Page 62 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
“We need to find a place to hide,” I say.
Oscar points to a bus stop bench at the far end of the block. If we hide behind the bench, we would be able to see who comes in and out of the building without being seen. So we hurry.
After a few minutes just sitting here, Oscar says, “How you doing, man?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Emma kind of broke up,” he says. “That’s kind of a big deal.”
“I haven’t had time to process it. My mind’s been on this situation with my brother. You know how serious this is, right, Oscar? I’m talking about murder. Alessandra is dead.”
“I get it, bro,” he says. “Sometimes I just try to lightenthings up.”
“Maybe things don’t need to be lightened up.”
“But Hunter, I know how you get, man. You get in your head, and it can get real bad. And something like this, your brother trying to frame you for a killing, it’s the kind of thing that can push you over the edge, and I don’t want you to go there, man. I know how you get.”
“What are you talking about, Oscar?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t.” I’m confused.
“Freshman year?” Oscar says.
“What about it?”
“When we were at the beach. Hermosa Beach. That one day you almost drowned, and I pulled you out of the ocean?”
“Yeah. I remember that day. You saved my life. I’ll always be grateful to you.”
“Hunter, c’mon, we’re talking man to man now, so let’s talk man to man. I know you weren’t drowning on accident.”
Does Oscar know about my suicidal thoughts? I’ve never shared them with anybody. How does he know? How does he know I tried to kill myself that day by drowning in the ocean?
He continues, “We both know it wasn’t an accident. We both know what you were trying to do.”
Silence. I don’t want to talk about this. So: more silence.
But for some reason, I can’t bear the quiet.
So I whisper, “How did you know?”
“We’re best friends, bro. You don’t think I know you get depressed and shit, and like you’ll just shut down when we’rehanging out sometimes? You don’t think I noticed all the times I saw those marks on your neck, on your arm, marks that looked like you tried to do something? So yeah, when I see you get serious and shit, I just start talking about something stupid, try to distract you. ‘Cause that day? That day at Hermosa Beach? It was the scariest day of my life, bro. I thought you were gonna die. But you didn’t, and I was relieved. But I didn’t know what to do about it. I’m not a professional or some shit. I’m just a dumb-ass. What do I know about what to do? Nothing. I don’t got words of wisdom and shit. I don’t got things a therapist gonna say. All I can do is make you laugh, bro. That’s all I got. I don’t got anything else to give you.”
I turn my head away from Oscar. I don’t want him to see the tears in my eyes.
I say, softly, “Oscar, you have a lot to give. You have so much to give.”
“You really think so, Hunter?”
I put my hand on Oscar’s arm and squeeze it. “I know it.”
“What’re you so depressed about, Hunter? What’s the matter? You can tell me, bro.”
I shake my head, as the tears roll down my face.
Oscar puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, dude. You don’t have to tell me anything. Just: the next time you’re thinking about doing something crazy, talk to me first, okay? Maybe I got a joke you never heard before.”
