On Broken Glass

He had a moustache. And not one of those full bushy ones. It was somewhat sparse, one of those puberty driven moustaches. And like... I don’t know why, but I stared at it for a second. Ew. And he just kept on talking to himself as he scanned a geometry book and spat out the
information under his breath. Way to study, Andy.
“Alex?”
I turned to look at him. “What?”
“Are you okay?” You look like... sad or somethin.”
I faked a smile. A toothpaste commercial smile. “Oh... no, I’m fine. Just tired.”
That’s how it always went in study hall. Mondays and Thursdays. But I guess that’s also
what every day was like.
So... I’m not gonna give you a general lowdown on my life. Of course I could say, “Oh
hey my name is Alex Bing. And no, Alex doesn’t stand for Alexandra or Alexis. It’s just Alex. And yes, Bing... like the friggin’ cherry. In my spare time I enjoy getting attention from anyone who will give it to me and I also listen to old school Madonna.” But this time I’ll let all that crap go.
My best friend calls me an attention whore. Really I’m not a whore, not even the
slightest bit. I don’t even ever crave attention. I mean, I’m shy. I’m not the “look at me, look at
me” type you probably imagine. Where she gets these ideas, I really don’t know. Well I might
know where she gets ‘em...
I’ve been through some shit, yeah. But I’m not a typical 17 year old high school outcast. I think I have spunk. Hah. And it’s not like I go around silently egging myself on to slit my wrists. It’s not me. I think I’ve just been deprived, that’s all. Never got enough hugs when I was little, you know what I mean?
This particular afternoon I was looking at the clock. The second the big hand struck two,
Jesus Christ, I’d be up and running.
So it finally did and along with it, I did. I raced past a gaggle of artificial blondes. I hate to shoot out stereotypes, but to me, the hair color portrayed the intelligence. Then I zoomed past the goths. I’d rather die than be chummy with them. No more of this. And I almost grinned when I thought of it.
There were a few things I had to do before going on my merry way. Funny how I say
“merry,” isn’t it?
I knew it’d be a long walk so I fished my cell phone out of my beat-up purse and hit speed
dial. Piece of crap buttons. I pushed once more and awaited the voice at the other end.
First ring.
“Allie!” It boggled me how fast he always picked it up.
“Max? How’d you know it was me?”
“Heh, Caller I.D. So what’s up?”
“Well... I just called to tell ya somethin’ real quick.”
He had a deep, throaty laugh.
“You wanna come over? The ‘rents won’t be home...”
“No. Can’t, not right now. Really, I just called because I need a favor.” I was starting to get impatient. I could never keep my composure for too long, especially when Max the horn dog was trying to turn this experience into a make out fest. Typical.
“Yeah?” He was already eating out of the palm of my hand. Simply for that I loved him.
“I’m leaving, “ I replied. “But I was wondering if I could stay with you later tonight just ‘til I figure things out.”
“Sure Allie.” He said it almost too quickly. At least it seemed that way to me. And every time he’d say my name like that I wanted to puke up all of my small intestine, foot by foot. If there was anything I loathed, it was being called Allie.
“Ok then, I’ll see you tonight, hun!” All of the syrup in my voice coulda put Aunt Jemima
outta business. It sounded foreign to me. But he didn’t seem to notice, of course.
“Alright, I’ll let my parents know you’re coming. Have a good afternoon, love.” I clicked
my phone off after his cheerful parting and resumed the plan of action. I mean, I wouldn’t say that I was using him. Nope. If I was I would feel guilty. But I felt just fine.
It was then that I found myself about a mile away from my usual neighborhood. A middle aged woman that I was sure I recognized was walking briskly along the side of the road. She passed me with nothing, not even a wave. That was the thing about people in our town. Not very friendly.
Like, the guy who lives up the street from us always took perfect care of his lawn. Didn’t have much property, but what small square of it he had, he treated it special. That was for sure. This one day, a kindergartner was standing on the road beside the man’s lawn, you know, waitin’ for the bus. Well maybe he wasn’t standing, he was most likely running around like a crazed maniac. That kid was a hellion.
Anyway, somehow the story ended with him puking all over the guy’s lawn. Then the guy came out on his front step and yelled at the kid ‘til his throat was raw. So what if the kid’s a little
bastard who needs a desperate dose of Ritalin? You can’t get mad at anyone for what place they
throw up in. You just can’t. I mean it falls where it falls. It’s like yelling at an old man for peeing his pants. It’s just not right.
I thought of this and knew I wouldn’t miss my town. People always say that things are the same wherever you go, but I guess I wouldn’t know. But soon I would. For the first time
in awhile I had satisfaction.

