The Art of Drowning….chapter two.
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Richie poked his potatoes with his fork. It had been almost a week since his phone call to Potsie, and Richie couldn't get a hold of his friend. He sighed quietly, and his mother looked up at him questioningly.
"Richie, dear, what's the matter? You've barely touched your dinner!"
"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm just not very hungry, I guess…" Richie gave a half-hearted smile to his family that was seated around him at the dinner table.
"Richie, what's going on lately? You've been quiet lately," Howard Cunningham inquired.
"Well…it's just that Potsie is ignoring me and everyone else, and I don't know why." Richie suddenly wondered if he should have told his family. He wished he hadn't spoken. He wanted to be able to deal with this himself, not to be dependent on his family for everything. 'Well,' he thought, 'too late now.'
"Potsie? Ignoring everyone? Usually it's the other way around," Joanie said. Richie shot her a dirty look, and she frowned. "Sheesh. Just joking, that's all."
"Well, Richard, do you think it's serious?" His father took a drink of water and looked across the table at Richie.
Richie shook his head. "No…it's okay. Really. I'll just go over to his house after dinner and straighten it all out."
His mother glanced at the clock. "Well, if you're going to go, you should go soon, it's getting late."
"You can go after you're done with dinner." Howard told him.
"I'm done, can I go now?" Richie said, eager to see his friend.
Howard sighed. "Yes, Richard. Go ahead. Just don't be too late."
"Don't worry, Dad, I won't be. Bye!" Richie stood up, and walked quickly out the door.
On the way to his friend's house, he kicked rocks, wondering what he was going to say. Maybe he should invite him to spend the night. 'I guess I'd have to get him to talk to me first,' he thought as he kicked a particularly big rock. He looked up. He'd gotten there faster than he'd thought. He walked up their driveway and towards their door. Suddenly he stopped. He heard yelling. It sounded like Mr. Webber, yelling at Potsie about something, Richie couldn't tell what. He listened, and he heard Mrs. Webber yelling at her husband to stop. There was some stomping, most likely Potsie running up the stairs, and a door slammed. Richie wondered whether or not to knock. He decided against it, and turned to leave.
He'd barely taken a step when he heard more yelling. Mr. Webber was yelling at Mrs. Webber, and she was yelling back. Mr. Webber was saying something about a useless son. Richie felt a sudden rush of anger, and he wanted to go tell Mr. Webber off for speaking about Potsie that way. After all, even if he was ignoring Richie, he was still Richie's friend. He sighed and started to leave again, when he heard a click, and the sound of a window being opened. He turned around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, until he looked at the side of the house. A dark figure was climbing out the window, reaching for the tree that was just to the right of the window. It jumped onto the tree and slid down the trunk, landing with a quiet thud. Of course, Richie knew it was Potsie, but he still wanted to make sure.
"Potsie?" He whispered. The figure froze, then took a step towards Richie.
"Richie? What the hell?"
"I could ask the same thing!" Richie whispered, walking quietly over to his friend. "What are you doing, sneaking out?"
"What does it look like? Of course I'm sneaking out!" Potsie walked to the sidewalk, passing Richie without a look. Suddenly he stopped. "Did you hear…?" He asked, turning around a little.
Richie nodded slowly, looking at Potsie, illuminated only by the street light; the moon was nowhere in sight. Something caught his eye. "What's that?" He asked, walking towards Potsie.
Potsie looked away. "Nothing… I…uh," Richie stood in front of him, his mouth hanging open.
"That's a black eye!" Richie was sure of it. It was almost gone, but still visible.
"Jeeze, Richie. I'd only been cleaning out my closet last Saturday and my baseball fell off the top shelf and hit me in the eye. Nothing big." Potsie explained quickly.
Richie frowned. "You're lying." He said simply.
Potsie turned angry. "What the fuck do you know, anyway?" He started walking away, but Richie wasn't discouraged.
