There were just some things that Arthur never understood about Alfred F. Jones.
Alfred F. Jones was loud, obnoxious, rude, uneducated, American, and most of all, a complete idiot. He was brash, and always put himself before others. He was somehow the ‘Golden Boy’ of the school, but even so he was still a troublemaker. The teachers detested his little pranks, but the students worshipped him like an idol. Alfred Jones, The Golden Boy.
So he never understood how Alfred ended his life so suddenly.
His first thought was that he’d gotten in trouble with drinking, had a car accident, and crashed, dying instantaneously. But that hadn’t been the case. So he’d then switched to believing it was some drug overdose, but again, proven false. He’d then come to the conclusion that it had just been some tragic, unforeseen event and he felt pity for the family to have to endure such a tragic incident.
It later got around the school that it was a suicide.
On the evening right before Holiday break, he’d killed himself in the bathroom with a knife. He was found dead, having bled out, four hours later.
But still, Arthur didn’t understand why.
He was idolized, he was worshipped, and students loved him. He had popularity; he had courage and a carefree attitude. He had a sweet, younger, supportive brother, and he had friends. Had he straightened himself up, he had a good life ahead of him. He was loved. Why did he choose to let it all go?
Friendship is a strange word.
Friendship is a communication without words of two people who share a common interest, personality, or simply an unknown connection that draws people together.
Friendship can be fake.
Friendship can be hurtful.
Friendship can be just a word, if misused.
The talk of the school had been Alfred F. Jones’ death, everyday. Everyday someone raised the question, why did he kill himself?
No one ever knew.
No one could ever know.
Because he was no longer around to tell anyone.
Arthur felt sympathy every time someone brought it up, like a pang of sadness washing over him with the words. Every time someone said death, he mentally flinched. Whenever someone said Alfred F. Jones, he wanted to scream.
Arthur simply hated things he didn’t understand.
Alfred F. Jones was a problem he couldn’t solve.
Alfred F. Jones was a thing he couldn’t understand.
He despised it.
Arthur felt agony for the poor younger brother, Matthew. Matthew had just lost someone so close and dear to him. The poor boy usually tended to have breakdowns when his name was mentioned.
But it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it.
He couldn’t help.
He only took notice when Matthew approached him one day.
Matthew didn’t say much. Actually, he didn’t say anything at all. He held out a letter for him; a simple little letter, with his name. Arthur Kirkland. It was closed with a wax seal, in a small little envelope. He gave it to him, and walked away without another word.
It wasn’t like a word was needed, however.
Arthur took the letter and opened it there, uncaring, unwilling to give a damn at the given time. He wanted to know why there was a letter from the Golden Boy with his name on it.
He wanted to understand.
The letter was intricate, wordy, and descriptive, unlike its outer exterior of simplicity.
Dear Arthur Kirkland,
Hi there. It’s Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, class representative for homeroom A-3, and one class down from you. By the time you read this letter, I will have been gone for nearly a week, if not more. Mostly, whenever Mattie finds it.
I guess by this point you’re, or rather, have been wondering why I’ve decided to end it all. If there’s something I know about you, it’s hating the aspect of not understanding. You hate not understanding the purpose behind something, and in all do respect, I guess I myself understand that pain. So, allow me to tell you.
I’ve been watching you for a while now, Arthur. You never noticed it, but I was always trying to find you. I always wanted to know, where is Arthur Kirkland? I wanted to know what your classes were, what time you had lunch, and what you did after school.
No, I wasn’t trying to stalk you.
I was in love with you.
I’m not quite sure when the realization that loving you was the answer to the problem I was facing, but all I knew was that it happened. I wanted to be around you, I wanted you by my side; I loved you more than I’d ever loved any one of those girls at school.
But…you never tended to care.
You didn’t like me.
You thought I was a popular whore.
But I did it all to get your attention.
Yeah, okay, I know that was a pretty bad idea, but I was nervous. I flunked tests on purpose; I pulled pranks to hopefully catch the Student Council President’s eye, to get a scolding or a detention with him.
But you never cared to try with me.
You always let someone else deal with me.
And I guess that’s what hurt the most.
Popularity was nice and all, yeah, and you may be thinking, I had it all, why would I throw it all away? Truth be told, I didn’t have it all. I didn’t have the one thing I really wanted, you. I had friends, but they weren’t really my friends, you of all people should’ve known that. Friends mean nothing, if they don’t really even care. They just wanted to be with me, The Golden Boy.
I’ve always hated that name.
The Golden Boy.
There is nothing Golden about me.
I’m just a regular kid.
I’m no God.
Everyone should’ve known that.
But of course they chose not to believe any of it at all.
So I guess my point to you is, Arthur, that I threw it all away because I never truly had anything at all. It was all an illusion, a scam that I was trying so desperately to free myself from. There were these binds that constantly held me back, and the only way to unlock myself from them was…was killing myself. That’s right. I saw death as the only option.
You’re probably mad at me now, aren’t you?
I can imagine.
I’m mad at me for choosing this.
But I can’t back out now.
Because by the time you know, I’ll be dead.
And by the time I choose to try again, I’ll be dead.
But I simply wonder now.
Would you have acted different, if I had just gone to say hello to you? Would you have been my friend?
Would you have loved me, eventually, Arthur Kirkland?
Maybe. But I guess I’ll never know.
Here’s to hope,
Alfred F. Jones
Arthur couldn’t even speak after that.
Love was a strange thing too.
If misused, it could end it hurt.
It could end in heartbreak.
But in this case, it ended in death.
However for once, Arthur understood.
And he could only think one thing, one single response to the question at the end.
