockin’ party held in heaven.” Then he rolled his eyes