"Listen, Potsie, you can tell me. It's okay, I'm not gonna freak out." He bit his lip a little, hesitating. "Your Dad hit you, didn't he?"
Potsie looked away, confirming Richie's accusation. Richie looked down, and Potsie spoke quietly.
"He drinks too much sometimes, that's all…" He started walking again, and Richie caught up, walking alongside him. Richie wondered what to say.
"Has he ever hit your mother?" He asked gingerly.
"No, I wouldn't let him. That's why he-" Potsie stopped, as if he regretted his words. "Listen, Richie. You can't tell anyone, okay? Promise me." He stopped and looked at his friend.
Richie was silent for a moment. "Alright, I promise."
Potsie smiled a bit. "Thanks, Richie. I know I can always count on you."
Richie felt relieved to see a smile on his friend's face. "Your welcome, Potsie, just don't ignore me anymore, alright? And come stay over on Wednesday, okay?"
"Sorry about that… I just didn't want you to see me, you know, with this stupid thing… And yeah, I'll stay over." Potsie knew that his eye was only part of the reason he avoided his friends, but Richie seemed to accept his answer, and Potsie was at once grateful for Richie's naivety. He didn't know anything else about it, and as far as Potsie was concerned, Richie didn't need to.
Richie glanced at his watch. "Listen, I can't be out long, so where are you gonna go?"
Potsie bit his lip. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."
Richie frowned, then had an idea. "Well, you can't just wander the streets. Come to my house."
"What? And let your family see my eye? Sorry, Ritchie, can't do that."
"That's why you don't let them see it. You can just sneak in through my window later on."
Potsie frowned. "Do you really think it will work?"
Richie nodded, hoping that Potsie would accept his invitation. After all, his house was much safer than the streets. Potsie sighed, looking back at his house for a minute. He then turned back to Richie and shrugged.
"Hell, might as well."
Richie beamed.
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Later on that night, with Potsie successfully concealed in his room, Richie thought about his promise as Potsie slept in a pair of pajamas that he had left there before. While Potsie slept like a baby, Richie lied awake, brooding.
He regretted it, because he knew that if Mr. Webber was, in fact, hitting his family, that Richie needed to tell someone about it. He couldn't let his friend take that abuse. But he had promised Potsie. And Richie never broke his promises. Richie frowned, frustrated. He'd have to find some way to ask his dad or Fonzie for advice on this without actually telling them about it.
Suddenly Potsie stirred, and Richie looked over at his friend. Potsie rolled onto his back and stretched out his arms. Richie blinked. What were those marks on his arm? Richie leaned over to get a better look and squinted in the darkness. His eyes widened. Those were cuts. Deep cuts. They didn't look like they happened on accident, either. Each one was the same length, size, and depth. There were about seven of them, all about a half inch apart.
Was Potsie cutting himself?
Richie frowned again. Maybe Potsie was worse off than he'd thought…
---------endofchaptertwo----
Author's Note: You know, I never really thought anyone would read this, so the nice reviews are greatly appreciated! They made my day. Your cookies are in your local Vons. Just take some and walk out, don't worry about paying. Heh.
Sorry that took so long to get out. I've been very busy lately, busy enough to get myself sick. So while I stayed home with this stupid head cold, I decided to continue this. I haven't given up on this, so don't worry about that! I'm going to finish this, and I have a pretty good idea as to where the plot is going now.
Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, everyone! They keep me typing! And Potsie's my favorite character, too. You never see any dramas at all concerning him, he's basically ignored by the fanfiction.net writers. *glares* So I decided this wasn't good, and wrote my own. I'm sick of Joanie fanfics! Not that there's anything wrong with Joanie fanfics, it's just that there are way too many of them compared to Potsie fanfics. We need some Potsie. Woo, Potsie!
And if anyone knows where the title comes from, I'll give you another cookie. Or something else. I'll think of something. I know where it comes from, I'm wondering if any of you do.
Eh…If this came out weird, remember that I'm sick. And I've listened to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones too many times today.
eh…**SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW**….heh.
