Sitting on my bed was killing me. I got up, went to the bathroom and yanked on a pair of converse before escaping out the door. As long as I’m back before seven, no one has reason to care that I explore the neighborhood a little, do they?
I feel myself stumble on the sidewalk and hold out my hands to break my fall. My knee scuffs, and my jeans rip. I sigh. My knee isn’t quite bleeding, it just stings like holy hell.
As if I didn’t have any experience with stinging sensations.
Change of subject.
My cousin, Maria, seemed really nice. I liked her offbeat sense of fashion, too. It was definitely original.
I check the street name to make sure I don’t get lost. Cinder. Easy enough. Most of the streets are named for trees, I notice. People are like that. They log the forests to make streets that they name after trees.
I wish my Beamer would get here already. Dad got a driver for it but insisted I go by plane anyway. He’s psychotic, I swear.
The sidewalk is nice. It’s gray and so clean someone could have scrubbed it. Besides the grass growing through the cracks, tht is.
The air is fresh, and I breathe it in gratefully. DC isn’t exactly the woodland acres, that’s for sure. I look up at the sky-it’s pure autumn blue, with a few cotton candy clouds smattered across its expanse.
I wonder what my mom’s doing right now.
But I don’t want to think about that. I grab my ipod nano from my pocket and pull up my large, silver headset from my shoulders. It gets great sound.
My ipod casing is somewhat unorthodox. I found that the nano fits perfectly inside an orbit gum case. I cut a little hole in the side for the headphones. It’s bright metallic pink, since bubblemint is my favorite kind of orbit gum.
Chills of excitement run through my blood as I see my silver Beamer pull up in the driveway. I jog back quickly, my converse pounding on the sidewalk.
“Thank you, sir,” I say quietly, taking the keys from the driver. A taxi pulls in behind him and the driver walks to it.
“You’re welcome,” he replies as he gets in the car.
HELL YES!
I finally have my Beamer back! I pull open the door and inspect my car gratuitously. It’s so beautiful...
I hear a front door swing open and my uncle strides across the lawn.
My dad would have killed me if I’d ever set food on his perfectly hewed lawn.
Moving on from that...
What is this?” my uncle asks.
“My...car?” I reply.
The man nods, realizing that I am obviously well endowed.
“You drive?”
“Yes sir,” I reply.
“Going somewhere?” he adds disapprovingly.
“Yeah...I thought I might look around the neighborhood, since I’ll be here for awhile.”
“Fine,” he says shortly, and walks across the lawn to the door again. It slams shut.
I think he may have wanted me to ask first...
Ah, my CD case is still underneath the white leather seat. I pull it out and flip through them. Jessica Simpson-Under my Skin...I still have that?!? Damn. Green Day-Nimrod, Insomniac, Dookie, American Idiot, 1039 Smoothed Out Slappy Hours...Ciara-Goodies, Fall Out Boy-From Under the Cork Tree. Ashlee Simpson-I am Me, Autobiography. I know it’s kind of sissy, but I like it. Without bothering further, I toss the CD case onto the passenger seat, turn on the radio and pull out of the driveway.
I drive listlessly through the neighborhood. The houses are really nice, mostly two or three stories high, with fresh paintjobs and SUVs in the driveways or open garages. I swear they’re having some sort of lawn competition too.
Gob comes onto the radio-Give up the Grudge. Wow. This is a pretty old son. So keep bleeding your fake blood, till no one even sees it, if that’s the best you can make up, at least act like you mean it...
Sweet. That song is like, poor people to rich people. Sort of like Lindsey Lohan’s song, Daughter to Father.
Give up the grudge, you’d better shut your mouth, why ya gotta judge everybody but yourself? Take a look around you there ain’t nobody home. I may be a loser but at least I’m not alone...
Haha. Come on who’s judging? Well, I guess my dad did...
I pull around the corner and get into real civilization, just blocks away from the suburbs. Malls, Safeways and of course, Wal-Mart.
I’ve never actually been in a Wal-Mart but I hear they’re horrible places. My dd used to talk about them in the same spiteful tones he used when he talked about strip clubs. Like it was the most horrible, dirty place you could set foot in. When I was younger, I wondered how people could step into the story without dying from the air in those places.
