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It's officially summer again and this one starts like the last one
ended -- running from the scene. It's such a rush, your feet never hit the
pavement too hard. Another night's work is done, really done, and done
well, and you're trying to keep from letting free a maniacal laugh. You
barely hear the voices shouting after you and your friends -- all you hear
is the wind racing past your ear, rushing through your hair, and your
urgent, shortened breath. Your spiked black combat boots are way too
loud on the pavement -- either that or you're too paranoid for your own
good.
Finally you reach your car. You fumble anxiously for the keys as the
voices get louder and angrier and your friends start to curse at you. In
seconds you're speeding into the streets, hoping to blend with those
faceless cars. Everyone's laughing and catching their breath -- another
successful hit followed by a good fast getaway is the recipe for the
best adrenaline high. You know you're all just junkies anyway. You let
your maniacal laughter free at last. When you're sure you're not being
followed, you join the nightly summer caravan on the main street where
all the other teenagers find their various fixes, whether it be a quick,
easy fuck, another drunken party, or drugs. It's all there on the main
strip. You and your friends pride yourselves on only being occasional
visitors to this world. You've always laughed at the natives here but
you know you're no better than they -- your fix is crime and it just
carries you outside the realms of this nightly circus. If you were
addicted to something else, you know you'd be wasting gas every night
right along with the rest of them.
But you're laughing, talking and driving, you're starting to come down.
It's time to go home anyway. You take your friends home, you'll see them
again on your next hit night. It's a couple minutes before curfew so you
hit the main drag one last time and you really believe you've got a good
life -- friends you'd lay your life down for and vice versa, a boyfriend
you've really connected with, gullible parents, and shoes with good
tread and grip. You're a straightedger who's turned to a fast, sometimes
violent life of petty crime, but that's no suprise given your past. The
story of your old Angel tag explains so much, someone someday will know
and then understand. Only then will you not be alone.
"So what did you kids do tonight?"
"Nothing, just drive around."
"For two and a half hours??"
"Yeah."
"Don't you get bored of that?"
"No."
"Allright, then."
"Allright....well, goodnight."
"Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."
"Ok."
Easy and simple. You allready know your parents know what you
do -- they've just never vocalized it, they probably don't know how. It's
just as well, you'd deny everything anyway. You turn the water on and turn
to see yourself in the mirror. Yep, you're in it, kid. You look the part
too. Fuzzy streaked bleached hair, shoulder length and stringy, tired
yet alert clear blue eyes, pouty lips -- you're a street kid allright.
That's where you belong. The water courses through your hair and your
eyes close -- after such an intense night, the warm water sensation feels
almost orgasmic. You discover a few battle wounds from tonight -- a scrape
on the arm, a bruise on the shin, a shallow cut on the stomach, no
problem because you're tough. You're just thankful the inventory of
wounds has never included broken limbs or a major loss of blood or a
dead body.
"Thank You God for protecting us tonight. Please be with us
always. Thank You God for keeping us safe once again. I love You. Amen."
Kiss the silver crucifix hanging over your bed and turn off the light.
You wanted to think about things, review your life in the privacy of the
dark, but you fell asleep in the middle of your second Hail Mary. School
is almost out and graduation day is only a week after that. You didn't
dream tonight.
"So what do you think we should do?"
"Why do I always have to be the one to decide? You're in this too, you
know."
Study his face for a minute. His warm brown eyes reach out at you from
the shadows. He really doesn't know what to do. That look -- you can see
his soul, his heart striving to hold on to something inside you, like
he's drowning within his own confusion -- and you can actually see it. But
you have to look away. It's too much and you don't want to cry now. So
what do you follow when you don't want to lose? -- your head or your heart?
From the front porch, you watch headlights turn to taillights and you
know now that everyone's had to choose and there's no right choice.
Everyone's had to lose. You turn back to see he's watching you intently
and you don't know what you were going to say. You can feel your
voice start to crack when you open your lips. Lucky for you, his friends
ride up on their bikes -- it's time to go but you're not finished talking.
"We're not finished talking, you know."
"I know."
"So when can we finish?"
"Can you call me at 10:30?"
"On your cell phone?"
"No, I'll be home by then."
"Ok, 10:30 then."
"Ok."
Some kind of thrashy metallic cocaine be-bop scratches through your car
speakers and you're in it once again. Just try not to cry now. You still
love him and you know he still loves you, even though you've sent each
other to heaven and put each other through hell in the past few
months -- that's what makes it so hard. You both have to choose -- you both
have to lose. You've got until 10:30 to try to accept things -- more
important thing are at hand for now. So you pick up a few friends, have
a few laughs, play a few pranks (tonight's a bad crime night -- cop
infested). Your street kid nature has permanently kicked in now -- you've
become stronger, faster, brighter, hungry. Cunning. Your parents are on
the other side of the country and you're the only one left -- no one to
run from now. But you still have to crash at your best friend's place
because "...it's just not safe for a girl your age to stay by herself at
night..." Christ, you don't live in the ghetto. You're not at their
house five minutes before you take the phone outside to call him, it's
10:30. He's watching Jerry Springer. A phone is a communication tool to
relay information from one person to another -- you want to see his face
anyway. So you set it up. You're smart, bright, and an experinced lyer.
