This piece has not yet been revised, and is not finished. I’m really proud of this piece because I think that it’s really descriptive and I really like the ending. I’m proud of it because I put a lot of work into it.

Invisible

Josh has the best four year old memory in the world. But he still insists on riding in a stroller, and only drinking from sippy cups, and a lot of other baby things. Which is why I am walking down Fourth Avenue with my four year old brother in a stroller. Pretty embarrasing.

It all started two weeks ago. I was taking Josh out to the deli to get him a popsicle because Mom told me to. This kind of thing happens all the time. Anyway, I was taking him down to the deli, when suddenly somebody on the street sprinted by us at top speed. When I say top speed, I mean top speed! This guy looked like he was running twenty miles per hour. He was wearing short shorts and a Knicks jersey. He knocked Josh’s cup of milk out of his hand. Josh started shedding tears like my friend Ben’s saint bernard sheds her fur. He was bawling. All the milk had spilled and was going down the gutter. Don’t cry over spilt milk. I mutter to myself. I went in and got Josh the stupid popsicle, and we went home.

The next day was Saturday, so I relaxed the entire day, not worrying about school, or Josh or anything. But by the late afternoon, I felt like I was going to explode. I needed a walk. My mom was busy doing yoga in her room, and my dad was glued to the TV. I walked straight out the door. I was passing the deli, when the same guy sprinted past me. I watched him go. It took a couple of seconds. There was something about that man. The way that his greasy salt and pepper hair flew behind him. The way his Nikes seemed to flash in the sun. I had to know more. I walked home, kind of in a trance.

When I got back, my dad was still fixed on the TV, but mom was out of her room. She was making dinner. I smelled meatballs. Yum! Spaghetti and meatballs! I love spaghetti and meatballs! In fact, it’s my favorite thing in the whole world. I jumped on my bed and thought about what had happened at the deli, but was interrupted by my brother shrieking. Mom had to stop cooking, and run into his room to calm him down. Three minutes later, there was a sharp beeping sound from the kitchen. I jumped out of bed, and sprinted to the kitchen. The beeping was the smoke alarm. There was smoke everywhere! I turned off the stove, but the beeping continued. I ran out of the kitchen to cough. Mom came running out of the room at top speed, and screamed when she saw the kitchen. The water in the pot was boiling out of the pot, and sizzling on the ground. She put on an oven mitt, and ran into the kitchen to stop the water. But she forgot to put on shoes, and she cried out as her foot landed on the hot water. She slipped, and crashed into the stove. The pot was about to fall on her, but without thinking, I picked up, the closest thing to me, and threw it at the pot. I knocked the pot over before it crashed down on mom. But it still fell the other way. At least it was away from mom. The bubbling water hissed when it hit the ground. The scorched pillow, which was what I threw at the pot, landed on mom’s face. Because of this, I couldn’t tell if she was laughing, or crying. I mopped up all the water, then I walked over to her. I was relieved to find that she was laughing. Once it all cooled down, we cleaned it up. Once the mess was gone, Mom announced that we would be going out for Chinese food. That’s something that we never do. With Josh, it’s impossible to go anywhere. We went out to Imperial Wok, the local Chinese place. We had few incidents with Josh, including one small screaming fit when the waiter said that they didn’t make Sesame Chicken anymore. But if it was only that, I’ll take it. When we got home, everybody went to bed because it had been a long day.

The next day, I made up my mind. I was going to follow the man. I went out at about three o’clock. I waited for the man. I knew he would come. As I saw him running down the street, I kind of stopped thinking. But then I remembered what I was out there for. I got up and sprinted after him. He was really fast. I was losing ground. He kept on running. Block after block after block after block. We kept on running. He looked over his shoulders at me a couple of times. When we got to First Avenue, he started to slow down. I was about a block behind him, so I kept on sprinting.

By now, he was just jogging. By the time I caught up to him, I was gasping. He turned around and saw me. In that split second, I saw something in his eyes. It was pure fear. He wasn’t even breathing. I was about to ask him a question, but he took off. I started running after him. He wasn’t even tired. I was about to die. But then, my adrenaline took over. I started running like I’ve never run before. I was about ten feet behind him. He kept on looking over his shoulder at me. He kept on blinking, like he thought I was only in his head. Once, he waved at me. When he saw that I waved back, he tripped. He was about to fall, when he found his grip and kept on running. I realized that he thought that I wasn’t following him. So I turned right. He immediately went left. Once he was out of sight, I turned back to the other side of the block. I hid behind a mailbox. He came around the corner like a freight train. I jumped out from behind the mailbox just as he was passing me. He stopped dead in his tracks. He whispered something to himself. Then, very cautiously, he said, “Hello?”