On sheer spontaneity, I pull into the Wal-Mart parking lot and park the car near the entrance. Hopefully it doesn’t get trashed by the dirt who shops in these stores. Now, to see what my father scoffed at so thoroughly and repeatedly.
I walk through the sliding glass doors, past a few people looking to collect funds for their charitable institutions. I get into the store. Well, it’s not...horrible.
The linoleum on the floor is white with gray flecks and it looks cheap. TO the side there are public bathrooms. Ugh.
Mostly mothers holding onto screaming babies and toting their toddlers along on leashes navigate the isles. I see a few girls-beautiful girls, and some not so beautiful girls trying to be beautiful, looking at the clothes. I walk up to the girls clothes and feel a t-shirt. As I thought. The cheapest kind of cotton, probably sweat-shop stuff. Not durable, this stuff, it’ll rip open like hell’s mouth to a sinner.
One girl brushes her thick, dark brown hair behind an ear and stares up at me through shy lashes. She holds up a pair of vintage wash knockoff jeans in one hand and a camisole blouse in the other. She’s got a Louie Vaton knockoff on her arm. If I dated her, I would buy her a real one.
I kind of wanted to line the interior of my car with it like Snoop Dogg but what the fuck, I don’t care. Too prissy.
I walk past and get to the candy isle, next to a bin of two-dollar DVDs. Ten packs of Orbit for a dollar?! Holy...
I grab ten of those-best bought in bulk, I realize-and walk through the store. Accessories on a rack, mostly girls stuff. Very cheaply made but very cheaply priced as well. Hmm, not hideous either. I grab a pink pendant-large and oval shaped-off of the rack. Maria would look good in it.
I wonder if she likes pink. Probably not, judging from her eclectic style. But then again...I shrug and grab it.
Further back into the store. There are CDs and DVDs galore back here, right next to a variety of shoes and electronics. I flip through them. I need some hard rock CDs, I realize. I have to make up for the Simpson family CDs. I wonder if Jessica and Nick really broke up...
God I’m an idiot, I’m a guy I’m not supposed to care about this. Lincoln Park...Jay Z. The only combo of those two I ever liked was Big Pimpin/Papercut. Freaking awesome song.
Eminem...he’s decent. 50 cent is better...depending on my mood.
These things are cheap! Who ever heard of a ten-dollar CD? I grab a few. Sugarcult, Death Cab for Cutie, Natasha Benningfield. I head up for the cash register. On the way, I pass some posters. Dad never let me hang up posters in my room. Subconsciously, I flip through them. Green Day. More Green Day. More Green Day. Wow, I guess they’ve gotten popular. I always liked them, since I was younger...I think around the time the song Minority came out. Billie Joe looks like a fag in eyeliner and long hair. Although, I realize my hair is longer. And that eyeliner thing is actually...kind of cool.
Hmm....
Dad would kill me.
So? Dad doesn’t need to know.
I grab the Green Day posters and continue to sort through. Hide and Seek, with Dakota Fanning. I grab that too. Avril Lavigne. Gag. Someone kill me now. Weird artsy stuff...sweet, I grab a few. Hilary Duff? Hell, she’s hot. Lindsey Lohan...Nah, it’d be a disservice to Hilary. Then again-I grab the poster and shrug to myself.
Good enough for now. I have other business to attend to. I find the hair isle and pull out a few gels. They have Bedhead here? Sweet. I always wanted to try that. Now...onto the cosmetics. Eyeliner? Check. Black nail polish? Check.
Onto the checkout. I pay for my stuff-shockingly it’s all under a hundred dollars and toss it into the trunk of my car. Time? 5:30. Still time to cruise.
Maria
“The usual, Brenden,” I say, trying not to meet his eyes. Then I turn to Jennie and say in my usual bubbly tone, “Whaddoyou want?”
“The usual Brenden,” she repeats, though in a pleasant tone and blushing slightly. She still doesn’t know why I have been recently somewhat standoffish to the latte-boy. I haven’t exactly gotten around to telling her...But, if given time...you’ll never tell her and you know it.
