life part 2

MOVIE VEIWING.

b a c k w a r d

Mommy smiles at my tiny three year old hands and drooling mouth. “Oh Sam,” she whispers through the tears. I wipe the liquid away, feeling confused. Why is the ocean falling out of Mommy’s clear eyes?

“I just can’t…,” she tries, and fails. “I’m going on a …” She breaks down into tired pieces. The water has broken the dam.

I stare at her.

“Mommy has to go on a trip, okay?” she chokes, stroking my baby face with her smooth, young, college hands. “I’ll be back, I’ll be back, my little Sam-a-Lamb. I’ll be back, I promise!”

She’s lying, just like Daddy does all the time. She’s packed up her lies and mis-truths in the suitcase by her side, stuffed them into her jean pockets and down the front of her Velvet Underground shirt.

“Mommy will be back,” she whispers now, smothering my innocent face with red lipstick kisses. “I love you, I love you so, so much!”

Her hands retreat to her sides. I stare at her in silent confusion. She attempts a smile. And then I voice my thoughts in the child like innocence that everyone posseses once upon a time.

“If you love me, why do you have to take a trip?” I ask. “Why is that sad?”

She sobs.

She leaves.

She’s lied.

s t i l l

“Hi.”

My back stoops, and my hair twists to its best use: camouflage of the anti-social. Except – that voice. I turn to stone under his gaze. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Not right now. Not this week. I’m a wreck. I’ve resorted to stealing, again. Daddy hasn’t been home in weeks. I’m honest to god crazy. Oh damn. Oh damn, damn, damn.

Go away. Come again some other day.

Yet I turn around and smile anyway. “Hi,” I say, voice hoarse from hours hiding in the dark of my mouth and from weeks of yelling myself dry at home. Time has stopped. Just for this moment, to give me a snapshot of his perfect face. I imagine it on Polaroid. I’ll go home and show the birdmen, and they’ll agree that he’s perfect. I’ll hang the perfect photo on my wall and smile at it every night before I go to bed and then one day, he’ll be over at my house and I’ll describe that Polaroid to him, and he’ll say something like, “I wish I had a photo of you to hang on my wall.”

So we’d take tons and tons of photos on our mind’s Polaroid cameras, and we’d write silly captions on the white in Sharpie markers, because he would have a black one with him. It would be poking out of his dark washed jeans, along with his brand new iPod and some white cords, and a candy bar (which we would share later).

Then we would watch that movie about the boy and girl that were in love, and he’d look at me and say, “I love you.” And I would tell him that I loved him too and–

He is sitting next to me.

“Your name is Samantha, right?” he asks, not touching the tray of cafeteria food in front of him. I stare at the hamburger and jello with longing. I’ve hardly eaten anything lately.

I force myself to look at Alex in the eye. “Uh,” my mind forces the blank thought outward, like a hand to shake. He smiles his perfect smile. “Um. Yes. Ah, yeah. I’m Sam.”

“Oh, you like Sam better?”

I nod. That’s what Mommy called me, and she told me she loved me.

“I’m Alex,” he says politely. I smile. Of course he’s Alex. Alex, Alex, Alex. What a lovely name.

“Um,” he says. I resist the urge to throw myself at him. “I know that we don’t really talk or anything, but I saw that… Well, over the past few weeks or something, you’ve been looking kinda sick or something?”

I do look sick. I look awful. Like I’m dying. My skin is the palest of pale. My eyes are bruised and purple. My hair looks stringy. My face is gaunt, and I’ve lost at least five pounds.

“I also notice that you don’t really eat anything,” says Alex nervously. Suddenly lost for words, he pushes the tray of food towards me. The red jello matches his face perfectly. It probably is the same color as the prominent veins in my eyes.

“I…” To be honest, I’m happy as a bee. This is shocking, and amazing, and a movie moment. Minus the fact that I look like a crazy person. The birdmen are sitting all around me. One of them pats me on the back, his fluttering wings whistling in the happily awkward air. They are congratulating me on my movie moment. I’m thanking them.

“He’s perfect!” they chirp as they set eyes upon Alex for the first time. I blush in response. They laugh, and hug me, giggling.

“Sam?” Alex looks slightly concerned. I smile reassuringly. I’m exhausted. “I’m not giving you this out of pity, if that’s why you haven’t, I dunno. Taken it or anything. I gave it to you because I think you deserve better than whatever you’ve been given in life, whatever thant is.”

Half of the words are drowned out in the din on the cafeteria, but I do hear that last sentence.

“Thank you,” I say, shocked.

Alex smiles. “And, even if I don’t look, like, messed up or anything, I’ve got a pretty damn sorry lot, so if you need to talk, I’m a good listener.” As he’s standing up to go and sit with the people knows better, he suddenly halts.

