I walked hurriedly towards the bus stop, blowing my warm breath into my hands. The breaths twisted out of my mouth in smooth clouds, contrasting into the chilled winter air.
My runners crunched into the snow in a fast pace, and I made an effort to make it in time.
I did.
First period. I sit in my seat, Aria sits in front of me like usual. She turns around and smiles at me. It makes my heart stutter.
We chat while walking to our next class and she grabs my hand playfully. She kisses my cheek and flutters away to her classroom.
I'm happy.
Lunch time. My stomach growls. But mum spent all her paycheck on the apartment and on liquor. It's been a week and we still haven't had a proper meal.
Aria shares her ham sandwich with me.
It tastes really good.
I hop on the bus. The driver seems angry. He's yelling to move back. We can't, we are already suffocating in each others breaths.
I'm sweating.
I walk home, relieved it's so cold out. I feel refreshed and light. I get home when it's dark out, and notice the entire apartment building is dark.
My gut twists.
I have to climb the stairs because the elevators aren't working. I get to the 5th floor a bit winded, but I'm okay.
I open the door. Mum is sleeping on the couch with a piece of paper in her hand. Curiosity fills me and I pull it out.
In large, upper case letters, EVICTION NOTICE.
I put it back.
I wake up late again. Mum is watching the news. It's weird that she's up so early. I hear the newscaster say how the bombing in our country are getting more frequent as well as more intense.
I find an apple under a pile of rags.
I don't have time to wash it.
I run to the bus in the frosted air.
Aria sits down and talks to me about the bombings. I tell her not to worry. She smiles.
My heart stutters.
Lunch again. She splits her sandwich again.
And she gives me her granola bar. She tells me I need to eat more. When I say she should have it she says she needs to lose weight anyways.
I tell her that's far from the truth.
She asks if I'm okay.
I eat the granola bar and kiss her.
I get home and open the pantry. There's half a bottle of whiskey left. I wonder what my mum did with the other ones.
She's not on the couch.
I scrap some money together for a small pizza.
I keep an extra slice for lunch so Aria doesn't worry.
Mum is watching the news again. There's screaming on the television. I ask her if she had breakfast.
She doesn't hear me.
I ask again.
She slowly turns her head. Her blond hair is stringy and greasy. Her brown eyes are bloodshot. She slurs something.
I leave.
The bus didn't come today. I went to Aria's. Her bus didn't come either.
We lay in silence while listening to the radio.
They're saying our city is a target for the bombings.
She doesn't think I realize she's crying.
I stay the night.
We catch a ride to school. The principle says class isn't cancelled.
First period goes slowly. When Aria looks back at me it makes things better.
Second period comes, Aria and I part ways.
Aria gives me a piece of her sandwich. When I got home after staying at her house I found my slice of pizza was gone.
I thanked her.
She gave me her granola bar again.
I thanked her again.
We go out after school and grab coffee. She pays. I hug her for a long time.
Her hair smells like flowers.
She always smells like flowers.
I get home later. Mum is on the couch. She yells at me for eating all the food. I don't tell her she's the one who ate it, just to vomit it up.
Instead, I go to bed early.
I wake up late and run out the door. My shoes are slipping on the ground as I run.
I just make the bus.
A few people laugh at me.
I watch the scenery pass as we drive.
A lot of people are walking around with large bags filled with what seems to be basic necessities.
We get to school.
First period.
Aria isn't here today.
I walk to second period alone.
I find a spot to sit at lunch. My stomach growls.
I catch the bus home.
Mum isn't in her room or on the couch. Her bathroom door is shut.
When I knock there's no reply.
I try to open it.
It won't.
The doorknob must be jammed again.
I notice there's no more alcohol.
Maybe she stopped.
I leave early, mum wasn't watching the news. I didn't hear her come home last night.
I wonder if she's seeing someone.
The snow is melting into ice and it's even more slick. I'm glad I left early because it takes me twice as long to get to the stop.
First period, Aria arrives late.
She whispers to me that her brother was sick, and her mum couldn't stay home to take care of him.
Her dad is out of town again.
I give her her homework.
We have time in class to work together.
She turns her chair.
Her hair flows behind her back.
She blinks at me.
Everything goes silent.
Suddenly, a loud ringing stings my ears.
Aria's eyes are wide. They look like an endless void of fear.
Her hair is blowing to the side like in a photo shoot.
But the air is coming from the window.
The window that is shattering towards us.
Glass flies into our skin.
By the time that I see blood specking her face, everything is already black.
Everything is already pitch black.
Showing posts with label first love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label first love. Show all posts
Monday, 7 December 2015
Saturday, 19 September 2015
The Feelings of Silence
His smile was slight, but I saw it. There was an awkwardness between us that I didn't really understand.
"It's weird," He sighed. Before I could ask what he meant he continued, "How we feel about each other." A silence hung between us and I blinked, not knowing what to say. We were walking now. "How we feel so much towards one another but we don't hold hands or hug or--" He paused for a second, "Kiss."
I felt my face burn, but I agreed. We began walking between the trees quietly, and all I wanted to do was reach out for his hand and pull it into mine. I wanted to look at his face and let his mouth draw my own in.
But I couldn't make myself do it. It seemed that even though I wanted to so badly and even to have his reassurance about how we both felt, I just... couldn't do it.
I wondered why.
Looking back, I thought about our strange relationship.
It seemed as though no matter what I did or didn't do nothing changed. It seemed like there was always an invisible wall.
I wondered if he tried to kiss me whether or not our lips would actually meet. It felt strange thinking about it.
I don't think they would meet.
But I wanted them to.
The silence seemed like a wall too. Something we couldn't really get past. It made my heart heavy not being able to.
I turned to face him and watched his lips move into words. But nothing came out. I squinted and asked his to repeat himself. I watched him laugh and 'speak' again. But again, nothing came out.
It felt like he was further than ever.
I reached forward, but the gap grew. He tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth again.
"I miss you," His voice sounded like he was speaking under water.
I brought my hands to my face, and I felt a subtle dampness under my eyes.