I'll just go now.
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Richie poked his potatoes with his fork. It had been almost a week since his phone call to Potsie, and Richie couldn't get a hold of his friend. He sighed quietly, and his mother looked up at him questioningly.
"Richie, dear, what's the matter? You've barely touched your dinner!"
"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm just not very hungry, I guess…" Richie gave a half-hearted smile to his family that was seated around him at the dinner table.
"Richie, what's going on lately? You've been quiet lately," Howard Cunningham inquired.
"Well…it's just that Potsie is ignoring me and everyone else, and I don't know why." Richie suddenly wondered if he should have told his family. He wished he hadn't spoken. He wanted to be able to deal with this himself, not to be dependent on his family for everything. 'Well,' he thought, 'too late now.'
"Potsie? Ignoring everyone? Usually it's the other way around," Joanie said. Richie shot her a dirty look, and she frowned. "Sheesh. Just joking, that's all."
"Well, Richard, do you think it's serious?" His father took a drink of water and looked across the table at Richie.
Richie shook his head. "No…it's okay. Really. I'll just go over to his house after dinner and straighten it all out."
His mother glanced at the clock. "Well, if you're going to go, you should go soon, it's getting late."
"You can go after you're done with dinner." Howard told him.
"I'm done, can I go now?" Richie said, eager to see his friend.
Howard sighed. "Yes, Richard. Go ahead. Just don't be too late."
"Don't worry, Dad, I won't be. Bye!" Richie stood up, and walked quickly out the door.
On the way to his friend's house, he kicked rocks, wondering what he was going to say. Maybe he should invite him to spend the night. 'I guess I'd have to get him to talk to me first,' he thought as he kicked a particularly big rock. He looked up. He'd gotten there faster than he'd thought. He walked up their driveway and towards their door. Suddenly he stopped. He heard yelling. It sounded like Mr. Webber, yelling at Potsie about something, Richie couldn't tell what. He listened, and he heard Mrs. Webber yelling at her husband to stop. There was some stomping, most likely Potsie running up the stairs, and a door slammed. Richie wondered whether or not to knock. He decided against it, and turned to leave.
He'd barely taken a step when he heard more yelling. Mr. Webber was yelling at Mrs. Webber, and she was yelling back. Mr. Webber was saying something about a useless son. Richie felt a sudden rush of anger, and he wanted to go tell Mr. Webber off for speaking about Potsie that way. After all, even if he was ignoring Richie, he was still Richie's friend. He sighed and started to leave again, when he heard a click, and the sound of a window being opened. He turned around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, until he looked at the side of the house. A dark figure was climbing out the window, reaching for the tree that was just to the right of the window. It jumped onto the tree and slid down the trunk, landing with a quiet thud. Of course, Richie knew it was Potsie, but he still wanted to make sure.
"Potsie?" He whispered. The figure froze, then took a step towards Richie.
"Richie? What the hell?"
"I could ask the same thing!" Richie whispered, walking quietly over to his friend. "What are you doing, sneaking out?"
"What does it look like? Of course I'm sneaking out!" Potsie walked to the sidewalk, passing Richie without a look. Suddenly he stopped. "Did you hear…?" He asked, turning around a little.
Richie nodded slowly, looking at Potsie, illuminated only by the street light; the moon was nowhere in sight. Something caught his eye. "What's that?" He asked, walking towards Potsie.
Potsie looked away. "Nothing… I…uh," Richie stood in front of him, his mouth hanging open.
"That's a black eye!" Richie was sure of it. It was almost gone, but still visible.
"Jeeze, Richie. I'd only been cleaning out my closet last Saturday and my baseball fell off the top shelf and hit me in the eye. Nothing big." Potsie explained quickly.
Richie frowned. "You're lying." He said simply.
Potsie turned angry. "What the fuck do you know, anyway?" He started walking away, but Richie wasn't discouraged.
"Listen, Potsie, you can tell me. It's okay, I'm not gonna freak out." He bit his lip a little, hesitating. "Your Dad hit you, didn't he?"