“Um, Sam?”

I give him innocent eyes.

“Do you want to go sit with us?”

If it was just you, I would say yes, I think. I would say yes in a heartbeat. I would hug you and kiss you, and it would be amazing.

But I don't know your friends, and they don't know me, and it's complicated.

“I’ll just sit here. Thank you, though,” I reply. He looks momentarily upset, but it passes. Or maybe it wasn’t there at all. Then he goes and sits with them.

He sat with me. He really sat with me. And, he bought me lunch. And he cares about me. And he wanted me to sit with them. Maybe he likes me.

PARTYING.

f o r w a r d

The hospital wheezes and breathes like an animal. A birdman has his arm around my shaking shoulders. In and out. In and out.

He looks tired, lying there under the beeping of the machines and cords and the weight of my hate and hope. His face is finally smooth. That’s what he’ll look like when he dies, I think. Peaceful. Care free.

My hand touches his face, which is cold as an icecube. My new house has those now. It was a perfectly working freezer and a microwave and a square table and a leather couch and chairs. I can set things down on the counter and order the biggest cheese pizza that I can, and I don’t even have to worry about paying for it.

Next to me is a glass of water. I take a swig. It’s cold. Like his face. I take a bite of his pudding. I wonder how long it’s been there. An hour? Two? He woke up a while back, the nurses told me. But he didn’t eat anything. Didn’t even look at it. Just screamed in pain until he was sedated. I wonder how long he’s going to live like that. Maybe the rest of his life. Maybe a day.

I dunno.

I don’t really care.

I’m so sick of taking care of him.

Yet I love him. I love him so much.

A tear fights its way out of my eye, and I grab my bag and leave. I’ll never come back here. Ever. I’m so fed up. So tired of waiting.

I’ll be back tomorrow.

s t i l l

Alex hands me his tray. I stare at it, then stare at his face. He smiles. I stare.

“I’m not hungry,” he explains, before sitting on the chair next to me, turned towards my face. His pants are black corduroy today. I want to touch them. As always, checkered shoes poke out of the hems. The pants are loose to his legs, and fit perfectly. Mine are too small. His shirt is white, advertising a band I’ve never heard of. But then again, I haven’t heard of many bands.

“So, Sam,” Alex stretches. “How have you been?”

Terrible.

“OK,” I lie. “I’ve been OK. I went home and did my homework and watched The Simpsons.”

Alex smiles his charming smile. “I love that show. The episode last night was funny, too.”

I nod.

“Go ahead and eat,” he says after a minute. “Lunch is over in… twenty minutes.” He stares at me, swampy eyes eating at my insides. I start to eat to applesauce, and then the hotdog, and then the chips and the cookie and the lemonade. It takes all of ten minutes.

“No dinner again?”

I shrug.

He laughs.

“Want to come sit with us?”

I shake my head.

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” And he leaves.

ii.

Math is a bore. Alex doesn’t look at me once, and we’re taking a stupid test. I finish mine first, but wait until four people have gone up to the front to turn mine in. Before I do that, I just sit and doodle birdmen on the pages. Eating the math problems, hugging a girl in too small jeans, eating pizza, watching football, cleaning a suburban house.

When I’m walking back to my seat, Alex walks past me, pressing his warm hand into mine. Between our fingers is a folded piece of paper. I sit down in my seat and look at the paper.

On the outside it says, “SAM” in lovely writing. Alex. He has perfect handwriting. I unfold it, and begin to read the inside.

Hi. It’s Alex, of course. Uh. Wanna come to a party on Friday? Plenty of fun Music, dancing, and of course some other stuff, you know I really want you to

My heart folds in on itself. I smell incense. I don’t even read the last paragraph or so. I just crumple it up and drop it in the recycling bin. From my seat, I see Alex looking at me with furrowed brows. I avoid his gaze, instead deciding that the words carved into the desk need some attention.

Once the bell rings, I try to worm my way out of the door, but Alex grabs my arms and drags me away. We end up outside, away from the large migration that is taking place. He looks confused.

“Why did you crumple it up?” he asks. “Why did you throw it away?”

“I don’t want to go,” I tell him.

“I’ll give you a ride! You can stay at my place, or one of my friends,” Alex pleads. “It would so much fun, and you wouldn’t have to deal with whatever…”

Something in my face stops him. I wench my arm back, and shake my head. “I don’t want to go.”

“My friends are mellow,” Alex says, still trying to convince me. “There won’t be any fighting and no one really makes out or anything in public. You would make a lot of friends. There would be food, and stuff. It’d be great! Come on, Sam. Please.”

“I don’t want to go.” I walk away.

He doesn’t buy me lunch or talk to me for a whole week.