I entered my driveway and jogged up the porch steps. Still no one was home and this
made it all the more perfect.
Piercing barks greeted my ears without welcome. As soon as I shoved my key inside the
door and pushed it open, Ozzy came running. He had always been a hyper little shit, probably
from the Jack Russell Terrier genes that he possessed.
“Ozzy!” I peeled his paws off of my legs as he bounced like a pogo stick. But I didn’t let
myself get attached for fear of not being able to say goodbye.
Once in my room, I gathered the essentials- basic health and beauty products, a sufficient amount of clothes, blah blah. Then I sat down and scribbled out a letter on a gnarled piece of notebook paper. I couldn’t take too long, or else I’d still be there by the time someone got back. I let my pen burn up the paper; no thoughts, no inhibitions. Guess you could say I was determined. Just about a half hour from then, my parents would be reading this.

Mom and Dad-
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Don’t bother calling the police; don’t
worry; don’t turn this into something it isn’t.
I’m not even going to tell you where I’m headed off to. Really, you don’t need to
know, nor do you want to know.
From the moment I was born, I’ve been a burden. Arguing that you love me won’t
make a difference, because in my mind, you don’t. The only love was obligation to do so.
I won’t miss you, and I probably won’t think about you again for awhile.
However, I bet you will think about me. Often. -Alex

Clumsily folding the letter in half, I placed it on the kitchen counter and walked away. Maybe
walking away wasn’t the right term to use. For every step that I walked, I ran. I was running.

“Why don’t you just stay?”
Max’s blue eyes pleaded with me.
“No.”
It had been two years since I’d known him. Two years it had taken me to figure out how
to resist his crap.
“Alliiiieee.” His voice reverberated against my back as he held me to his chest. “Can’t you just...”
“I can’t,” I reiterated. I wanted to push this fact into his head with an iron fist. “I’m going tomorrow whether you like it or not.”
“Not if I can help it,” Max replied with a devilish smirk. A smirk which I, by the way,
didn’t trust. He enclosed his arms around me in a circle. When I turned around to look at him, he
caught me by surprise and kissed me. Once I realized what was happening, I entangled his lips
from my own and turned away.
“Max...” my voice trailed off into the air. “Don’t.”
I looked up at him and met his eyes.
“I don’t get it,” he said quietly. “I love you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I do, I...”
“No.” I said it firmly this time. “Look Max. Just listen to me for a second here. You don’t know me.”
He was taken aback.
“Why are you being like this?”
Something in me wanted to slap him for saying that. ‘Being like’ what? He didn’t know me. For two years he had never understood this, and still he didn’t seem to.
“Max, you’re just really not right for me at all,” I began. “And the sick thing is, you’re
focused on this idea that you are; it’s never ever been a doubt in your mind. Because you’re like that.”
He squinted, first looking at the ground, then narrowed his eyes again when looking back
up at me.
“Oh, so you couldn’t have fucking told me this before?” he asked, running shaky fingers
through his short brown hair in despair. I knew that he would start this. Whether it was then or
ten minutes from then, I knew it was coming.
“I didn’t always know. You know what I realized the other day though? I can’t be with
you. Because of everything you are. You’re more concerned about what Ivy League school you attend, or how much you’ll spend on your new car, or which orchestra is playing next Thursday
night... and that’s just not me. You’re a snob and a half, Max. You’re a fuckin’ fake; a rich bitch. You even know it. You think that just because of it, you have rights that us normal people don’t. And I know that when you get older, you’re gonna go to law school and not have a kid or a wife ‘til you’re about thirty. The one kid you do have is gonna be a boring Harvard wannabe just like you who has no dreams. I mean, you’re gonna make him learn to play the cello, and listen to freakin’ Beethoven while other kids are watching The Real World. Shit, you don’t even understand what a dream is. And I really don’t wanna be the one who raises that boring kid with a boring career obsessed man of a father; it’s just everything I can’t stand. You are the epitome of everything I can’t stand.”
With this, I pounced towards the door.
“Allie.” He said it as a statement, not a question.
“What.” So I did the same.
“Where are you going?”
I spat out a disgusted sigh.
“Obviously you’re deaf to everything I just said... so I’m going... like I was intending to a long time ago.”
He cupped his hands over mine on the doorknob.
“Don’t, Allie... please don’t.”
I didn’t say anything. Nor did I have to or want to anyway. One by one I peeled his
fingers off with my free hand and then bent down to pick up my belongings. No more.

The air was thick with regret. Why I had trusted Max to take care of me that night, I don’t know. For two years I had believed that he had my best interests in mind. He always was saying how he’d treat me better than any of the other guys I had dated. For a long time I succumbed to all of his promises. I didn’t want to believe he was like all the rest of them. I knew he was. But he tried to convince me otherwise. I mean I guess I had always known, I just didn’t want to trust myself.
