Moonlit Paths

Its recently come to my attention that I am not normal. I didnt realize this. I suppose if I had stopped to think about things then I wouldnt be in this mess. I would be normal. Or would I? Isnt a teenagers job to get in trouble? I dont know. It seems there are a lot of things I dont know anymore.

Its his fault.

Its always his fault.

His name is Jaemeson Davis. Was. My apologies. His name was Jaemeson Davis. I met him in fifth grade. We have surnames that are close alphabetically so we were often placed next to or near each other that year. He was… peculiar. Every two weeks his hair would be different, but not a different you would expect. It was normal colored for our classes Halloween party, purple for the Thanksgiving party, orange for the winter holiday party, black for St. Valentines day and red for St. Patricks day. He always seemed to avoid the assumed colors like the plague. He wouldn’t even wear his favorite shoes in all of December because they had red on them.
He was suspended once, in the eighth grade, for wearing a skirt to school. It wasnt really even a skirt. It was a clan kilt. He was Scottish. His hobby was writing inappropriate things on the walls of the bathroom stalls that the younger kids used. They never caught him, but I knew. I didnt tell anyone though. Im really good at keeping secrets.
We were friends, I guess.
Last month he asked me to meet him on the park trial after it closed. We both had to walk so the police wouldnt see cars and look for us. I admit, I didnt know what to expect, but I wasnt scared -- you never know what to expect from Jaemeson. I didnt even bother trying to guess. Not having expectations helps.
I found the place he told me to meet him at at a little after 1. He had a lantern lit and was sitting on the bench.