Yeah, so what? What she doesn’t know won’t make her kill me. She’s been digging Brenden since we were in the sixth grade. She’d die...or I’d die. Either way, someone’s dead, and who wants that?
Oh yes. There are love triangles.
Some hot-for-chicks James Blunt or something like that tune comes on, the song “Beautiful.”
I actually like that song, shockingly. It’s not even Emo, either.
We take our drinks, mine a double-shot mochachino with whip cream, Jennie’s a chocolate-brownie-chunk frappachino with BOTH caramel and chocolate swirlies on the whip-cream. Who is event hat meticulous with whip-cream swirlies anyway?
“I see Jason’s found himself a honey,” Jennie (who is by the way Jason’s twin) says brightly. She gestures to a girl in our grade, Shay. I sigh.
“I don’t like her. She’s so...”I make a face and put my hands through the sky, “mystic.”
We laugh.
The lightening in the coffee shop is strange. Sort of like a yellow-orange glow emitting from covered bulbs on the walls to create the “mood.” The walls are a great mocha brown color and the floors are made from high quality linoleum, shiny and dark brown. The tables are circular, and Jennie and I are in a two-seater giggling.
“How’s the cousin? Muchos annoying?” Jennie wants to know.
“He’s...really cool, actually. I know, it’s a shock,” I add as Jennie puts her hands over her heart and pretends to die-right on the floor. I laugh. That’s why I love Jen. She’s so awesome, she doesn’t care at all what other people think.
“No, he was actually wearing converse. Navy. And he takes jokes about his name really well.”
“Right. Having a name like-what’s it? Schroeder?-yeah, must get a lot of laughs.” Jennie adds, sitting upright and taking a drink of her frappachino.
“Uh-huh. He’s hot, too,” I add.
“Wow! Kissin’ cousins?” Jen asks, raising an eyebrow and taking a long drink out of her cup.
“He’s not blood. And no,” I add quickly before she gives her forehead permanent wrinkles. “I was just saying. Perhaps for your benefit?”
Jennie laughs. “Yeah, right Maria. You know I’ve been...” she lowers her head. “So into Brenden for like, forever.”
A guilty feeling falls into my gut like a rock. I force a smile. “How could I forget?”
Shay
Another boy. Funny how they’ve been approaching me all of the sudden. It’s really a recent development, up until this year I’ve been almost shunned. Ah well. It doesn’t matter. This one looks...very nice actually.
I smile at him and rest my chin on a fist, listening to him talking about...life, really. Sisters, friends and so on, and he only just introduced himself. Oh well. It’s nice to see a man open up so easily. He has to be at least three years older than me...no wait he just looks old, he said he’s a junior too.
“How have you been lately?” he asks, sitting there as though he actually cares.
“Last night-long party. Today I’m just doing the homework thing.”
“Yeah? Who’s party?”
“Trent’s. It was a post-football game thing.”
“Oh yeah,” Jason says. “Yeah, I was there.”
“Were you really?” I say. I hope I sound at least vaguely intrigued.
“Yeah. There’s a party at my house tomorrow, too. Parents out of town. Want to come? Show up around eight?”
I sigh inwardly, and force a small smile. “Certainly I’d like to come. What’s your address?”
Schroeder
I get to my aunt’s house around six thirty and jog upstairs, tossing the bags on my bed. I went for a short spree at Hollister, via my unlimited credit card. Thanks, Dad.
They have awesome sweaters and shirts. Not to mention jeans. I run to the bathroom and strip, folding my still-clean clothes carefully. I set them on the bathroom counter and step into the hot shower. Old Spice Body Wash and Dove Shampoo. What a combination.
Hey, that stuff really makes your hair soft. Combined with Pantene Pro-V.
I wash quickly, then towel off and yank my clothes back on. I check the clock. 6:55. I might as well go downstairs. I walk down them slowly so as not to be early-and so I don’t slip on the mahogany wood in my socks. I get to the table just as my aunt is putting the food on the table.
Wow, it looks good. Beef pot roast, it looks like, with mouth-watering mashed potatoes, rolls, gourmet, fat mac and cheese, and soda in a pitcher for Maria and I-wine in tall glasses for my aunt and uncle. My God I hope they don’t drink.