I tugged my hooded sweatshirt over my hands. Fall had already begun to rear it’s
cool and crisp head. Still, I was in the proximity of a possible place I could stay. I really didn’t want to go there though. It’s like a visit to the doctor’s. You know you have to, you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
A few blocks passed, and I found myself on the porch steps of a tall white house. I think
it had been built in the 1800s and remodeled, but I could recall walking among the three floors and being spooked by the creaking of the floor boards. I raised my hand to the door and rapped on it twice.
“Hi Allie!” Mrs. Graham greeted me.
“Hi,” I greeted her. “Is Britton here?” She pointed upwards and chuckled like a child.
Mrs. Graham had been a first grade teacher for fifteen years. She never ceased to astonish me
with her animated expressions. Her cheeks were always rosy, and her nose had a fiery glow at the
end of it. She had the same green eyes that her only son Britton exhibited after her.
“He’s upstairs,” she pretended to whisper, putting her hand to one side of her mouth. I nodded. You couldn’t be mean to anyone who was permanently happy.
With a quick thanks, I headed upstairs. Once on the second floor I went up the staircase to the third floor, which might as well been properly dubbed the “Hall of Britton.” I stopped to glance at the pictures that stared back at me. My eyes collided with a picture of what looked
to be from about a year before. Britton was sitting in a canoe wearing a pair of sunglasses and a cheesy grin. The more I looked at him, I was nauseated. He was always trying to look perfect. His short brown hair was almost a gray color. It wasn’t quite blonde, but it wasn’t quite brown or any other color for that matter. It wasn’t even dirty blonde, it was like... gray. And the thing was, it occurred to me how he wasn’t even that attractive. He was goofy. He’d withstood some conflicts with me, and he’d been there a few times when I had needed him... it was just that not one cell in my brain thought him to be attractive. There was nothing there; no chemistry. But still he persisted. It was the Britton thing to do.
I trudged down the hall to his room after not being able to look at the boat picture any
longer. New-age eighties rock blared as I came closer. If I ever became partially deaf, I knew who to blame.
I walked into the room, which was infested with posters. Young or old, practically all bands from the 20th century were present. Britton was putting his laundry away with his back to me.
“Britton!”
Tears For Fears drowned me out.
“Brit-ton!”
This time I touched his shoulders, blanketed with a vintage Aerosmith concert t-shirt. When he recognized that it was me, he aimed the remote at his stereo and silenced the sound. Then he smiled. That same smile he carried in the sailboat picture. Ugh .
“Allie,” he breathed in amazement.
I winced but covered my ass with a quick “How are you?” As if I cared.
“Eh...” his voice trailed off. I had always liked his voice. But the liking ended there. He smiled again.
“So what brings you here?”
I thought for a moment. He obviously knew something was up. After ten months of treating him like crap, he always crawled back. But it was always him making the effort to be with me. When I showed up at his house unannounced I think it shocked him.
“Why do you assume I have a reason to be here?” I questioned. He shifted his weight to
the opposite leg.
“Well it’s not every day that you drop by my house to just say hi. You never even call me. And you have a suitcase. Might as well explain now, right?.”
I sensed a touch of whine in what he said. Boo hoo, Britton. He picked up a red plaid shirt and tucked it neatly into a drawer that appeared to be bottomless. What I really wanted to say was “You actually wear that?” but then I remembered that he expected a reply.
“Ok,” I began. “So the thing is, I was planning on running away today. Actually I’m in
the process of running away. I was staying at Max’s house ‘til he bothered me and I had to
leave...”
“So I’m second choice?” Britton cut in. He choked out a laugh. One of those nervous
ones that was meant to accompany a joke, but was actually more than half serious.
“Well...”
“No. It’s alright,” he broke in. “I’m just honored to be a choice at all after what happened. You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted a chance. That’s it.”
I was silent. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? I sat down on the corner of his bed and sighed while silence pervaded throughout the room for at least thirty seconds. We both waited for the other to talk. Low and behold, it had to be Britton.
“I love you.”
I looked up from a pile of dirty clothes on the floor that I had held my gaze on up until
that moment. But I still didn’t say anything. I didn’t feel the same way, so obviously I wasn’t
going to spurt back an “I love you too.” Why did this keep happening to me?
Britton sat beside me on the bed. He touched my chin with a warm palm.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve kissed someone I cared about.”
Wow, what a travesty for you it must be, I thought. It wasn’t my problem to mend. But that’s when he started to move in on me.