I choked, "I miss you too."
The distance grew, and the trees seemed to thicken.
He spoke again.
"I can't--" My throat cracked, "I can't hear you."
His face fell with sadness. He tried again. I read his lips.
I was falling in love.
My heart broke.
"I was too," I brushed away tears, "I was too."
"It's weird," He sighed. Before I could ask what he meant he continued, "How we feel about each other." A silence hung between us and I blinked, not knowing what to say. We were walking now. "How we feel so much towards one another but we don't hold hands or hug or--" He paused for a second, "Kiss."
I felt my face burn, but I agreed. We began walking between the trees quietly, and all I wanted to do was reach out for his hand and pull it into mine. I wanted to look at his face and let his mouth draw my own in.
But I couldn't make myself do it. It seemed that even though I wanted to so badly and even to have his reassurance about how we both felt, I just... couldn't do it.
I wondered why.
Looking back, I thought about our strange relationship.
It seemed as though no matter what I did or didn't do nothing changed. It seemed like there was always an invisible wall.
I wondered if he tried to kiss me whether or not our lips would actually meet. It felt strange thinking about it.
I don't think they would meet.
But I wanted them to.
The silence seemed like a wall too. Something we couldn't really get past. It made my heart heavy not being able to.
I turned to face him and watched his lips move into words. But nothing came out. I squinted and asked his to repeat himself. I watched him laugh and 'speak' again. But again, nothing came out.
It felt like he was further than ever.
I reached forward, but the gap grew. He tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth again.
"I miss you," His voice sounded like he was speaking under water.
I brought my hands to my face, and I felt a subtle dampness under my eyes.
I choked, "I miss you too."
The distance grew, and the trees seemed to thicken.
He spoke again.
"I can't--" My throat cracked, "I can't hear you."
His face fell with sadness. He tried again. I read his lips.
I was falling in love.
My heart broke.
"I was too," I brushed away tears, "I was too."
Monday, 29 December 2014
To a Friend
The first time I saw my father, I was already a twenty-nine year old man with an ex wife and a daughter.
And hell, let me tell you, that wasn't no walk in the park either. It wasn't as though I strolled up to him on a sunny spring day saying, "Care for a smoke? Only the best for my paps."
Oh no. It was a bloodbath to say the least.
You see, I was adopted at a young fuckin' age. My mother died at birth, which my paps blamed me for. Don't get me wrong, I don't blame the guy, but that ain't no reason to shun out your kid like a sack of rotten Chinese food. Which is what he did. By the time I was six I was so fuckin' underweight that I literally blew away in the wind. Literally. I was out with some crack-birthed neighbour kids, and we was racin' down the block the some fanny guy's rank old yard. I chugged down that fuckin' hill like an unholy saint in a churchyard and when that wind picked up, fuck I was gone. They was howlin' though. Hell, I thought it was hilarious too.
When I was eight though, man was I fucked. And I knew it toos. See, my paps was a drinker. Hard core, always drunken drunk that was so accustomed to bein' drunk that he was always sober.
But that was no ex'use of beatin' a kid. A blood related one nonetheless. But that sore fucker did.
There was a night when I came home late-- the streetlights were on. That was m' curfew. And I had screwed the fuck up. I know that. I triggered him. Big whoop.
Or at least, I got a big whoop.
He unbuckled his belt, didn't bother spinning me around, and whipped me across my face, neck, shoulders, abdomen and thighs so many times with his fat, jiggly arms that I couldn't see anything but red on me. I couldn't see anything but red.
That night I bolted to the police station.
I was rushed to the ER of course, he was placed in handcuffs.
The drunken S.O.B wasn't upset though-- the only time he wasn't upset. He was laughing with anger.
"He's the fucken murd're! You should've seen m'girl Nancy! She was a pretty thang 'till he fucken came 'round!"
Nancy was my mother. I've only seen photos of her, but she was a pretty little thing. Short brown hair, large blue eyes. Medium build. She looked like a pixie.
My adoptive parents were sickly sweet though. They've course were them gooey type. Smilin' so big they always looked like them Asians. Fucken' Asians. They the type who sang the carols at christmas, and made you wear them stupid ugly fuckers. Y'know, the sweaters. Ughk. Ugly little fuckers.
Anyhow, as I grew up, I became bored with everything. In fact, by the time I was thirteen I sat in my new paps car with the windows up and engine on.
Of course, I got out before any damage was done.
Shame.
Fucken' shame.
Even as I grew up, I remembered that psycho. I didn't see no one, because that would've seemed weak to me. I need to emphasise it was weak to me to tell some'ne that I thought I had PTSD, because I was beaten so often when I showed even the slightest bit of weakness. It's just how my mind worked.
As the years dragged on, I was constantly bullied at school. I think I switched schools ev'ry year till highschool. That's kind of when things slowed. Because then I found art. HA. It sounds dumb of me to say, an' I know I ain't the best speaker, but art held my soul in ways I ain't ever had it held b'fore. Not the sketchy-type art, with pencil, but metal work and woodwork. I built everything I could've in those three short years. And I was fucken' glorious with 'em.
I got so many of them awards that it seemed almost like a chore to go accept 'em. Which sounds awful high 'n mighty of me, but I ain't tryin' to be.
Anyways, one of those award evenings, pro'ly in year twelve, I met this girl. It sounds so cheesy when I say this, but when I saw her it was like all the light focused in on her, and the rest of the gym was dimmed. She had this short wavy-type bob that framed her face as it seemed to meld into her skin. It was a light brown. Then her eyes, oh god. They were such a pale blue that they looked Gray. And she wasn't wearin' those tight black skirts like most of 'em other girls neither. No, she had on an elegant long sleeved dress that looked like the smoke that came out of people's chimneys.
And my god, when she was talkin' to her group of friends, she looked up under those thick light lashed and met my eyes. In an instant her cheeks grew crimson, and I felt like I won a million bucks. And then I felt like I gave all of those bucks to support fluffy bunnies who were homeless or some shit. I felt giddy.