My uncle sits at the head of the table, my aunt at the foot. I sit at my uncle’s right hand-that’s where I sat at my old house.
The plates are nice. Slightly chipped at the edges though, and scratched up from the constant abuse of knives and forks.
I see my aunt has indeed dressed for dinner. At least, a little bit. She wears khaki pants and a bright blue t-shirt. I smile at her, and she returns the smile.
Just as the clock strikes 7:00 my uncle sits down and clears his throat.
A moment later Maria rushes in and jogs to her spot at the table. “Sorry, daddy,” she says, smiling what’s probably her winning smile. Playing the daddy’s little girl card.
I chuckle under my breath, but immediately turn it into a cough. I hide my smile under my hand.
“That’s all right sweetheart,” he replies in that benevolent, wonderful father voice.
I’m not so familiar with that one.
He starts at the food, then we all dig in. I pour a glass of the soda. Pepsi. Mmm. Dad was more of a Coke person. A welcome change.
“So, Schroeder,” my aunt says with a smile, “how was your flight?”
I blink, taking a drink of the Pepsi. “It was good, Auntie,” I reply. Hey, if Maria can work them, so can I. Her smile immediately redoubles.
Maria smirks at me from across the table. I shrug innocently and take a bit of mashed potatoes. God it’s good. I stuff my mouth-politely, of course-with the macaroni. Brilliant.
“Hey, Schroeder,” Maria begins. Her tone is calm, but I can see in her eyes what she’s about to say is a sort of test of my integrity.
I sit up a little straighter, and smile, “Yeah?”
“Do you like Clint Eastwood?” She asks me sweetly. Ah, it’s a trick question. She’s expecting me not to even know what she’s talking about.
“Just the chorus,” I reply nonchalantly. “The rapping in it is horrible.”
She cocks her head to the side, as though super-analyzing me through introspective lenses. A surgeon with a fine-tooth comb.
“I agree,” she says, and I know I’ve passed the test.
I smile at her-again, and take a bite of the beef. So good.
“Auntie, do you cook?” I ask.
“Why, yes, dear,” she replies, wiping her mouth pristinely.
“It’s great,” I say with enthusiasm. The nerves from earlier seem to have melted. Like the ice in my Pepsi glass, I realize. And who likes watery Pepsi? I drink it quickly so I can refill it, then start on the roll.
“Was that your Beamer, cuz?” Maria asks.
“Yeah.”
“SWEET!” she says loudly. I raise an eyebrow. “I will NEVER ride the bus again!” Maria announces, perhaps too loudly. I expect she’s had an excessive amount of caffeine recently.
I nod.
“Wait now,” my uncle says, raising his hands. “Schroeder, are you a safe driver?”
“Very, sir,” I reply immediately.
“Hmm,” he says.
I smile at Maria. She smiles back.
There’s a connection there.
Maria
After dinner I escape to my room and throw on a mix CD. Then I fall back on my bed and brook. I’m tired now. That outing with Jennie didn’t do much good. While a song I don’t recognize plays in my stereo, I wonder what I should do for the rest of the night.
I could call up a few guyfriends and have them sneak over to hang out. No, on second thought, I still feel too guilty about Brenden to do that. With a heavy sigh, I flip across my bed to inspect my healthy DVD collection. Its most recent addition is Green Day-Bullet in a Bible. But I’ve watched that five times since I bought it, and I’m not in a Green Day mood anyway.
I have a lot of DVDs, it’s true. My stepdad is always getting them for me months before their actual DVD release. I’m not in the mood for any of that just now, though. Anger Management sounds really good just now. I put it in my DVD console and lay back on my bed with the remote.
Just as it gets to the title menu my phone rings. “Hey,” I say.
“Hi, Maria, it’s Jennie.”
Oh great. Just what I needed.
“Hi, Jen, what’s up?” I ask boredly.
“Ugh, not much. My brother is throwing a party at my place tomorrow with all of his jock friends and I don’t want to hang around. Mind if I crash at your place tomorrow night?
I sit up and scratch my head absent mindedly. “Actually, my parents are leaving town for a business conference tomorrow. I don’t think they’ll be around for the rest of the week.