“Jesus Christ, Britton!” I shrieked. I leapt up and readjusted my sweatshirt over the ridges of my hips.
“What?”
As if he didn’t know.
“What?” I repeated. “You’re saying ‘what?’
He stood up next to me.
“You know,” he started to say, “I see two things wrong with what you just said before ‘what.’ ”
“Really,” I replied sarcastically. “Enlighten me.”
“Yes. For one, you shouldn’t say Jesus Christ like that. It’s kinda considered offensive if you don’t mind...”
“Dammit Britton, save it. Please. I’m not in the mood for your freakin’ lessons in morality right now if that’s the point of what you’re trying to say.”
“What are you saying?”
“Ugh.” I twirled one of the strings from my sweatshirt around my finger. “You don’t get it.”
“Maybe you should leave then.” He gulped after saying this, and I could hear his voice
begin to waver from anger.
“No, first,” I started, “First, you’re going to listen to what I have to say. I don’t care if you don’t like it, ‘cause I’m just going to say this once, I don’t like you. I never did, and I won’t ever start. I mean, I will say that when I first knew you, that small while... I was almost in ‘like’ with you. You were nice, you were sweet, you were a lot like what I envisioned for myself. But you’re nothing now. Not since I’ve come to see how weak you are; you’re lonely. More so than me, and that’s a lot. Frankly, you’re obsessed. You always expected me to hold my breath for you, but I’m tired of holding it and tired of feeling like I have to when I don’t.”
He flared his nostrils and looked down. I didn’t even care to see his expressions after the
next tirade I intended to present. But I just went on. If I didn’t, I’d never be able to
say what I needed to say.
“Brit... you’re a weak individual. You try more than enough to appear smart to anyone
who talks to you, you try so hard to be well rounded in everything you do, you try to lose weight when you don’t have to... which is by the way, not even something a guy should think about. I mean like, you should be preoccupied with sex and sports, not weight. Not weight. It’s just ridiculous.”
“I’m not trying to lose weight,” Britton muttered.
“I’m sorry, you’re just not eating at all then. There’s a difference, I forgot. Just let me
know when you decide to grow up, ok?”
I turned towards the open door and set my sights on the hallway. I couldn’t defy this
setup either, I had to think of some place else to go. That was when I spotted a cross on his night stand, next to his bed. I whipped around to face him.
“Oh, and Bri? One more thing. If you could do me a favor, it’d be really nice. Stop trying to fool everyone into thinking you’re some kind of morally correct, latter day saint who’s crazy about Catholicism. Really the truth is you’re just plain crazy.”
I clamped the door shut behind me and closed off a part of my life along with it.

I was out in the cold once again. This prompted me to dig to the bottom of my purse and
tug my cell phone out. 9:30. It had already been dark for hours, and still I was left with no hope whatsoever. In a small town you really can’t be too fearful of rapists or robbers on the street at night. But still I squirmed. The worst possible scenario echoed through my mind. A serial killer jumps out of a yellow ‘82 Camaro and bashes me with a lead pipe. Blood oozes out of my skull and my body lies victim in the street. Then the police would come along a few hours later and identify it, informing my parents of the attack. “If she didn’t run away then this wouldn’t have happened,” they’d say.
No, it was ok. I was gonna be ok. No serial killers. I had to just think positively to stop making myself so fucking paranoid.
I was just about to put my phone back into my purse when it rang. I leapt from the shock
but then picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” a voice greeted me. I glanced down at the window display and sighed. Darren.
“Hey Darren,” I responded. “How’s it goin’?”
“It’s goin’.” He laughed.
“So...”
Sometimes our conversations tended to drift off into nothing so quickly.
“Oh, now I remember,” he said suddenly. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come hang out for a few hours, I just got back from work.”
“Well,” I replied. “I’m kind of in the middle of running away right now.”
“What? Al, c’mon, you don’t have to do that.”
I was silent.
“Just come over,” he told me.
There were times that Darren acted distant to me. Then again, there were times that he made it seem like I was the only person in the world that mattered to him. I had never wanted to
give into the way he demonstrated warmth and frigidity, but I just couldn’t forget about him no matter what I did or how I tried to go on. Something told me he just wasn’t ready yet, but I knew eventually he would be. I just wanted to be the first in line when he was.
“Ok, I will.”
“Alright, so when will you be here? Where are you right now?” he questioned.
“A few blocks away,” I informed him. “See ya in a bit, Darren.”
“Ok.”
“Ok. Bye.”

The streets stopped feeling so lonely once I knew I had a place to run to. Still, the wind nipped at my ears and the cold ate at my fingers. But I proceeded with a clear conscience. I approached a quiet wooded road, and knew my destination wasn’t far.