You really do have to pack for the weekend anyway. When you want
something, you're gonna get it.
"I haven't packed one thing for this weekend and we're leaving right
after school tommorrow so I won't have time then. Can I go home, throw
some things together real quick and come back?"
Your friend's dad covers his face with his hand and for the moment you
regret everything you're about to do. But you're already in it. Can't
turn back now.
"You're putting us on the spot here, kid..."
"I don't have any other time--"
"An hour. You be back at 12, you got it?"
"Yeah. Thanks. Be back at 12."
And you're out. It was fairly easy, they weren't that suspicious. He's
waiting outside for you and you go back home because you really do have
to pack. So you talk. Actually you watch his face because he's telling
some story you don't give a rat's ass about. He looks so sick under your
60 watt uncovered bulb that is the overhead light. Pale and
pasty -- you're sure you look that sick too. You get up and throw some
things in a pile near you bookbag, he's still talking, wasting your
precious hour you needed to figure things out. The drone in the
background stops and you realize his story's over.
"So do you want to break up?"
"It'd be the easiest thing..."
"Is that a yes?"
"I guess..."
It's 11:43. Time to go. He's being polite, holding the door for you and
carrying some things out to the car. But you don't speak much. On the
way back to his house, there's still not much you want to say and you're
sure he feels the same, but the silence is masked by meaningless storied
about friends neither of you care about -- but it passes the time and
keeps you from thinking. His house is dark except for the porch light
that filters to a dim highlight in the car but you still can't look at
his face. You let awkward silences pass because you don't want to go
home either -- let alone your friend's house.
"So will you get out and give me a hug?"
You limply extricate yourself from the driver's seat in response. His
hug lasts longer than you expected -- you thought it was over.
But apparently not -- he still had some things to be said and as it turns
out, so did you. You both loved each other like there was nothing else
and in a perfect world the two of you would spend lifetimes together. In
a less the perfect world you would at least follow your hearts. But in
this world, the one you're stuck in, that's just not possible. You bare
your soul to his and he does the same; he cries and so do you. It's one
of those conversations that holds so much meaning at the time -- there's
nothing more important, but the next day you can't remember a thing that
was said. It's 12:57. Too late to crash in on your friend -- it wouldn't
be right. You're in some shit now and you know it. So what do you do?
You collapse in the driver's seat and spend half an hour trying to
figure out what to do.
"Do you want to go home with me?"
"What?"
"Will you come home with me? Please?"
"Yeah, ok. Let me go turn off the light and lock the door."
You catch his eye through the windshield as he's walking toward the
passenger door. He needs you as much as you need him right now and in a
perfect world, in a free world, you did the right thing. You're still
stuck in this world and you don't have a key. The silence is filled
again with meaningless stories of friends who don't care about you and
nervous laughter. Anything to break your own tension.
He's tired, you can tell. It's 1:18 -- one ring and he picked up.
"Call her and tell her I'm at my house and I'm ok. Tell here I didn't
feel right about busting in her house at 1 am, ok? Please,please call
her and tell her that."
"Allright. See ya tommorrow."
"Bye."
For the moment, you exhale in relief and think everything's gonna be
ok. He shuts off the water and walks out of the bathroom. You don't even
change clothes, just set the alarm and climb into bed -- you watch him
take off his shirt and throw it at the foot of your bed as he snuggles
in beside you. You won't say any prayers tonight. The bedside lamp
clicks off but neither of you sleep -- the temptation is too great. It
always starts with a kiss -- his lips are hot, his body heat warms you and
you feel his heart beating, faster and faster and faster still, pounding
against yours.
"I want to make love to you so bad..."
"Ohhhh...."
"C'mon."
"You know I can't, it's too risky."
"I want you so much...mmm, I want to be inside you -- I can pull out."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to get pregnant or get some disease. It's common
sense -- you know that."
"Please?"
"No. And quit asking."
"Allright."
"You understand, right?"
"...yeah..."
The intensity and heat between your body and his gradually fades as he
lays his head on your breasts and sleep begins to close in on you two
fast. He's not the first boy you've had in this bed, but he's the first
you've fallen asleep with. You're close, curled up in his arms and held
tight, you can still smell the colonge on his neck. You're happy, he's
happy, and you share a smile as you both fall asleep within minutes.
