Mentions: Bleeding Heart
Riverdale Season 1 Drabble
Shakespeare once wrote “Conscience doth make cowards of us all.” As I sit here alone in my dad’s trailer, I can say that an attack of conscience caused him to confess in the murder of Jason Blossom. He wanted to protect me from the psychotic rantings of a megalomaniac who killed his own son without even batting an eyelash by threatening to kill me as he had Jason. The one and only FP Jones actually wanted to do right by me? The thought gives me hope. Well, it’s more like cautious optimism. There is a part way down deep that really wants his dad back. I miss Mom. I miss Jellybean. I miss things how they were. Will it ever happen that way again? Maybe cows will sprout thirty foot wings and fly over a moon made of green cheese.
The sound of the loudest thunder possibly imaginable jolted me from my random musings. I clapped my laptop closed as the lights flickered on and off. I wasn’t afraid of storms. I’ve been through plenty of them. What bothers me more than anything is the wind. The destructive power of wind has been duly noted in the annals of time. Plus the added fact I’m sitting here in a trailer puts me a little bit on edge. As if taking a cue from my high anxiety levels, a gust of wind started to rattle the entire trailer. It wasn’t enough to make my dad work up a sweat about it, but he was not here right now. I was.
A vicious bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and crashed violently struck the power cables next to the trailer across the lot from me. I could see by looking out the window. The cacophony of explosions along with the smell of charred wood heralded in the envelope of darkness that enveloped me.
I couldn’t see anything around me. There were shapes and outlines that looked a lot like monsters in the darkest reaches in my childhood nightmares. I mentally braced myself if I had to go further into the trailer to look for some sort of light.
In the back closet in my dad’s bedroom, I started looking for any sign of a flashlight. My fingers reached out touching the flat walls of the closet not detecting anything. I kept moving until I found a small box sitting back in the back of his closet. My extended digits wrapped around the box hidden away from prying eyes. Betty would tell me to open the box without hesitation. Part of me wondered what sort of secrets that my dad was hiding. I almost didn't want to open the box. Almost.
I had the box open just a few moments later I was soon gazing at the contents within. The great secret that my dad was hiding was a dirty old Polaroid picture that had four figures in it. I recognized the figures immediately. It was me, him, Jelly Bean and Mom from about 5 years ago. We all looked so happy and smiling together. The picture was wrinkled around the edges almost like my dad had been holding this more times than I care to imagine. Just when I thought he really didn’t care about our family, it turns out he did all along. I took in a deep breath and exhale sharply. I paid very little attention to the fact I was still sitting in the dark. I didn’t realize my cheeks were wet until I heard the sound of a car horn.
The loud voice I heard was that of my best friend Archie Andrews. “JUGHEAD! CAN YOU HEAR ME?” I could hear his voice through the steady growing rain. What the hell was he doing? I stuffed the picture in my pocket and made my way into the living room.
By the time, I made it to the living room, Archie’s cries were getting louder. I opened the door to see Archie standing there in a virtual monsoon with his dad behind the wheel of the truck. They came out here just because they were worried about me. I could be a real d.ick and not go with them just until the storm passed by. Who was I to ignore my adoptive brother and my second dad? I dodged back inside just quick enough to grab my bag before I ran back outside.
Archie clapped my shoulder before he got into the front of the truck. I slid in beside Archie and shut the door. Mr. Andrews and Archie had come out in the middle of everything to make sure I was safe. Not too many people would give a tinker’s dam about me. I am just a Southside kid who had everything go wrong for him. Who cared if I lived or died?
With that picture in my pocket that Dad had kept hidden away along with sitting in the truck with these two made me start to think things could actually be okay for once. Thoughts of Betty added to my growing smile. Maybe there really was hope after all.
"My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them." - Jack Kerouac