Bye-bye, Miss American Pie

"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie"
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey 'n rye
And singin'...

If it wasn’t for yesterday, perhaps the song wouldn’t have felt as blood-stained to me as it does now. I can’t fathom the tears which well up in the corners of my eyes, taunting my ego. I wonder, what would have happened if I had called him out the second I doubted him? What would have happened if I caught him before things went this far?

The quiet hum of the song echoed in the streets of suburban New York, possibly emanating from the radio of a far-off house. The early hours of the sun had always been Thomas's favourite -- the leaves of the tallest trees forming a shadowy painting on the dark concrete, the aroma of freshly baked cookies softly wafting through, and the cooler and calmer air coaxing the best shivers. Yesterday morning, the best thing Thomas owned was the grey coat a kind man had given him the night before, especially when "grey was his favourite colour". I didn't say anything about it, even when his favourite colour was orange when I gave him a basketball last week.

Being the same age, I befriended Thomas when he was 12 and started coming to my house to hawk the day's newspaper. Yesterday, after almost five years, was his last day throwing the paper in my backyard.
“A last go to the gas station?” he asked me, flashing a thin bundle of cash. I don't know what made me go with him when he was done with his work: maybe it was the allure of the dollar bills that gleamed in his hand, or maybe it was the prospect of going to the gas station with him, being adults and buying ourselves sodas. Maybe it was the possibility of him coming to my house for the last time. It was confusing when my mother resisted so much to an activity Thomas and I did almost every week, but now that I think of it, staying back at home would have changed things for the better.

"I got my pay from the lady in 34 today," he said, and I cringed remembering the same woman who had kept my baseball when it landed in her backyard.

"So much?" I asked with a slight bit of disbelief in my words.

"Yeah, hadn't paid in months," he muttered quickly, shoving the money into his back pocket.

"That's stellar. Never thought the mean hag would throw a coin in your direction if she had the choice.”

"What d'ya mean, Charlie? I said that I got it from her, didn't I?"

"Geez, man," I put my hands up in defence, and he shook his head, apologizing. I laughed, slapping my hand on his shoulder, "It's all good." Rubbing the fabric of his new coat, I raised my eyebrows, "These threads are as good as new: how did you manage to get 'em?"

"What's with the questions today, man?" He pushed my hand away. "Why you got to be so sceptical about everything?"

"I was just-"

"Seriously, if you don't wanna be seen with the poor black kid, go home, don't do this," he says, stepping back.

"You kidding, Thomas? We've been friends for 5 years, I can't believe you'd say this," I swung my arm around his shoulder, "let's go now, I don't want to get late for school."

“Yeah, you just don’t wanna be late to see that Kate of yours,” he snarked, and I looked down, rubbing the back of my head.

“Eh, not true, man,” I convinced him, making him laugh. He and I both knew the only reason I went to school was to see my crush’s face.

We walked to the gas station, the sun almost at its peak. Thomas felt distant, like his mind was going a thousand miles an hour. I decided not to say anything, especially when he was on edge. It was not long before we reached the station and made our way into the corner shop behind the pump. The overpowering smell of gas clouded my senses, and I almost didn’t notice the trepidation that had suddenly dominated Thomas.

“You good, man?” I asked, keeping a hand on his shoulder. He moved like a live wire, scrambling back to the door.

“We need to leave, Charlie,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on a man at the end of the shopping alley. As soon as my eyes landed on him, he turned and looked straight at Thomas, who froze in his place. A malicious smile crept up on the man’s face, “Tommy boy!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands once. “Have been lookin’ all over for you, kid,” he completed, coming towards us.

“I-I have some of your m-money, Breeze,” he said, stepping in front of me, his trembling hands reaching towards his pocket.

“Some money, Tommy? I thought you knew me better than that, man,” he said, his hand reaching behind his back and pulling out a pistol. Screams erupted through the shop, people ran through the door, and my heart beat faster than ever. I grabbed Thomas’s arm, “What did you get yourself involved in, dude?” I asked softly.

“I’m sorry, man, I’m so s-“ but his voice got cut off by the shout of a bullet.

The cashier had reached for the telephone, and ‘Breeze’ shot his hand. A fearful scream bubbled to my throat, the grip on my friend’s arm tighter.

“Now, now...” the man patronized, the gun trained on Thomas’s head, “...how much money do we have?”
Thomas pulled the money out of his pocket, giving it to the assailant. “This is a third of what I owe you,” he said.

"And you sold all the stuff anyway? Where did all the cash go, Tommy boy?" he asked, fiddling with the cash in his hand.

"I promi-"

Breeze clicked the protection of the gun off and shook his head, chuckling bitterly, “Too little and too late, kid.”

The scent of gunpowder that snuck into my lungs was the uninvited guest I wanted to bury under the deepest, deepest boughs of memory. The silence that followed the gunshot echoed deafeningly, the only sound of the thud of his body falling on the floor — unmoving and dead. His blood splattered onto my skin: stains that wouldn’t wash off for years to come.

I don’t remember what happened next. There are flashes. My fleeting memories of Thomas telling me how he wanted to “make it big”, to be rich and significant. Of him wanting to live the “American Dream”. Was that his version of the dream?

I was now sitting in my backyard. The morning hours are no longer as endearing and warm as they were yesterday. The song whispers in the alleys quietly and contemptuously, and the tear that falls onto my t-shirt almost goes unnoticed.

"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie"
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey 'n rye
And singin', “This’ll be the day that I die”
This will be the day that I die…