It's stil dark in your room. You've awaken in just enough time to turn
the alarm off before it sounds -- in the dim light on his face it's
apparent he's still worlds away but you ask for a kiss anyway. He
mumbles something and gets swept away back into his dream as you get out
of bed. The cool water won't wash away your sins, you know -- you've tried
before (who hasn't). You try anyway. This time you know you're wrong but
you still try to think of another way out -- there's nothing you haven't
tried before. It was all worth it, you've allready convinced yourself.
Pink and green begin to fade into the blue above the trees, you think
about watching the dawn break together but you don't want to wake him.
Your hand stops in mid-stroke of you mascara and you notice, for the
first time in the past few years that there's no trace of fear in your
eyes. The blue is still crystallized, a little greyed from lack of
sleep, but there's no fear. You're in it now.
Really in it. The fear of wrongdoing leftover from childhood is gone for
good -- it's replaced by a desperate look, hungry for ideas of what to do
next. You decide to let your hair go today -- there's more important
things going on. So you climb back into bed with him -- he's slowly
starting to wake up. Kiss his bare shoulder and lightly massage his
back, he starts to mumble something incoherent. It's 6:35, you hoist him
to an upright position, kiss his cheek and he smiles sleepily. You
pocket your keys as he throws on his shirt -- this is the last place you
want to be.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yep. Did you?"
"Uh-huh."
You fully realize now that you didn't sleep well at all, but there's
nothing you wouldn't give to be asleep in his arms in the safety of your
bed for another day or so -- you never wanted the sun to shine today.
"Are you hungry?"
"No, I'll get something at home."
You're too nervous to eat anyway. The morning is cold and nervous as
well, there's still not much to say but this time no stories are told.
The silence is comforting, you can't understand why. Across the bridge
and your tires crunch into his gravel driveway. You've got a few
minutes.
"Thanks for staying with me last night. I appreciate it."
"That's what I'm here for."
"Can I get another kiss?"
"Sure."
"So think about what we said last night. I'll see you on Monday."
"Ok. I love you."
"I love you too."
"See ya."
"Later."
He doesn't look back before he unlocks his door. The morning always
shows the scars left by the night in a sane light -- there's no excuse
now, reason will always prevail with authority figures, no matter how
perverse, how twisted, it's always their reason that is the law. You
never thought it was fair but you're in no position to be a hero and
fight, or be noble and turn yourself in -- it's the last day of school and
there are more important things at hand.
You know what's coming even before you see her face. There is no honor
among theives and it's only a matter of time before they turn on you.
Walking through the thinly crowded hall, you feel you've used your
powers in a way you never thought you would. Nothing but shame clouds
your face -- you try to close your eyes but it still won't go away, you're
choking and going numb -- your last defense has never been so strong. The
metal doors creak open and light glares in your eyes -- you squint and
turn your face away, unsure if it's coming from the sun or her hair.
Then her face is thrust inches from yours and you weakly shut your eyes
for some kind of protection.
"Where the hell were you last night?!?!?!? We were worried sick about
you all night long! We stayed up until 3 am waiting for a call or
something! We didn't know if you were stranded or raped or dead in a
ditch somewhere! God, if only you had called..."
"I was scared to call."
"It would have made things so much easier. My mom was nearly ready to
go off--"
"See, that's the thing, I've seen your mom cuss out the TV over a
football game and throw plates and glasses around. And your
dad -- they're both ex-Marines -- I was scared. I didn't know what they'd
do to me and I was scared...Did Caleb call you last night?"
"No...?"
"I got home -- I left Stacy's house at 1:12 and was home by about 1:30. I
called him as soon as I walked in the door and told him to call you.
He said he would but I guess he didn't. I went to sleep, fell right to
bed after that."
She has her sunglasses in her hand, gesturing with them, and you know
things are worse than you thought. The bell rang and you walked together to
calss as usual -- your feet dragging the pavement. You have a hard time going up
the stairs, and she keeps her sunglasses on. Nothing goes right today. You
won the art award at the assembly but who didn't see that one coming. In
class, the smartest kids at school, the suburban teenage
malcontents -- everyone breaks down crying. Some because we are
seniors and it is our last day, others because a senior prank went
tragically wrong, and others because we know we've done the worst thing
of our lives -- everyone knew they had to pay. The smoke from this fire
won't clear too quickly.
Finally, you break down. You never liked knowing you let someone down,
you never liked it when you thought you had all your bases covered, you
find that the whole game is being played at the ballpark across town and
no one told you about the switch. You try to adapt and play the game
alone but nothing works out so you finally break down -- but it's all the
same anyway. Only two people in the whole class are in stable emotional
states. You quickly see and then quickly ignore that ignorance is bliss
crap. By the end of the day, you're smiling again and trying, really
trying to be happy, for the sake of others, but it's so hard.
You'll pray like crazy tonight alone in your room, trying like hell to
forget but you fall asleep before Amen comes. You'll still pray in your
dreams.
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