Of course I didn't have the confidence to speak to her, so we just kind of shared glances to each other now and 'gain. It was like we already knew each other.
Next day at school she walked up to me. She said she was Lucy and that she loved my pieces I displayed the night b'fore.
And I never asked her out, we just kind of were together.
That may be the mistake we made, now that I think about it. I'd see her talkin' to some guy and I'd think she didn't like me any more.
But we loved each other.
We got married when we graduated. We had Lillian when we was a bit older though. We was twenty-four, twenty-five. But then Lucy kept gettin' sick. She had troubled with her white blood cells, so she got sick often and for long periods of time. But it got to the point where she didn't get better one day. Well I guess she did, because she wasn't sufferin' no more. Lily understood right away when I told her mama loved her, but had to be free of her pain. Lily didn't cry, she kissed my cheek with her plump scarlet lips and said sternly, "Daddy, we need to be happy that she's okay now."
Luckily she learned to speak proper b'fore Lucy passed. See, she was an English major, and she was not lettin' her baby suffer with the way I speak. I would smile, thank her, and kiss her.
She was twenty-eight when she died. Our little daughter turning five.
But something was naggin' me.
I would have nightmares about panic fillin' my chest. Then I'd wake with a sweat drenched bed. I'd fear for Lily. I'd run into her room and cradle her into my arms, and I'd fall back asleep in her bed.
I never hit Lily. If she done somethin' bad like runnin' out into the street full o' cars, I'd get upset. I'd yell at her to tell her she'd hurt herself if she did that. But I never hit her. I guess that's a lie. Sometimes, like with the car thing, if she kept doin' it, I had to spank her. No whips, no belts, but I had to get across that it was unsafe.
And I hated myself for that every day after.
I realised that I had to see my pap. I had to see where he was and know he wasn't comin' for me or Lily.
So I went to him.
I didn't mean to. I swear to God I didn't mean to.
I found where he lived. Some place in Oklahoma. I drove for a few days. I left Lily with a sitter.
I didn't want her to meet him. I didn't want him to know she existed. So I went up to the old, rotting door. And this stern looking man with white hair and a wrinkled face opened the door.
"I don't want the fucking paper, get the fuck outta here, boy." He waved his cane at me, and I ducked out of the way. Before I meant to I said,
"Jacob Merth! I'm Jacob Merth. Your son." He froze. Then a sick grin spread on his lips as he gestured inside, pulling the door open.
"Ahh.... I've been won'dren when your ass would show up."
I don't know why I went in. I shouldn't have. I know that now. But, it's too late.
All the furniture was torn at corners, and seemed clumped in places. The radio was on, but it was static, and the t.v was also on static.
He sat me down at the old wooden table and said bluntly, "Come here to apol'gize?" I felt shocked. Twenty-three years, and that's what he asks.
"What.. do you mean?"
"Apol-o-gize." His iron stare made me uneasy. Why did I come here? "For killin' my wife, and for getting me thrown in jail."
"I didn't know you went to jail. I was six and in pain. I didn't mean to kill mum, she was pregnant and I was being bor---"
His hands slammed on the table, "YOU KILLED MY FUCKING WIFE!"
It happened so quickly, he pulled a large silver gun out from under the table, and cocked it back. Suddenly I was scared for Lily. Would she be adopted now, too?
All the air breathed out of the house as we just stared at each other. And before I decided to, I jumped up and smacked the gun out of his hand. It went flying under the sofa, but as I lurched at it his cane came flying up and smacked the front of my head. I hear a crack on my face, and with the blood pouring into my mouth I think he broke my nose. He leaped onto me, grabbin' at my throat, but I stepped back against the wall, crushing him. With him loose, I scrambled for th' gun, frantically searchin' under the couch. My hand fell across the cool metal, and I pulled it out, aimed at him and shot without hesitation. The ringing in my ears dazed me, and I found I wasn't holding onto the gun an'more. I saw a thick red splatter on the wall, and his limp body crumpled by the table.
I was breathing quite shallow, and suddenly it felt like I wasn't gettin' no air, which made me panic. I got on my knees and felt vomit pour out of my mouth, onto his worn wooden floor. The realization that Lily wasn't going to have a father any more hurt more than an'thin' I could imagine. It hurt more than losin' Lucy. But I was going to jail. I couldn't cover this up, go home an' act like nothin' was wrong no more, because ev'ry thin' was wrong now. My conscious was wrong now.
I found the gun a few feet away, I think I tossed it out of my hands, makin' it seem like I ain't the one who shot him. But it was me.
I lifted the gun and opened my blood filled mouth, placing the hot end in between my teeth. I love you, Lucy, Lily. Please forgi------------------
And hell, let me tell you, that wasn't no walk in the park either. It wasn't as though I strolled up to him on a sunny spring day saying, "Care for a smoke? Only the best for my paps."
Oh no. It was a bloodbath to say the least.
You see, I was adopted at a young fuckin' age. My mother died at birth, which my paps blamed me for. Don't get me wrong, I don't blame the guy, but that ain't no reason to shun out your kid like a sack of rotten Chinese food. Which is what he did. By the time I was six I was so fuckin' underweight that I literally blew away in the wind. Literally. I was out with some crack-birthed neighbour kids, and we was racin' down the block the some fanny guy's rank old yard. I chugged down that fuckin' hill like an unholy saint in a churchyard and when that wind picked up, fuck I was gone. They was howlin' though. Hell, I thought it was hilarious too.
When I was eight though, man was I fucked. And I knew it toos. See, my paps was a drinker. Hard core, always drunken drunk that was so accustomed to bein' drunk that he was always sober.
But that was no ex'use of beatin' a kid. A blood related one nonetheless. But that sore fucker did.
There was a night when I came home late-- the streetlights were on. That was m' curfew. And I had screwed the fuck up. I know that. I triggered him. Big whoop.
Or at least, I got a big whoop.
He unbuckled his belt, didn't bother spinning me around, and whipped me across my face, neck, shoulders, abdomen and thighs so many times with his fat, jiggly arms that I couldn't see anything but red on me. I couldn't see anything but red.
