[NOTE. This is a loverly character-based story that I'm working on, and will--hopefully--go somewhere... Where? I'm not too sure yet. But I sure like Glen and hope you do too. 
Any direction ideas would be appreciated.]
Glen never wore mittens on Wednesday. Not since that one day in February. He was always a little afraid of wearing them. And a little bit sad. Mittens actually never brought forth a good feeling. But they seemed to unlock the worst feelings of remorse on Wednesdays.
Glen dug his hands even farther into his pocket, seeming to search for a warmth that just wasn’t there. He looked up the tree up ahead with large gray eyes. It stood dark and scraggily against the snow draped background, ruining the festive feeling of the day. To Glen however that festive had already been ruined. Glen had never liked winter and he’d especially never liked Christmas.
It was the worst time for him. Ed’s teasing seemed to get merciless in the winter. As though being shut-up with Glen made him go crazy. It did, Glen thought, it really did. Ed was always a horrible prankster and was always trying testing newly brainstormed pranks on his smaller brother. Not now though, Glen thought. Just try it now, Ed!
He looked at the tree once more jarring the background. Glen turned sharply, took a few steps. Then turned back. As he headed back past the strange, thin, dark tree, he locked his eyes onto the ground; never once raising them.
Where are you now, Ed? he wondered. He was tempted to raise his questioning eyes to the sky, seeking answers. Luckily Glen was not one to give into temptation; for the sky would provide him with no answers.
Glen only risked a glance when he was sure he was clear of any trees. Up ahead was a bench. A couple of girls were seated on it casually. One of them looked over at him. He lowered his eyes once more, continuing to walk in brisk measured steps toward them. He adjusted the strap on his saddle bag. He wasn’t sure but he thought one of the girls had pink hair. Strange, he thought. He didn’t dare to raise his eyes however to confirm his assumptions.
Glen’s hands continued to search in his pockets, as he stood there, in front of the bus. The only thing left to do now was wait. Freeze and wait. His mittens were in his bag. Someone could’ve touched them before he left. Don’t be ridiculous, he thought, no one would dare put fucking glue in those mittens again. He’d been so fucking angry about that. Ed just laughed. He looked and laughed. The fact that he had to get the mittens carefully and surgically removed hadn’t mad a difference to Ed’s laughing gob. He just continued cackling on merrily. Glen shivered. That had been a long time ago, he reminded himself.
The lack of mittens enabled the cold to continue eating through his pockets and biting at his fingers.
What time is it, Glen wondered. He shook his wristwatch around on his wrist but didn’t dare bring it to his eyes. The girls were giggling, one of them particularly loudly. He sighed. Then regretted it. It had been a loud sigh. He didn’t want to attract any attention. He held his breath to see if the girls would notice. Nothing, nothing. He felt his face turning a little purple and opened his mouth. Air shot out with a great whoosh.
“Are you practicing?” one of the girls asked.
Glen flushed and looked up to see that one of them indeed did have pink hair. And it was this pink-haired one that had spoken up. He almost froze under her stare. She was probably the one with the obnoxious laugh too.
She smiled, revealing slightly imperfect teeth that seemed too white. Like they could blind a man. “Cat got your tongue?” she asked.
Glen stared at her, like he’d never stared at anyone. Her face was so strange to him, with its white and red skin and silver eyes. She was still grinning at him expectantly, with her arms crossed against her chest and her breath forming little clouds in front of her lips. She was a tiny thing, he mused, maybe as tall as his chin and he wasn’t very tall himself. She had a friend, didn’t she? He cast a hesitant glance in the second girl’s direction and immediately decided that he didn’t like her very much; she was waif-like with long, wavy blonde hair and a cross-looking mouth. She was staring up at him with a much less friendly expression than her companion.
He decided that maybe he would say something. Something witty and intelligent and riveting. Something like …
Glen twisted suddenly and ran off as quickly as his legs would carry him. He sprinted from the girls, running through the otherwise deserted park grounds, until he was far from their sight. He finally stopped and doubled over with panting; he didn’t know where that impulse had come from. Surely people had spotted him. Maybe they’d –heaven forbid- laughed at him. Pointed and laughed! He was a laughing stock! Just like before!
He refused to glance back towards that bench where the potential love of his life was precariously perched. She didn’t realize the sort of danger there was, obviously. He blinked once, slowly, staring at he unraveling tip of his one shoelace, then inhaled sharply and without noticing. What was he doing here?