Potsie looked away, confirming Richie's accusation. Richie looked down, and Potsie spoke quietly.
"He drinks too much sometimes, that's all…" He started walking again, and Richie caught up, walking alongside him. Richie wondered what to say.
"Has he ever hit your mother?" He asked gingerly.
"No, I wouldn't let him. That's why he-" Potsie stopped, as if he regretted his words. "Listen, Richie. You can't tell anyone, okay? Promise me." He stopped and looked at his friend.
Richie was silent for a moment. "Alright, I promise."
Potsie smiled a bit. "Thanks, Richie. I know I can always count on you."
Richie felt relieved to see a smile on his friend's face. "Your welcome, Potsie, just don't ignore me anymore, alright? And come stay over on Wednesday, okay?"
"Sorry about that… I just didn't want you to see me, you know, with this stupid thing… And yeah, I'll stay over." Potsie knew that his eye was only part of the reason he avoided his friends, but Richie seemed to accept his answer, and Potsie was at once grateful for Richie's naivety. He didn't know anything else about it, and as far as Potsie was concerned, Richie didn't need to.
Richie glanced at his watch. "Listen, I can't be out long, so where are you gonna go?"
Potsie bit his lip. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."
Richie frowned, then had an idea. "Well, you can't just wander the streets. Come to my house."
"What? And let your family see my eye? Sorry, Ritchie, can't do that."
"That's why you don't let them see it. You can just sneak in through my window later on."
Potsie frowned. "Do you really think it will work?"
Richie nodded, hoping that Potsie would accept his invitation. After all, his house was much safer than the streets. Potsie sighed, looking back at his house for a minute. He then turned back to Richie and shrugged.
"Hell, might as well."
Richie beamed.
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Later on that night, with Potsie successfully concealed in his room, Richie thought about his promise as Potsie slept in a pair of pajamas that he had left there before. While Potsie slept like a baby, Richie lied awake, brooding.
He regretted it, because he knew that if Mr. Webber was, in fact, hitting his family, that Richie needed to tell someone about it. He couldn't let his friend take that abuse. But he had promised Potsie. And Richie never broke his promises. Richie frowned, frustrated. He'd have to find some way to ask his dad or Fonzie for advice on this without actually telling them about it.
Suddenly Potsie stirred, and Richie looked over at his friend. Potsie rolled onto his back and stretched out his arms. Richie blinked. What were those marks on his arm? Richie leaned over to get a better look and squinted in the darkness. His eyes widened. Those were cuts. Deep cuts. They didn't look like they happened on accident, either. Each one was the same length, size, and depth. There were about seven of them, all about a half inch apart.
Was Potsie cutting himself?
Richie frowned again. Maybe Potsie was worse off than he'd thought…
---------endofchaptertwo----
Author's Note: You know, I never really thought anyone would read this, so the nice reviews are greatly appreciated! They made my day. Your cookies are in your local Vons. Just take some and walk out, don't worry about paying. Heh.
Sorry that took so long to get out. I've been very busy lately, busy enough to get myself sick. So while I stayed home with this stupid head cold, I decided to continue this. I haven't given up on this, so don't worry about that! I'm going to finish this, and I have a pretty good idea as to where the plot is going now.
Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, everyone! They keep me typing! And Potsie's my favorite character, too. You never see any dramas at all concerning him, he's basically ignored by the fanfiction.net writers. *glares* So I decided this wasn't good, and wrote my own. I'm sick of Joanie fanfics! Not that there's anything wrong with Joanie fanfics, it's just that there are way too many of them compared to Potsie fanfics. We need some Potsie. Woo, Potsie!
And if anyone knows where the title comes from, I'll give you another cookie. Or something else. I'll think of something. I know where it comes from, I'm wondering if any of you do.
Eh…If this came out weird, remember that I'm sick. And I've listened to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones too many times today.
eh…**SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW**….heh.
I'll just go now.