That night I bolted to the police station.
I was rushed to the ER of course, he was placed in handcuffs.
The drunken S.O.B wasn't upset though-- the only time he wasn't upset. He was laughing with anger.
"He's the fucken murd're! You should've seen m'girl Nancy! She was a pretty thang 'till he fucken came 'round!"
Nancy was my mother. I've only seen photos of her, but she was a pretty little thing. Short brown hair, large blue eyes. Medium build. She looked like a pixie.
My adoptive parents were sickly sweet though. They've course were them gooey type. Smilin' so big they always looked like them Asians. Fucken' Asians. They the type who sang the carols at christmas, and made you wear them stupid ugly fuckers. Y'know, the sweaters. Ughk. Ugly little fuckers.
Anyhow, as I grew up, I became bored with everything. In fact, by the time I was thirteen I sat in my new paps car with the windows up and engine on.
Of course, I got out before any damage was done.
Shame.
Fucken' shame.
Even as I grew up, I remembered that psycho. I didn't see no one, because that would've seemed weak to me. I need to emphasise it was weak to me to tell some'ne that I thought I had PTSD, because I was beaten so often when I showed even the slightest bit of weakness. It's just how my mind worked.
As the years dragged on, I was constantly bullied at school. I think I switched schools ev'ry year till highschool. That's kind of when things slowed. Because then I found art. HA. It sounds dumb of me to say, an' I know I ain't the best speaker, but art held my soul in ways I ain't ever had it held b'fore. Not the sketchy-type art, with pencil, but metal work and woodwork. I built everything I could've in those three short years. And I was fucken' glorious with 'em.
I got so many of them awards that it seemed almost like a chore to go accept 'em. Which sounds awful high 'n mighty of me, but I ain't tryin' to be.
Anyways, one of those award evenings, pro'ly in year twelve, I met this girl. It sounds so cheesy when I say this, but when I saw her it was like all the light focused in on her, and the rest of the gym was dimmed. She had this short wavy-type bob that framed her face as it seemed to meld into her skin. It was a light brown. Then her eyes, oh god. They were such a pale blue that they looked Gray. And she wasn't wearin' those tight black skirts like most of 'em other girls neither. No, she had on an elegant long sleeved dress that looked like the smoke that came out of people's chimneys.
And my god, when she was talkin' to her group of friends, she looked up under those thick light lashed and met my eyes. In an instant her cheeks grew crimson, and I felt like I won a million bucks. And then I felt like I gave all of those bucks to support fluffy bunnies who were homeless or some shit. I felt giddy.
Of course I didn't have the confidence to speak to her, so we just kind of shared glances to each other now and 'gain. It was like we already knew each other.
Next day at school she walked up to me. She said she was Lucy and that she loved my pieces I displayed the night b'fore.
And I never asked her out, we just kind of were together.
That may be the mistake we made, now that I think about it. I'd see her talkin' to some guy and I'd think she didn't like me any more.
But we loved each other.
We got married when we graduated. We had Lillian when we was a bit older though. We was twenty-four, twenty-five. But then Lucy kept gettin' sick. She had troubled with her white blood cells, so she got sick often and for long periods of time. But it got to the point where she didn't get better one day. Well I guess she did, because she wasn't sufferin' no more. Lily understood right away when I told her mama loved her, but had to be free of her pain. Lily didn't cry, she kissed my cheek with her plump scarlet lips and said sternly, "Daddy, we need to be happy that she's okay now."
Luckily she learned to speak proper b'fore Lucy passed. See, she was an English major, and she was not lettin' her baby suffer with the way I speak. I would smile, thank her, and kiss her.
She was twenty-eight when she died. Our little daughter turning five.
But something was naggin' me.
I would have nightmares about panic fillin' my chest. Then I'd wake with a sweat drenched bed. I'd fear for Lily. I'd run into her room and cradle her into my arms, and I'd fall back asleep in her bed.
I never hit Lily. If she done somethin' bad like runnin' out into the street full o' cars, I'd get upset. I'd yell at her to tell her she'd hurt herself if she did that. But I never hit her. I guess that's a lie. Sometimes, like with the car thing, if she kept doin' it, I had to spank her. No whips, no belts, but I had to get across that it was unsafe.
And I hated myself for that every day after.
I realised that I had to see my pap. I had to see where he was and know he wasn't comin' for me or Lily.
So I went to him.
I didn't mean to. I swear to God I didn't mean to.
I found where he lived. Some place in Oklahoma. I drove for a few days. I left Lily with a sitter.
I didn't want her to meet him. I didn't want him to know she existed. So I went up to the old, rotting door. And this stern looking man with white hair and a wrinkled face opened the door.
"I don't want the fucking paper, get the fuck outta here, boy." He waved his cane at me, and I ducked out of the way. Before I meant to I said,
"Jacob Merth! I'm Jacob Merth. Your son." He froze. Then a sick grin spread on his lips as he gestured inside, pulling the door open.
"Ahh.... I've been won'dren when your ass would show up."
I don't know why I went in. I shouldn't have. I know that now. But, it's too late.
All the furniture was torn at corners, and seemed clumped in places. The radio was on, but it was static, and the t.v was also on static.
He sat me down at the old wooden table and said bluntly, "Come here to apol'gize?" I felt shocked. Twenty-three years, and that's what he asks.
"What.. do you mean?"
"Apol-o-gize." His iron stare made me uneasy. Why did I come here? "For killin' my wife, and for getting me thrown in jail."
"I didn't know you went to jail. I was six and in pain. I didn't mean to kill mum, she was pregnant and I was being bor---"
His hands slammed on the table, "YOU KILLED MY FUCKING WIFE!"
It happened so quickly, he pulled a large silver gun out from under the table, and cocked it back. Suddenly I was scared for Lily. Would she be adopted now, too?