“Yeah,” I said. I said it like the classic teenager would say ‘duh’, so it came out more like: Yea-ah! I must have sounded like I was being a brat. But as soon as I answered him, he gasped again. He looked like he was about to faint. I reached over to catch him, but he wouldn’t let me touch him. He backed away. Then he ran. I decided that there was no point in chasing him. I couldn’t beat him. By the time I got home, I had thought over everything that had happened. I could tell that there was something about him. He wouldn’t touch me. He wouldn’t talk to me.

I couldn’t fall asleep that night. Everything was swirling around in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And unlike other kids: I couldn’t go to my parents about this. They were going to be too busy with Josh. And some other kids have a sibling to go to. Not me. I was all on my own. When I finally got to sleep, I saw my clock blinking: 4:00 AM.

When I got up the next day, I couldn’t wait to get back out to the street. I waited there all day. He never came. I walked home in defeat. I knew he wouldn’t come back. Now that I had followed him, he was too afraid. The next day, I went out just in case. Zip. Nada. Nuh-uh. I knew there was no way. I kept on telling myself to give up on him. It wasn’t going to happen. I almost convinced myself too. I was at the window. My pet cactus was on the window sill below me. It was my eighth birthday present. And it was my only birthday present after Josh was born. I was feeling sorry for myself, letting the cactus prick my elbow. More and more needles coming into my arm. I didn’t feel anything. My eyes were droopy. But then I saw a glimpse. Just a flash. A pair of silver Nikes moving fast. Suddenly, my arm started to hurt. I pulled it out of the cactus, threw on a coat, and shoes, and ran down the street.

He was a block ahead of me. I had a lot of ground to make up. Luckily, this time he wasn’t trying to outrun me. He was just running. I was gaining on him. I was about a half-block behind him. I was twenty feet behind him. Oh no! He looked back at me. I saw that momentary flash of panic in his eyes. Then he put on some speed, I’m talking Usain Bolt speed! He looked like he was going 25 miles per hour! I decided to do the same thing I did last time. I made a sharp left. I turned around the corner. I expected to see him on the other side. He wasn’t there. Then I looked behind me. He was running in the other direction at top speed. “Hey!” I shouted. “Come back!” This probably sounded really stupid. Like in the movies when the police tell the bad guy to stop running. Why would they stop running? The police are just wasting their breath. And so am I.

I chased after him. This time, my adrenaline kicked in. I was running fast. He was losing some ground. It was getting closer and closer. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. I stuck out my hand to so I wouldn’t fall into him. But my hand didn’t touch anything. It shimmered on it’s way through him. Then my head. Then the rest of my body. I fell on the ground. I looked up at the man. He smiled apologetically. In a way that means: Sorry, I wanted to tell you sooner, but I couldn’t. I was so scared. I crawled over and touched the gleaming Nike. My finger went right through him. Then I realized that the whole time I was chasing him,o one noticed him. Everyone was paying attention to me. Then I realized, that they didn’t see him. Nobody did. It was just me. I looked around at everybody on the street. Nobody looked at the man. Nobody. I stared up at him in shock.

“You have some explaining to do,” I said. He nodded. Then he beckoned for me to follow him. I did. We walked for a bit. Neither of us were talking. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Why did you follow me?”

This question didn’t surprise me. It was an easy thing to wonder. To tell the truth, I didn’t know why I went after him. So that’s exactly what I said.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You know. The way you are,”

“Well, I didn’t know if you could see me. When I found out, I was too scared.”

“Why were you scared?” I asked.

“Well,” he started, “You’re the first one. It was scary for me to know that I couldn’t live my life without someone seeing me. Before this, I could do anything I wanted, and nobody would care.”

“That’s not a good thing,” I replied. “No one pays attention to me. It’s not good for you. You need to know that somebody can see you. That somebody cares.” We turned a corner, and walked into an alley. Inside, there was a mattress on the ground.

“Bed bugs,” he said. “Someone threw this mattress out because of bed bugs. They can’t touch me because they’re living. So this is my bed.” I looked around at his ‘house’. I realized that as hard as my life might be, his was much worse. We talked for a while. When it was time for me to head home for dinner, I did. We said goodbye, and then I went home. I thought about him before bed. I never got his name. “Hmmmm.”

The next day I was out there waiting for him. He came running. We jogged together.

“I never got your name,” I said.

“It’s Josh,” he answered.

“Josh?”

“Josh.”

“Josh.”