“Al.”
Darren opened the front door of his house a few minutes later and grinned upon my arrival. There had always been something welcoming about his smile. When Darren smiled, you knew it was genuine. I was just glad that he was happy I was there.
“Hey,” I answered with a smile. He gazed at me with ice blue eyes and held his arms
outstretched. This only made my smile wider. I walked over, threw my arms around him, and hopped upwards, hooking my legs around his waist. It was our trademark hug, what we’d always done for as long as we had been friends. I don’t know if ‘friends’ was the proper word to describe our relationship. Basically it had always been an on and off crush. We never really did typical friend things. But I cared for him, even if I wasn’t sure if he felt the same.
He motioned for me to go up the stairs, where he would follow me. I hung a left at the top of the staircase and started for his room.
“I’ve been working on this new song,” he replied. Darren had phenomenal song-writing
abilities. Not so much with lyrics... they always ended up being really random... but his music
composition never ceased to be anything more than wonderful.
“Cool,” I murmured. “You should play it for me.”
He smiled.
I advanced closer towards his room and walked inside. It was a mess. Dirty clothes lay
like road kill on the carpet, and guitar songbooks were strewn among those.
“Hold on,” he told me. He hurried over to his bed and cleared a heap of CDs off of it.
“There ya go! Now... you can sit down.”
I laughed and settled myself by dragging the pillow over so I could lie down on it with my
hand propped up behind my head. He spread on his stomach across the foot of the bed and yawned.
“So why are you running away?”
“We don’t have to talk about this,” I replied.
“I want to, Al. Just tell me what’s botherin’ you.”
“You sure?” I inquired with a sigh. He nodded vigorously.
“It’s my parents,” I began. “They don’t support me in anything I do, Darren. They like...
treat me like crap, as if I’m nothing valuable. They treat me as if I’m the screw up of the family and that I can’t do anything right. I feel like everything I do... it’s not for me. It’s for them, or just to impress them, or to make things better for them. And I’m just tired of not being happy in my own skin... you know what I mean?”
With this, I erupted into tears and placed my right hand across my face. I didn’t want him to see me like this. It was the last thing I wanted.
“Al, don’t cry,” he told me. Through blurred vision I saw a speck of his icy blue eyes.
“I’m sorry...” I sniffed. “I didn’t wanna bring you into this, I’m sorry.”
“No, really. Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. But just don’t cry.”
With that he tightly clenched his arms around my shoulders and traced my back lightly
with his fingertips.
“Really it’s going to be ok, I’m telling you.” There was a pause. “And why did you decide to run away after 9 PM?” he inquired with a laugh.
“Well...” I revealed. “First I ran away to Max’s house... that didn’t work... then to
Britton... that didn’t either. So that’s what I’d been through when you called me.”
“Max’s?!” he exclaimed in disbelief, pulling back to look me in the eye. He still held me by the shoulders. “Did he hit on you like he always does?”
“He kissed me.”
“What! That bastard! I’ll kick his ass for ya, I swear. He deserves to die. Actually he
deserves to be locked in a room with Joan Rivers for eternity. That’s punishment enough. ”
With my fingernail, I scratched off a tear that had dried on my cheek and mustered a giggle.
“Why’re you being so good to me tonight, Darren?”
“Tonight?” he chuckled. “I’m always good to ya, Al. I’m not gonna lie, you’re cool.”

“How so?”
“You always say that phrase!” he proclaimed. “But I don’t know, like... with me and Beau, you keep up with us. You don’t get all grossed out when we burp. Actually you burp practically better than we do.” He laughed. “A lot of girls wouldn’t do that. You’re just
fuckin’ cool. And you’re funny, and crazy.”
“Of course I burp better than you and Beau!” I cried.
“See, that’s what I mean.” He smiled again.
“Where are we now?” I questioned suddenly, shooting an elaborate glimpse in his
direction. Scanning him up and down, I saw how perfect he was. White blonde hair was gelled
into small, raised clusters and his jaw line was sculpted in a flawless fashion. A light, graceful
shower of freckles were distributed on his upper cheeks and nose.
Darren looked at me intently and cocked his head to the side.
“I’m not sure. But I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I suggested, pawing the linen pillowcase anxiously.
“Ok...” He jumped off of the bed and pounced back on it again, this time stretching his legs into an Indian style. “I like you a lot. It’s just that I don’t really think I want a girlfriend right now. It’s not that I don’t want to date you... because I would. Just not right now. You get what I’m saying, right?”