All the air breathed out of the house as we just stared at each other. And before I decided to, I jumped up and smacked the gun out of his hand. It went flying under the sofa, but as I lurched at it his cane came flying up and smacked the front of my head. I hear a crack on my face, and with the blood pouring into my mouth I think he broke my nose. He leaped onto me, grabbin' at my throat, but I stepped back against the wall, crushing him. With him loose, I scrambled for th' gun, frantically searchin' under the couch. My hand fell across the cool metal, and I pulled it out, aimed at him and shot without hesitation. The ringing in my ears dazed me, and I found I wasn't holding onto the gun an'more. I saw a thick red splatter on the wall, and his limp body crumpled by the table.
I was breathing quite shallow, and suddenly it felt like I wasn't gettin' no air, which made me panic. I got on my knees and felt vomit pour out of my mouth, onto his worn wooden floor. The realization that Lily wasn't going to have a father any more hurt more than an'thin' I could imagine. It hurt more than losin' Lucy. But I was going to jail. I couldn't cover this up, go home an' act like nothin' was wrong no more, because ev'ry thin' was wrong now. My conscious was wrong now.
I found the gun a few feet away, I think I tossed it out of my hands, makin' it seem like I ain't the one who shot him. But it was me.
I lifted the gun and opened my blood filled mouth, placing the hot end in between my teeth. I love you, Lucy, Lily. Please forgi------------------
Monday, 3 November 2014
Evermore
I remember everything about him. His green eyes. His soulful fucking eyes. I hated them.
I hated how he would hold my hand so tenderly, as though he would break me.
I hated how he would brush his nose against my neck, making my knees become fuzzy and frail.
I hated how he would be talking so excitedly while walking ahead of me, and then he would turn his head over his shoulder, grinning crookedly at me.
I hated how when his life became so hectic he told me to let him sink.
______
"Vi?" His soft gaze tried to meet mine. But I refused to look at him with tears clouding my vision. He pulled his large hands around my small ones, "Please."
I forced myself to look at him. But I could only reach his shaggy brown hair.
"Let me drown." He was whispering. "Let me drown, and eventually I'll be able to swim to the surface and see you on the shore."
My teeth were clenching. "Let me help." He smiled sadly.
"This is something you can't help with."
"You haven't let me try!" I leaned forward, squeezing his hands desperately.
And then he brought his mouth to my forehead. And he rested there for several moments. Just before he pulled away he murmured, "I love you. I can't let you be hurt."
I sneered, "How ironic." I pushed away, whipping my hands out and away from him. And I rushed out of his flat, into the busy California streets. It was colder than usual, so I tugged my wind breaker tight around me, not knowing whether my trembling was from him or the wind.
And I walked away.
______
Years ago, when he and I had just met, we were sophomores at an uptight private school. We didn't have any classes together, but his and my lockers were right next to each other. So each day, we would be at our lockers and we would say hello. Every day. For the entire year.
I never thought of him as anything other than an acquaintance until he approached me during the first week of junior year. His hair was really long, licking the base of his jaw and swept up away from his eyes. It looked messily beautiful.
He leaned his hands against the outdoor table, an odd gleam in his eyes that matched the crooked grin plastered to his face.
"Violet, right?" He wore a deep red t-shirt with a high v-neck. But I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were such a clear, dark green. I had never seen something so amazing.
I nodded, stiff with surprise.
"We had lockers next to each other last year."
I nodded again.
He stood up straight, adjusting his shirt to fall against the rim of his navy black jeans. "Zaylen." He coughed slightly, a pink blush sweeping under his eyes.
I nodded, unsure what to say.
He cleared his throat, "Any ways, I was invited to this party," He waved his hand, "Or get together or something..." He caught himself, "And I thought, I dunno. If you wanted to come, I could introduce you to some people."
"Are you saying I don't know any one?" I spoke before my mind could stop myself. I winced at how mean I had sounded. He seemed unfazed as his grin returned.
"No- no, it's just..." He glanced to the side and leaned in, "Everyone talks about you, but I barely see you with anyone." His endless eyes stared into my own, "So you should meet everyone who is talking about you." Zaylen shrugged his hand into his front jean pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. As I opened my mouth in protest he unfolded the lined paper. "My phone number, the party's address and the password to enter." He moved the paper towards me like a bribe, "This Friday, ten o'clock. When you get in call me and I'll meet up with you."
"What if I'm busy this Friday?" I inquired as I rose my dirty blond eyebrows.
"Well you are." He tapped the paper, "You're coming to a party and you will hang out with me and you will have a great time." Before I could respond he began walking away, and that was the first time he looked over his shoulder grinning wildly, "See you Friday, Vi!"
______
I hated how when I met up with him he placed his hand flat against my shoulder blade.
I hated how coolly he introduced me to every one.
I hated how he brought me drinks with the cap sealed tightly and unopened.
I hated how he shoved some guy who was intoxicated off of me.
I hated how he didn't drink anything, and how he got me home safely.
I hated how when he stopped the car he leaned across the arm rest and brushed his lips so gently across my cheek that it felt like a rose petal.
I hated how he told me he'd call me so we could hang out again.
I hated how I nodded dumbly and said yes.
I hated how he made it seem like he cared about me.
______
Zaylen didn't formally ask me out until we had hung out a total of nine times. He explained to me, that proper etiquette was to wait until we had met up the same amount of times as his favourite number.
"For good luck." He said smiling.
I said yes. And we went to parties. And we stayed at his place. And we toured around Cali. We went to the beach almost everyday, running into the endless waves and falling back into the velvet sand.
There we lay one day, huffing and out of breath. We were on our backs, staring up at the pale pink setting sky. I turned my head and looked at him. God, I loved looking at him. He had tiny water droplets that lay on the tips of his thick black eyelashes. He blinked and turned to me. But there was something different. He looked at me, and it felt like he was placing a blanket around me. I felt secure. We had been together for almost a year. But it felt like I wasn't caring about him less, but intensely more.
"I'm in love with you." I didn't see his lips move, but his low voice echoed through my ears. He and I had told each other we loved one another a few months ago, but to hear that he was in love... I felt it.
