The Adventures of Horace Greeley

Marcus Greeley. What a name. It really looked good in gold on his prurient desk. City commissioner. What a job! He was in charge of safety, mainly, but he liked to work around the title a little bit just to get the ball rolling on some important issues. Like last week when he cut the ribbon at the mall’s grand reopening. Really, it was Horace Sneedler’s job, but he couldn’t make it. Marcus wanted the Pineview Mall to be a safe place, and so he cut the ribbon. Newspaper pictures and everything! He loved his name, especially in print. Marcus Greeley. It just sounded right. Very upright.
He always thought of himself as a man of principle, and strived to make things right according to his own virtues. Like last month, at that used car lot. He didn’t let that waste of a man Vicks Misstoman sell junk cars to an unsuspecting woman. She was just looking for a car to take grocery shopping, but that garbage wouldn’t have made it halfway back to her house. He sold Janine Larson his own second car, even though he loved it, just to ensure her safety. Things like this always reminded him of what a good guy he was. Mrs. Larson sure was a great lady herself. He thought of her as a wonderful wife, and a respectable woman for that. She didn’t feel the need to stir up any controversies in town, and her house was always one where safety was valued.
Marcus Greeley knew this because he was around pretty often. He felt quite at home in her house. Gregory Larson and he were golfing pals. Marcus was sure that they were such good friends because even though he always outplayed Greg on the course, he never gave him any trouble for it. Only subtle encouragements. A little advice here and there, but never a quip or bite of sarcasm escaped his lips. Sometimes he would chuckle a little chuckle to himself, but never audibly. Even last Saturday, he remembered, he had outplayed Greg by 40 strokes, and not an ill word! Marcus did wish that Greg would take his counsel, if only to improve his game, but Greg was a prideful man. He would always push away at Marcus’s tips. Marcus really enjoyed Gregory’s self-assertiveness; it made him just the right kind of man for Marcus’s company.
Afterwards they would always hit the “19th hole” to get a couple of beers and relax. The unstated rule had always been that the player who played their personal best for the day bought drinks, because he would feel a bit happier about how the round had gone and the day been spent. Marcus could always spend a little more on drinks, so he always made a point to. Sometimes he would pitch in a bit more when it wasn’t his turn to buy, so the two of them could get something nicer. He just wanted his friends to have the best and the safest. He felt it important that they never drove after golf because it wouldn’t be very safe to drink and drive. Janine would always pick them up.
Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t have the best of everything. He aimed for it, but he felt that he would never have as good a family as the Larsons. He looked at them with such envy. They had a little boy on the way, the most adorable cat Whisper, and the most loyal dog, Yeller. Named after the classic, of course. The Greeleys might never reach such a harmonious balance. His son was always off to a bit of mischief, and his daughter was with a new boy every few weeks. He tried to raise them right but he was always so busy with his work as the city commissioner he never got to be home. Being a single father, parenting was quite the challenge for him.
His wife was dearly, dearly departed, leaving only a note behind. The note appeared long yet was made nearly illegible by dark crimson stains. Only one segment could even be called readable.

n won’t ever fucking know the pain I felt, not even now wh

Hey, can I talk to you for a second?

Nel’s pregnant. You might think it’s funny now, and honestly, you wouldn’t be too far from correct. I mean, about a month ago, she thought all those pregnant teenagers were hilarious. She would take cheap shots at their once cute clothing becoming ill-fitting, along with their jumping hormones. Especially June, the girl that Nel hated ever since the second grade. Not to mention Stacy, Rachel, Catherine. But you’d think that Nel would try to distance herself as much as possible, to the point of wearing condoms at least.
Maybe Nel’s worries went further than you’re assuming—maybe she was just hating those girls because she was jealous. But that’s silly, I mean, really. Who wants to ruin the rest of their life just for some ridiculous babydoll fantasy? Nel didn’t wear dresses, or makeup, or talk about boys. She wasn’t any kind of typical girl. Though in her non-normality she was a regular type of girl too. You know what I mean: the “I’m-so-much-better-than-them-they’re-stereotypes” kind of gal. Nel really means well for herself, which is why she goes to parties and makes herself known. She was the girl that wasn’t the others. You wanted to get to know her and she’d push you into a muddy puddle. Basically the opposite of June, the pregnant prom queen. The inflated balloon of a popular girl, floating over the proverbial Macy*s Day Parade of Homecoming Week, or whatever special goes on at school. You know I don’t pay attention to that crap.
Maybe it’s because you think you’re so suave, but I know what you’re wondering right now. Was it you? Well, what if it was, you bastard? Ron’s party was a ton of fun—a double-kegger. You got drunk, I got drunk, she got drunk, we were all way past driving condition. But we left and this is where things get even more hazy. Nel doesn’t remember where she went, and neither do you. I know what you did, and I’m going to tell the entire junior class right now, the entire lunchroom, if you don’t take responsibility for what you did.
Why do I think it was you? I could hear you, upstairs. My bedroom isn’t far from Nel’s, and being a typical little brother, I know exactly how to be on top of everything that’s going on. I know that you were “on top of” something else, and that something threatens to inflate just as much as the giant June. But I won’t let that happen. You’ll go to her during sixth period, and you’ll tell her to get an abortion. You’re not going to take care of the fucking kid, so don’t let me catch you not doing what I say.
What do you mean, you think you can handle it? You can’t take care of a kid. You’ve heard the phrase “a child having a child” before. I’m not going to be connected to that at all. I’m going to Harvard, god damn it, and no one is going to ruin my run for the Presidency with some stupid high-school-level scandal. One day, I’m going to be on the big stage, and I don’t want to answer any questions about what you did way back when. How you ruined your son, you didn’t take care of him, I had to pick up the pieces. That doesn’t sound all that bad, but I need to get everything in my life done before age 36. The youngest President ever…can you see it now? My name in lights. That is, if you don’t ruin my chances now. Get on with it, lunch is over now, sixth period is coming up.
I’m sick of you talking back to me. I’ve got some good dirt on you and I’m not afraid to spread it. Don’t think I couldn’t hear everything last night, especially the bit about you apologizing for the size of your dick. Don’t think that didn’t fuck with me too. Don’t think I don’t work hard for what I want to accomplish. Don’t think I really give a damn about your future, or Nel’s, for that matter. Get out of my sight. You disgust me.