The Serenity

News reporters flooded the entrance to the courtroom. I was nervous. And angry. Very angry. The allegations made no sense, why couldn’t people see it. Well, I’ll prove it to them, I thought and somehow through the nasty crowd, entered the court room. I looked around. The only faces I could identify were of the opposition team. I guess I am on my own then, I thought, until I saw my parents there.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Here to support you.” My father said and forced a smile. My mother looked like she was about to break into tears. I looked around again. Somewhere among the unfamiliar faces, I found the one I’ve been looking for.

“Hello to you!” He said.

“Ah! Don’t you think things are little awkward here?” I asked.

“How so?”

“For instance, my parents are here to support me but they don’t look so happy”.

We both turned to look at them. They were looking straight at me, worried.

“Win this and they will be happy again. Maybe they are just tensed.” Ares (pronounced= Air-ees) said.

Ares has been my friend since I was a 10-year old skinny boy, a regular victim of bullying and never good in studies. I failed every subject in school and was the worst in sports. You can picture me in your head, a complete loser, which I totally was until I found Ares. He’s terrifically intelligent for a boy as old as myself, also not good in sports and the nicest red-haired boy you’d have ever met. People with red hair are known to be aggressive but Ares never gets mad at anybody. Or panic. He never panics. There could be a hurricane and Ares would be standing there, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his coffee, which he liked black and strong but could never really finish it. With his crooked teeth and dimpled smile, he’d quote all kinds of writers and poets and despite his brawny built, his knees always accompanied me to the bench in physical education class. We’ve been together since the first day we met.

As a kid, I used to indulge myself in the games other children thought were weird. Ares was the only one who’d play with me. And books. He introduced me to the library.

“Feel the pages, the heavenly aroma.” He would say. And so I did.

My parents often asked me about his parents or where he was from. But I couldn’t answer them. We never talk about him much. He tells me stuff about himself whenever he wants to. For instance, he told me he lived in the neighborhood, red hair is his family heirloom that his mother also had red hair and he’d share his grandfather’s anecdotes.

“Regret is stronger than gratitude, that’s why dead people receive more flowers than the living ones.” He’d say. Anne Frank wrote this in her diary. I never told him I knew.

We were fourteen when we tried alcohol for the first time. All the kids were doing it, so we did too. I stole my dad’s liquor. “I found a pill in my sandwich yesterday.” I told him.

“Really? What was it for?” Ares asked.

“Mother said it was a pill for better growth.”

“Why would she slip it in your sandwich then? She could’ve given it to you anyways.”

He made sense. He always makes sense. The liquor tasted horrible. It was that summer we decided never to do it again.

We’d lie on my terrace, talking about the universe, our favorite bands, unicorns, history and whatnot. We’d talk about how to get out of terrorist attacks or some major accidents, stuff like that. We’d sleep very little, about 2-3 hours a day. Maybe those pills were for the sleep. Because every time I took one, it made me sleepy.

“What does Ares mean?” I asked one day, out of curiosity.

“It means ‘The God of War’.” He replied.

The courtroom was packed with people in another 20 minutes. All unfamiliar faces, the air in the hall was filled with the smell of humans, it suddenly got very uncomfortable. My father waved at me, calling me to the second row.

“I should go.” I stood up.

“I believe in you.” He said. The words that water flowers.

“I know, man.”

I went up to the front. Exactly 50 minutes later, I was cuff-linked and sent to a small crowded van. I looked around, my mother was crying. Billy Williams was dead and I think he deserved it. He was a bully after all.

They put me in a cell with white walls and the jailers all wore white coats. They looked like doctors. Only scarier. My left hand was chained with the edge of the steel bed. I liked this place, they said I didn’t have to go to school anymore and I could read books as many as I liked and watch TV. I liked how there was a sofa at the end of the room, 4ft. away from my bed.

“I’ll make myself comfortable here.” Ares said, sitting on the sofa.

“Schizophrenia. Do you know what this means?” the old man wearing the white coat asked.

“No. why?” I replied.

“Do you have your friend here with us, in this room? What is his name?”

“Yes. His name is Ares. He’s here.”

“Does he harm you? Any type of physical or mental harassment?”

“No. He’s my best friend.”

“Are you comfortable with him here?”

“Yes. In fact, very happy. Now we can spend more time together.” I smiled and looked at Ares.

“I want to tell you something. You’re a grown boy and you have to understand this. Your friend Ares is a part of your hallucination. He’s not real and not to mention, a bad influence. Schizophrenia is a disease, a mental disor…”

I wasn’t listening anymore. You don’t say stuff like that about someone’s best friend. Afterall, that’s what Billy Williams said too.