Zaylen and I stared at each other, and he didn't give me a look as though he was expecting me to say it back. But I did. I said it so many times.
______
Senior year took us by surprise. College applications had to be going out, parents were fumbling and being melancholic about how they'll miss their kids. I had already said goodbye to my parents because Zaylen had convinced me to move in with him in a new apartment.
We went through school focused, but coming home to him gave me such euphoria, that I couldn't believe how much I loved him. I loved Zaylen so much that it physically hurt. My heart would race, my stomach would churn, and my legs were immobile.
But he was there to catch me.
He always caught me.
______
After a few months, he would get home and be quiet. He wasn't eating as much and sleeping more. He had permanent black lines under his eyes, and he never seemed energetic.
We still went on walks, but his excitement for life seemed drained.
We sat on the dock on a Sunday. I remember it being a Sunday because I pointed to the horizon, trying to cheer him up. "As the last bit of sun fades into the horizon, Sunday becomes Monday."
He tried to smile. He really did. But it seemed fractured. He kissed my temple.
When he got back to the apartment, he sat down on the love seat. As I was about to go to the bedroom he called me. "Vi." He sounded weak.
I remember freezing. I was scared suddenly. I knew something was happening.
"Can you come sit down, Vi?" Zaylen's voice cracked, and I hesitantly moved towards him.
I sat about a foot away from him, but he shuffled closer to me. His long hair strung in front of his eyes, and he seemed to fade out looking at the carpet. I pulled his hands onto my lap, and I brushed my thumb across the back of his hand. He squeezed my hand with reassurance, and looked up in response.
"I did what you asked." I blinked, not understanding what he was talking about. He nodded his head slightly, "Therapist." A wave of realization shot through me as he continued, "To try to feel better. It's kind of working. Sometimes. I don't know. They're going to be letting me try different medications." I was crying suddenly. I don't know why. To hear his pain was so hard. It felt like I was being torn apart. "There are times where I feel better, but then it gets worse for a bit. They said it's normal, but it's just hard." His green eyes looked at me.
______
I hated how he wouldn't let me try to help him.
I hated how I couldn't understand why he was sad.
I hated how he couldn't explain it.
I hated how helpless I felt. How I feel.
I hated how hopeless he was.
______
It was a few weeks after he told me he was seeing so many people about his struggles. He thought that we should get a dog. That maybe something love-able and cuddly would help. I agreed completely. She was a Finnish Spitz crossed with husky, and the tiniest pup you could imagine. She was the runt, but Azzy was the sweetest dog that we could have hoped for. She made Zaylen smile more. And he was willing to take her on walks. But the time with me was minimal. I would offer to come, or to take her for a walk alone, but he insisted differently.
After a few more weeks he became distant from Azzy as well. Our attempt was beginning to fail. That's when he sat me down again. And this time he told me he was leaving. That he needed an intensive therapy program where he would live for a few months.
I knew it was coming, but I didn't stop crying that night. I was also crying in my dreams.
______
I hated how he hugged me, and told me he loved me as he walked away with his suitcase.
I hated how he didn't want me to see him for several weeks.
I hated how the doctors and nurses didn't let me talk to him.
I hated how I got used to Zaylen not being in the apartment.
I hated how I felt abandoned, when he was the one struggling so terribly.
______
He was right when he said he'd be there for more than a few months. I finished school and began prepping for a University I got accepted to.
I began seeing my parents more, They lived in the same gray blue house, with the same beige carpet. As my mother handed me a teacup filled with steaming green tea, my stomach dropped into a pit of guilt.
She sat next to me on the large floral couch, resting her free hand on my knee as she held her own cup with the other. "Tell me, Vi, how have you been?"
And I talked to her. I told her about how painful it was without him. How he changed, and how I want him to get better. How I want my Zaylen back. We spoke for hours, tears emerged from both of us. Laughter bubbled from both of us. Daddy didn't get home until around dinner, so I stayed with them that night. A constant warm comfort stayed with me. Even as I strode up the staircase into my old bedroom, which was now the guest room. I was now a guest.
______
The first time I visited Zaylen, a dense silence filled the space between us. I didn't force him to speak. I didn't give idle chit chat. So we sat, studying each other. Finally he reached over to me, slowly placing his hand on top of my thigh.
His green eyes sparkled, "I'm going to be discharged in about a month, Violet." I wanted to smile, to hug him. To expel all the relief that had seized up inside of me. But that's what it did. It froze inside of me. And I couldn't tell him how my insides twisted with joy, how my heart began thumping as though it hadn't for the past four months. But he squeezed my thigh to tell me he understood. He always understood.
______
When he was released from the hospital, I ordered dinner so we could have a calm evening at home. We sat on the couch quietly, and I felt odd for a reason I couldn't pin point. And when we went to bed it felt odd to have him by my side.
When we got up in the morning it felt odd.
When we went out it felt odd.
And I couldn't figure out why.
______
When he told me to let him go, so he could fix himself, I did. And I didn't hate him for it. I hated myself.
Everything I hated about him, I only hated myself for enjoying it.
I hated myself because when Zaylen had gone away for the five months, I had gotten used to the creaking of the apartment. I had gotten used to cooking for one. I had gotten used to walking Azzy alone. I had gotten used to being alone.
And in that time, I had fallen out of love with him.
The boy I was head over heals in love with, the boy who stole my heart at fifteen, who was my first love, was just that. My first love.
And I hated that I had torn that love a part.
______
He knew. He could tell. And I saw the hurt in his eyes every day until I kissed him goodbye. I kissed Azzy goodbye.
And as I know now, the time I had with Zaylen was magical.
______
I remember everything about Zaylen. His hair, eyes, mouth, clothing, vocabulary, favourite food, favourite joke. Favourite everything.
______
I remember when he took me out on the roof and we lay and stared at the fireworks exploding and popping above us.
______
I remember how he blushed when he bumped his hand against my thigh for the first time.
______
I remember his tiny freckles at the base of his neck.
______
I remember, but I will not let these memories consume me. I loved him. I always will. And I love all the memories we had and made.
