I didn’t go to school on Thursday, nor on Friday. I was so shocked I couldn’t even get out of bed. The images still haunted me. After school on Friday, Jason comes into my room and droops down on the bed. I’m on my side, under the covers, like I’ve been for two days straight.
"How can someone get on with their life after something like this?" he asks, and I know right then and there that he also looked for the binder. It wasn’t hard, it’s something we always did when we were little, playing around in our father’s office, looking through photos of guns found in hiding dens of criminals and bags of drugs hidden under tables. Until one day, our father found us playing with those and screamed at us, so we never returned.
"You looked, didn’t you?" I ask and he nods.