“Yep,” I chirped artificially. But my heart sank in reality. I knew he’d say it but somehow I was expecting him to say something different. I wished he would’ve told me what I had always wanted to hear, but deep down it was probable that he would never change.It wasn’t a shock to me; it really wasn’t. Several times before he had dropped me the same explanation. Some other girl would come into his life for a blink and he’d take her if it was more convenient for him. He never shied away from anyone the way that I shied away from guys just to be with him. I was the only one who sacrificed and I was beginning to get sick of it at that point. But I couldn’t break away, that was the thing.

For ten minutes, time stood still. Darren just sat and stared into space, and my eyelids
began to flutter. They couldn’t determine whether they would stay shut or not, but continued to
quiver. As soon as I was ready to fall asleep, I swore that I felt sheets being pulled snugly around my shoulders. But I figured I was imagining things and resumed my slumber.

I opened my eyes wide the next morning to find Darren staring over me with his tongue
sticking out and his eyes crossed.
“You’re retarded,” I joked sleepily, and poked him in the chest with one finger. “Can’t
you just let me sleep?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
I looked past him and scrunched my eyebrows together.
“Wait, where’d you sleep if I slept in your bed?”
He was amused by my confusion and gestured out his bedroom door. “Spare room down
the hall.”
“Ah,” I accepted, and sat up. This was strange. Darren was usually distant to me, he never let me into his life, he never let me take over his things. He was going all out and I couldn’t understand why.
“Hey guys,” Beau said happily as he walked into the room.
“Beau? You’re up? What the hell is the time?”
Beau didn’t answer. He just stood next to Darren and gawked at my messy light brown hair scattered every which way. His coffee colored eyes shifted to mine.
“Nice hair, Al,” he commented, and laughed.
“Psh, I’d say the same for you,” I retorted. “You didn’t even answer my question, where’s the clock at in here, I...”
“You know what? I’m not sure where my clock went,” Darren broke in. “I must’ve lost it
or somethin.’”
Beau looked to his watch for assistance. “11:20.” He never failed to be organized.
“Christ, I gotta get up then!” I shouted, throwing the sheets back.
“Yes, you gotta, party tonight,” Beau shared.
“Really? Where?”
“My house,” he added. “My parents have this thingy to go to and they won’t be back for
two days. Some kind of convention, I don’t know.”
“And I’m gonna sing the new song I’ve been writing,” Darren pitched in. “I think you’d
like it.”
“Me?” Beau wanted to know.
“Jesus, no, not you! Al.”
Beau put on a disappointed facade but pointed to the door.
“I gotta go to work at 11:30, I just wanted to stop by for a bit,” he said. “Plus your mom makes kick ass pancakes.”
I laughed and shoved him out the door.
“Alright, bye Beau, go, you’re gonna be late. We’ll see you tonight.”


Loud music pumped inside Beau’s house, making me second guess whether it was the
booming bass or my own heart. Most of the party population seemed to be made up of guys,
which made me a little uneasy. But Darren lead me into the living room where Beau was surrounded by several rock n roll buffs. He smiled as he saw Darren and I enter the room.
“Hey!” he mouthed. Talking appeared to be useless now in this atmosphere, however I acknowledged his greeting with a nod.
Darren pulled my sleeve and leaned in to whisper in my ear.
“I’m gonna go sing my song,” he yelled over the roar, and moved in direction toward
the tiny stage that was set up across the room. If you wanted to call it a stage, that was.
Minutes later he was perched on a chair, clutching his guitar to his chest, and signaled to Beau.
Beau waved his arms frantically and stood on a table, trying to capture a silence in the
room.
“Alright guys!” he yelled, and extended a single finger to point out the tiny stage. It was
astonishing how quiet it got, so quick.
Darren began strumming the guitar gently, and looked out across the room before he opened his mouth to sing. His eyes froze on mine for a few seconds, then drifted away when the
first lines erupted into the chorus.
It prompted a personal connotation for me of that one song, called “Killing Me Softly.” I
didn’t know who sang it or anything originally, but I knew it was an old song. When I was in third grade it had been redone into a much more modern version. Whatever the version, the
message stayed the same. He was killing me.
I nudged Beau with my elbow and exchanged a glance with him. Darren had definite
potential, and we both knew this.
He continued the song, while locking eyes with a dark-haired girl sitting on the couch in
front of the stage. He broke into a smile while she shot him a seductive stare. Tramp.
I twirled around in the opposite direction and collided with Porkchop. He was a
childhood friend of Beau’s, dubbed “Porkchop” because of his naturally plump build. Being at
least nineteen, he had obviously been kept back in school. An ebony formation of thick wiry hair
sprouted from his head and small speckles spread over his chin and above his lip, indicating that
he hadn’t shaved in a few days. I mean, his usual wardrobe consisted of oversized T-shirts and
other merchandise promoting the cannabis plant. What he and Beau had in common I didn’t know, but I never chose to ask.