But I'm not in love with him anymore.
Even though I wish I was.
______
I don't know where he is anymore. We stayed in touch for a month or so. Then we kind of parted. Not in a negative way. In a way that said "I love you, and thank you." The beautiful thing about first loves, is that that is simply what they are. First. That doesn't mean the last. And as I, Violet Hatcher write this, I can tell you that I have fallen in love three times. One, with Zaylen Daniels. Two, with Azzy Daniels-Hatcher. Three, with the person I'm with now. Liam Adamson. And I don't know if he'll be my last, and I know I will not have the same memories as I did with Zaylen, but that's okay. It's okay because it makes every love unique. Every love is unique.
I hated how he would hold my hand so tenderly, as though he would break me.
I hated how he would brush his nose against my neck, making my knees become fuzzy and frail.
I hated how he would be talking so excitedly while walking ahead of me, and then he would turn his head over his shoulder, grinning crookedly at me.
I hated how when his life became so hectic he told me to let him sink.
______
"Vi?" His soft gaze tried to meet mine. But I refused to look at him with tears clouding my vision. He pulled his large hands around my small ones, "Please."
I forced myself to look at him. But I could only reach his shaggy brown hair.
"Let me drown." He was whispering. "Let me drown, and eventually I'll be able to swim to the surface and see you on the shore."
My teeth were clenching. "Let me help." He smiled sadly.
"This is something you can't help with."
"You haven't let me try!" I leaned forward, squeezing his hands desperately.
And then he brought his mouth to my forehead. And he rested there for several moments. Just before he pulled away he murmured, "I love you. I can't let you be hurt."
I sneered, "How ironic." I pushed away, whipping my hands out and away from him. And I rushed out of his flat, into the busy California streets. It was colder than usual, so I tugged my wind breaker tight around me, not knowing whether my trembling was from him or the wind.
And I walked away.
______
Years ago, when he and I had just met, we were sophomores at an uptight private school. We didn't have any classes together, but his and my lockers were right next to each other. So each day, we would be at our lockers and we would say hello. Every day. For the entire year.
I never thought of him as anything other than an acquaintance until he approached me during the first week of junior year. His hair was really long, licking the base of his jaw and swept up away from his eyes. It looked messily beautiful.
He leaned his hands against the outdoor table, an odd gleam in his eyes that matched the crooked grin plastered to his face.
"Violet, right?" He wore a deep red t-shirt with a high v-neck. But I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were such a clear, dark green. I had never seen something so amazing.
I nodded, stiff with surprise.
"We had lockers next to each other last year."
I nodded again.
He stood up straight, adjusting his shirt to fall against the rim of his navy black jeans. "Zaylen." He coughed slightly, a pink blush sweeping under his eyes.
I nodded, unsure what to say.
He cleared his throat, "Any ways, I was invited to this party," He waved his hand, "Or get together or something..." He caught himself, "And I thought, I dunno. If you wanted to come, I could introduce you to some people."
"Are you saying I don't know any one?" I spoke before my mind could stop myself. I winced at how mean I had sounded. He seemed unfazed as his grin returned.
"No- no, it's just..." He glanced to the side and leaned in, "Everyone talks about you, but I barely see you with anyone." His endless eyes stared into my own, "So you should meet everyone who is talking about you." Zaylen shrugged his hand into his front jean pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. As I opened my mouth in protest he unfolded the lined paper. "My phone number, the party's address and the password to enter." He moved the paper towards me like a bribe, "This Friday, ten o'clock. When you get in call me and I'll meet up with you."
"What if I'm busy this Friday?" I inquired as I rose my dirty blond eyebrows.
"Well you are." He tapped the paper, "You're coming to a party and you will hang out with me and you will have a great time." Before I could respond he began walking away, and that was the first time he looked over his shoulder grinning wildly, "See you Friday, Vi!"
______
I hated how when I met up with him he placed his hand flat against my shoulder blade.
I hated how coolly he introduced me to every one.
I hated how he brought me drinks with the cap sealed tightly and unopened.
I hated how he shoved some guy who was intoxicated off of me.
I hated how he didn't drink anything, and how he got me home safely.
I hated how when he stopped the car he leaned across the arm rest and brushed his lips so gently across my cheek that it felt like a rose petal.
I hated how he told me he'd call me so we could hang out again.
I hated how I nodded dumbly and said yes.
I hated how he made it seem like he cared about me.
______
Zaylen didn't formally ask me out until we had hung out a total of nine times. He explained to me, that proper etiquette was to wait until we had met up the same amount of times as his favourite number.
"For good luck." He said smiling.
I said yes. And we went to parties. And we stayed at his place. And we toured around Cali. We went to the beach almost everyday, running into the endless waves and falling back into the velvet sand.
There we lay one day, huffing and out of breath. We were on our backs, staring up at the pale pink setting sky. I turned my head and looked at him. God, I loved looking at him. He had tiny water droplets that lay on the tips of his thick black eyelashes. He blinked and turned to me. But there was something different. He looked at me, and it felt like he was placing a blanket around me. I felt secure. We had been together for almost a year. But it felt like I wasn't caring about him less, but intensely more.
"I'm in love with you." I didn't see his lips move, but his low voice echoed through my ears. He and I had told each other we loved one another a few months ago, but to hear that he was in love... I felt it.
Zaylen and I stared at each other, and he didn't give me a look as though he was expecting me to say it back. But I did. I said it so many times.
______
Senior year took us by surprise. College applications had to be going out, parents were fumbling and being melancholic about how they'll miss their kids. I had already said goodbye to my parents because Zaylen had convinced me to move in with him in a new apartment.
We went through school focused, but coming home to him gave me such euphoria, that I couldn't believe how much I loved him. I loved Zaylen so much that it physically hurt. My heart would race, my stomach would churn, and my legs were immobile.
But he was there to catch me.
He always caught me.
______
After a few months, he would get home and be quiet. He wasn't eating as much and sleeping more. He had permanent black lines under his eyes, and he never seemed energetic.