“Yeah, I think that’s where mine are going too.
Jennie’s parents work for my stepdad’s company. Rather remedial positions but he pays them well enough.
“Okay,” I tell her. “I’ll ask if I feel like it, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“Great. Thanks, Ria.”
“No ish, Jen. Later.”
I hang up, then start to press play, but a growing, unreasonable anger at Jennie grows within me.
I pick up my phone with grim resolve. Maybe I will go out tonight, after all.
Shay
Tonight seems like a good time to contemplate the meaning of existence. It couldn’t be that my life is determined by a correlation of the cosmos, so I dont’ check my horoscope. And the chance and figures of tarot cards mean little more than a regular deck of cards to me.
Instead, I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. It’s painted dark navy blue with glow in the dark stars taped to it. Three of the walls of my room, however are light blue with white sponge-clouds Maria and I painted when we were still friends. That was a long time ago...But there it is, painted proof on my walls, right down to the cloud in the corner that we messed up on.
My dressers are painted similarly. Deep purple with my own stencil paintings of stars, moons and the life. But the wall on the far side is simply wallpapered blue besides the excessive amount of graffiti on it. I use that wall to write whenever I feel a muse within. I have sharpies in all different colors and a stepladder too, so whevever I feel like writing poetry or a song, or even a story, there’s my wall for me.
I love it.
So, then, what is existence. Are we merely placed here to live a life, pollute the air system and spend our time excessively trying to please others who are in the same sorry existence as we are? But no, this cannot be al, for there simply must be more than wanting more...
Is it our fate, then, to help our fellow man? But, then, once the entire world is alive and wellas we are in this blessed country (note the sarcasm) then what? This cannot be the answer because this is not an immortal state of being.
Still, there has to be some way to live. Some reason to be alive.
But what?
Do we exist simply to go to parties, please our fellow beings and work in factories and businesses that try to make the empty world a better place in such a way that the consumer line the pockets of those product developers?
So that we can further corrupt an already corrupt and dying world? So that we can live in a place where material values are placed higher than all other things, and in being material we can “have a good time?”
Human beings can’t be here just to have a good time. For what is the purpose of that?
Maria
The mall is a good place to be for the most part, especially late at night with the orange glow from the overhead lights and the crowds of people going in and out of the movie theatre, the smell of burned tacos and the soft whir of the escalators.
But tonight i’m almost nervous. I stand near the movie theatre and wait silently, staring at the sea of faces and hoping to see the face that I want to, and soon.
There he is. I smile when I see him and walk up to him slowly. He meets me at the middle with a shy smile on his face.
“Hey,” I say, almost breathlessly.
“Hi, Maria.”
He’s beautiful. Brenden, I mean. If Jennie didn’t like him this could be perfect. I smile at him and brush a lock of is wispy blonde hair behind his ear. It’s skater long, wavy and slightly gelled. Matches his soulful brown eyes beautifully. I’m tall, 5’8, but Brenden is 5’11 so it works. I hate it when short guys try to get with you, no matter how cute and sweet they may be.
“Do you want to see a movie?” he asks me.
I stand there and smile at him. “No, not really.” I reply.
“Uhm, do you want to get something to eat?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, what do you want to do?” he asks with a slight laugh reminiscent of Schroeder.
I smile at him and put my hand around his neck. “This,” I reply, leaning up and touching my lips to his. I feel a soft tingle of gratitude rush through my body and I smile. “Just this...”
* * *
We’re in his car, parked on the top of Make-Out-Mountain, or whatever cheesy mane they call it. Really it’s just a hill that overlooks the city, but that’s what it’s used for, and that’s what we’re doing, in the back seat of the Mercedes his daddy dearest bought him for his sixteenth, a year and a half ago.
He kisses me, and I drink in the sensation. Right now he’s half on my lap, half over the top of me. The sounds of kissing, slight moaning and heavy breathing fil the otherwise silent air,
He leans over the top of me.
“Stop,” I say, sitting up.
Confusion in his eyes, he does, eyebrows knotted in disappointment.
“I’m cold, would you turn the heater up?”
With a sigh and a smile, he obeys, and we resume.
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