“Sorry,” I whispered in a hiss, as my shoulder scanned a tray of glasses he was carrying.
“‘salright,” Porkchop replied in a gruff voice. Marijuana can do wonders to the vocal
cords.
A thought struck my troubled mind.
“Hey Pork, what’s in the glasses anyway?”
He guffawed and looked into one, squinting his eye.
“I dunno,” he answered dumbly. “Some kind of mix. You even drink?”
I swept a glass off of the tray and raised it to my lips.
“Thanks” was the only word I uttered. Again I was running.

Three hours later, tiny men with hammers were banging the interior of my head as I was
sprawled across a chair. One drink from Porkchop turned into LOTS OF drinks from Porkchop.
Damn Porkchop.
“Al,” Beau announced, crouching beside me with one arm around the chair. “You ok?”
“Beau. I feel fuckin’ great. But my head hurts.”
He felt my forehead with the back of his hand.
“I’ll go get you something,” he offered. As Beau disappeared into the kitchen, I noticed
how the party had already quieted down slightly. The music had stopped, but cliques of people
resumed talking and laughing.
Darren rushed over to me and took my hand.
“We should get goin’ in a little while,” he said.
I stared at him blankly as his eyes melted into each other in my mind.
“What?” I asked.
“Hooome,” he repeated slowly and firmly. I nodded.
“Can you stand up for me, Al?” he asked. His form was foggy in front of me, but I took
one leg and planted it on the floor. Darren sensed the weakness in my habits and hooked one of his arms to mine. I giggled and squeezed his biceps robotically with one hand.
“You have pretty big mus-cles.”
“Mus-cles? You’re definitely trashed.”
He hoisted me up until I could step on my own as Beau walked back into the room clasping an ice pack.
I pried Darren’s grip from my arm, and stumbled over to him. Then I took Beau’s square
face between my two hands and sloppily pressed my lips to his for several seconds. His mouth formed into an ‘o’ and stayed in the same position as soon as I pulled away and slumped on the floor.
You know how people’s eyes can smile? They even have songs about it. Well, Darren’s
eyes frowned. I turned to him after wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
Darren stared straight ahead as if looking at me would put him to death.
“How does what feel?”
“How does it feel to get screwed over?” I snapped.
By now, the scene was out of a soap opera. The remainder of partygoers were gawking in our direction. But Darren didn’t say anything.
My brain pulsed with pain and my temples throbbed. Breaths fell short and only jutted out
in broken spurts, several seconds apart. The small glass I held in my possession slipped out of my hand and tumbled to the floor below. With my vision clouded, one step was taken and shattered bits wormed their way into the underside of my foot. The world as I knew it was numb and non existent as it faded to black.

My eyelids fluttered for a moment before deciding on staying open. Rays of vibrant
yellow light broke through the wispy curtains on the one window in the room and made my brown eyes sensitive to its product. Where was I?
“You’re in the hospital.” There, so that was my answer. At least some people were good
for something.
I whipped my head to the left and did a double take. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
A figure about six feet tall sat next to my hospital bed in a plush red chair. His sandy
colored hair was nearly a light brown, and his eyes were a shade that matched the cerulean
crayon I used to color with as a kid. Well... except I always used to think it was pronounced like “cure-a-lean.” So ok, maybe I had temporary dyslexia and switched the ‘r’ and ‘e’ and ‘u’
around. It happens. I mean, If it was used in a sentence, for example, it’d be like: “I was gonna use the cure-a-lean, GIVE IT BACK!”
The figure was one of those broad and buff stereotypes of the tall dark handsome guys in the movies. Smooth voice, suave actions, hair slicked back... the works. I had thought it could be him but in reality it didn’t make sense. I wasn’t dreaming, right?
“Damien?” I choked out in utter surprise.
He broke out into a shy smirk. That was a yes.
“How’d you get here?” I wondered aloud.
“What do you mean ‘how?’ I drove,” he replied, laughing. “I was planning to come home
this weekend anyway, but when I heard about what happened to you, I got myself movin’ a little
faster.”
“You drove 8 hours just for that?”
“Oh yeah,” Damien answered. “I was worried. I didn’t want anything to happen to you,
Al. I don’t know what I’d do.”
This was the most I had heard from Damien. He was never shy around me particularly,
but he tended to stray away from saying what he really felt. For him, it was a lot.
“I don’t remember much of what happened,” I told him. “All I remember was being at
Beau’s party.”
“It was alcohol poisoning. Are you feeling okay right now?”