We still went on walks, but his excitement for life seemed drained.
We sat on the dock on a Sunday. I remember it being a Sunday because I pointed to the horizon, trying to cheer him up. "As the last bit of sun fades into the horizon, Sunday becomes Monday."
He tried to smile. He really did. But it seemed fractured. He kissed my temple.
When he got back to the apartment, he sat down on the love seat. As I was about to go to the bedroom he called me. "Vi." He sounded weak.
I remember freezing. I was scared suddenly. I knew something was happening.
"Can you come sit down, Vi?" Zaylen's voice cracked, and I hesitantly moved towards him.
I sat about a foot away from him, but he shuffled closer to me. His long hair strung in front of his eyes, and he seemed to fade out looking at the carpet. I pulled his hands onto my lap, and I brushed my thumb across the back of his hand. He squeezed my hand with reassurance, and looked up in response.
"I did what you asked." I blinked, not understanding what he was talking about. He nodded his head slightly, "Therapist." A wave of realization shot through me as he continued, "To try to feel better. It's kind of working. Sometimes. I don't know. They're going to be letting me try different medications." I was crying suddenly. I don't know why. To hear his pain was so hard. It felt like I was being torn apart. "There are times where I feel better, but then it gets worse for a bit. They said it's normal, but it's just hard." His green eyes looked at me.
______
I hated how he wouldn't let me try to help him.
I hated how I couldn't understand why he was sad.
I hated how he couldn't explain it.
I hated how helpless I felt. How I feel.
I hated how hopeless he was.
______
It was a few weeks after he told me he was seeing so many people about his struggles. He thought that we should get a dog. That maybe something love-able and cuddly would help. I agreed completely. She was a Finnish Spitz crossed with husky, and the tiniest pup you could imagine. She was the runt, but Azzy was the sweetest dog that we could have hoped for. She made Zaylen smile more. And he was willing to take her on walks. But the time with me was minimal. I would offer to come, or to take her for a walk alone, but he insisted differently.
After a few more weeks he became distant from Azzy as well. Our attempt was beginning to fail. That's when he sat me down again. And this time he told me he was leaving. That he needed an intensive therapy program where he would live for a few months.
I knew it was coming, but I didn't stop crying that night. I was also crying in my dreams.
______
I hated how he hugged me, and told me he loved me as he walked away with his suitcase.
I hated how he didn't want me to see him for several weeks.
I hated how the doctors and nurses didn't let me talk to him.
I hated how I got used to Zaylen not being in the apartment.
I hated how I felt abandoned, when he was the one struggling so terribly.
______
He was right when he said he'd be there for more than a few months. I finished school and began prepping for a University I got accepted to.
I began seeing my parents more, They lived in the same gray blue house, with the same beige carpet. As my mother handed me a teacup filled with steaming green tea, my stomach dropped into a pit of guilt.
She sat next to me on the large floral couch, resting her free hand on my knee as she held her own cup with the other. "Tell me, Vi, how have you been?"
And I talked to her. I told her about how painful it was without him. How he changed, and how I want him to get better. How I want my Zaylen back. We spoke for hours, tears emerged from both of us. Laughter bubbled from both of us. Daddy didn't get home until around dinner, so I stayed with them that night. A constant warm comfort stayed with me. Even as I strode up the staircase into my old bedroom, which was now the guest room. I was now a guest.
______
The first time I visited Zaylen, a dense silence filled the space between us. I didn't force him to speak. I didn't give idle chit chat. So we sat, studying each other. Finally he reached over to me, slowly placing his hand on top of my thigh.
His green eyes sparkled, "I'm going to be discharged in about a month, Violet." I wanted to smile, to hug him. To expel all the relief that had seized up inside of me. But that's what it did. It froze inside of me. And I couldn't tell him how my insides twisted with joy, how my heart began thumping as though it hadn't for the past four months. But he squeezed my thigh to tell me he understood. He always understood.
______
When he was released from the hospital, I ordered dinner so we could have a calm evening at home. We sat on the couch quietly, and I felt odd for a reason I couldn't pin point. And when we went to bed it felt odd to have him by my side.
When we got up in the morning it felt odd.
When we went out it felt odd.
And I couldn't figure out why.
______
When he told me to let him go, so he could fix himself, I did. And I didn't hate him for it. I hated myself.
Everything I hated about him, I only hated myself for enjoying it.
I hated myself because when Zaylen had gone away for the five months, I had gotten used to the creaking of the apartment. I had gotten used to cooking for one. I had gotten used to walking Azzy alone. I had gotten used to being alone.
And in that time, I had fallen out of love with him.
The boy I was head over heals in love with, the boy who stole my heart at fifteen, who was my first love, was just that. My first love.
And I hated that I had torn that love a part.
______
He knew. He could tell. And I saw the hurt in his eyes every day until I kissed him goodbye. I kissed Azzy goodbye.
And as I know now, the time I had with Zaylen was magical.
______
I remember everything about Zaylen. His hair, eyes, mouth, clothing, vocabulary, favourite food, favourite joke. Favourite everything.
______
I remember when he took me out on the roof and we lay and stared at the fireworks exploding and popping above us.
______
I remember how he blushed when he bumped his hand against my thigh for the first time.
______
I remember his tiny freckles at the base of his neck.
______
I remember, but I will not let these memories consume me. I loved him. I always will. And I love all the memories we had and made.
But I'm not in love with him anymore.
Even though I wish I was.
______
I don't know where he is anymore. We stayed in touch for a month or so. Then we kind of parted. Not in a negative way. In a way that said "I love you, and thank you." The beautiful thing about first loves, is that that is simply what they are. First. That doesn't mean the last. And as I, Violet Hatcher write this, I can tell you that I have fallen in love three times. One, with Zaylen Daniels. Two, with Azzy Daniels-Hatcher. Three, with the person I'm with now. Liam Adamson. And I don't know if he'll be my last, and I know I will not have the same memories as I did with Zaylen, but that's okay. It's okay because it makes every love unique. Every love is unique.
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