Thankfully, he felt something enclosed in his bare hand. It was cold and metallic and when he actually looked at it, he saw that it was a door knob. It stuck to his skin as he turned it, then he felt a stale sort of warmth on his face. He never bothered with his radiator and his apartment was still significantly more comfortable than the outside weather. Cheaper, safer … most folks didn’t know what they were missing. He knew the building would burn down if he so much as touched it. Glen shucked his jacket and automatically checked his answering machine. Seven calls, all from his sister.
“Glen, honey, Glen? You need to wake up and answer this. It’s Lacey.”
“Glen. If you’re there, check the stove. Check to make sure it’s okay. Please pick up, Glen.”
“It’s just me. Where are you? Still sleeping …?”
“I’m coming over.”
Glen erased them as usual, just in time for the bell to ring. He ought to answer it; otherwise she’d start calling him again. It didn’t matter how long he tried to ignore her. She’d ring and call and knock and leave more messages. He crossed back to the front door and slowly peered through the peephole; as he’d assumed, there was Lacey. He let her in without a word and watched as she went to put on the electric kettle.
“You need to eat, Glen. What’s in your fridge?”
Same thing as yesterday.
“I can go grocery shopping for you if you want …”
“Where’s mom?”
His sister fiddled with her worn-out glasses and didn’t answer. Why wouldn’t she say? What did she know? Where had she put her? “You need to eat.”
Glen sat down on his couch, staring down at the molding edges of his living room carpet, and then smiled faintly. Lacey was such a bother. She should have left. She shouldn’t have broken up with her sleaze of a boyfriend. At least then she’d only call him two or three times every day.
Just then a thought struck Glen. A miraculous thought. A brainwave of thought. You might even say, an epiphany. He looked at Lacey. “Actually. I was just on my way out. To eat.”
“Oh. Friends?” Lacey asked, a little too considerately. As if she knew Glen didn’t have friends but enjoyed pretending to be annoyingly ignorant and polite. She began to sort of swish her fringe around and adjust her glasses. She looked off a little into the distance; her brows furrowed. Glen noticed her eyes seemed abnormally large. She looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
Glen averted his eyes. He didn’t much care if Lacey cried. He just wanted to avoid any awkwardness. He decided on giving her emotions a quick, clean execution, beheading them with a cold, “No,” and effectively crushing her attempt at politeness and oddly cheery mood. It was as if his sister felt it was better to pretend she cared about him. He looked out the window, distantly.
Glen didn’t really care much for “the family.” His dad had been a pushy man, who was seldom around and who’d had an affair. It wasn’t that he resented his father for having an affair. In fact he could care less. It was Ed that really got worked up about that and his sister Lacey who had followed suit. Ed had, however, taken after his father. And like his mother, he was sure Lacey would have been bothering Ed instead of himself if Ed were still around. Unfortunately, Ed wasn’t.
Lacey stated, “I see.” But far from being averted, her clingy nature enabled her to continue her pursuit of Glen, “Well—I’ll join you.”
“I haven’t eaten out for awhile.”
What a liar, Glen thought. No doubt that after Lacey’s boyfriend left she was binging on take-away.
*
Dinner had been long and boring. Lacey ranted on and on about the complications of moving into a new apartment. How hard it had been to box up all her stuff and all the memories of her and her ex-boyfriend whats-his-face. Glen tried to keep from rolling his eyes, disrespectfully. As though he didn’t care. Which he didn’t.
Instead he kept his eyes stuck on the exit sign just above Lacey’s head and near the back of the restaurant. It kept sort of twitching like it hadn’t been repaired for awhile. But it was a faint twitching, then again, which would only become noticeable if you stared at it throughout your whole meal. The word exit, as Glen examined it, became strange. It was as if two words had been melded together. And the x and i simply looked atrocious next to one another. If it were up to Glen the word would read ex—it. The ex and the it separated from one another. Maybe axe—it. Although that pretty much promotes violence, doesn’t it? Oh well, Glen thought, as they made their way out, under the exit sign.
Lacey waved to him and spoke some parting words to Glen in a sick and gooey tone: “Take care, etc. etc.” Glen wasn’t listening.
Even after Lacey had disappeared from his view, he stood, staring at the worn-down bar just across the street. His feet felt as though they were glued to the floor, perhaps another taunt of Ed’s from beyond the grave.
Glen’s eyes stuck on the bar’s flashing green neon sign. There was a few letters missing in the title. Unless the title was supposed to be AS—X—T-ON. Neon green seemed more natural than neon red. Mesmerized, he cut across the street towards the strange, loud bar.
Glen’s hands were cold.