“I feel satisfactory,” I grumbled. “My head still kind of hurts. When can I get out of
here?”
“I’ll go check for you, don’t go anywhere,” Damien volunteered.
“Like I can!” I exclaimed as he left the room.
There was something about Damien being there for me that made me feel better. I could
have always counted on him. He was a college junior at a school eight hours away, yet it was
no trouble for him to talk to me for three hours on the phone every few days. He had a sensitivity to him; an innocence, which was comforting. And I trusted him.
“You can go home in a few hours,” Damien informed me as he sauntered back into the
room and sat himself in the chair once again. We were silent as the hospital around us seemed to
buzz busily.
“Damien?” I asked out of the blue. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ok, sure.”
“Do you remember that one time a few weeks ago when we were talking?” I questioned.
“And you said that hopefully someday we’d both find someone we’d love?”
He smiled again, his cerulean eyes drilling into all of the things that made me strong.
“I just want to be the one that likes you, and that you like back,” I continued. “What I hate is hearing you talk about how girls just look at you like you’re nothing. But you’re something.And I know that; I have known that. It’s just dumb that we’ve been overlooking this all of this time. Here it is, here’s the day we could find something. I know it sounds so Hallmark of me, but I’m just trying to be straight forward with you, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Damien said quickly, his eyes wide. “You don’t have to. You would never believe how long I’ve wished that I had the balls to say what you just said. Like... all this time I just didn’t wanna ruin anything if you didn’t feel the same way.”
Damien had a softening effect on me. He always had that.
“ALEX!”
That was when I heard the voice I was wishing I wouldn’t ever hear again- the clicks of a familiar pattern of steps that I recognized- walking across the hospital room. I didn’t want to hear it.
My mother rushed over to me in slippers and a royal blue sweat-suit promoting the local
high school's football team.
“What happened?!” she exclaimed in wonder, opening her brown eyes wide. Eyes just
like mine. And I hated that resemblance.
“Nothing.”
“Nooo,” she hissed, raising her voice slightly. “I got a call and I’m here, so what the hell happened? Alcohol poisoning? Alex... there you go again, screwing yourself up with things you don’t need...”
“What do I need then, Mom? Just tell me that much,” I shot back. She pursed her lips.
“Some sense, Christ,” she advised. “A job, some direction... I can’t keep bankrolling your shit forever, Alex.” I pawed my hospital blanket.
“Why do you keep saying my name like that?”
She was silent as she stood uncomfortably with her hand on her hip. Her brilliantly fake
conversation tactics shifted to Damien, who sat back in the chair reading a magazine. He appeared to be bewildered by the whole situation.
“Damien!” she exclaimed lovingly. “How do ya like school this semester?”
He glanced up from a nature magazine and adjusted himself in the chair.
“It’s goin’ fine, thanks.”
I exchanged a look with him. I loved him for refusing to give her what she wanted- a
distraction.
My mother patted her light brown bangs into the formation she approved of.
“Well I’m going to go in the family room and get some coffee, then we’ll go home in a
few hours. The nurses said you can be out by two.”
“I’m not going.”
She gritted her teeth and stepped over to me.
“You are going,” she repeated.
“Yes, I’m going. But not with you, Mom.”
“You do what I tell you to do,” she protested angrily. “Frankly you don’t have any
choice.”
“Maybe if you knew me and respected me, you’d let me speaking for one fucking second,” I replied, my dry throat restricting my voice. I broke into tears.
“I hate you, Mom. I don’t want to be there with you anymore... and Dad... and Brynne... and Lisa. I’m sick of it. Because you don’t listen to me, you never take any of what I say into honest consideration. The highlight of your life is putting me down and just implying I’m a loser when you don’t KNOW me and I don’t have to put up with that crap anymore; it’s ridiculous. You make my life miserable. You’re a despicable mother, so I hope you learn from this. But you know what? I don’t give a damn about hearing an update about how you’re doing on that subject because as far as I’m concerned you’re not my mother.”
It took a second, but one lonely drop squeezed out of a tear duct.
“You don’t mean that,” she advised.
“I do.”
Without another word, she stormed towards the ajar door.
“Oh, and Damien’s here for me today,” I added. “The only one here. He was here before you, Mom. And I know you don’t like him, because he’s older than me. I guess it’ll be tough for you to stomach the fact that I’ll be staying in his apartment for the next couple months until I can figure something out.”
Her brown eyes turned beady, and stared into the window past my bed for a split second.
With a flick of her neck, she went through the door and turned the corner. That was the last time I saw her.
Seven years later she would die of lung cancer. She never smoked, but my father
had for years. I know I love husbands who kill gradually as they’re married to you.
What a guy.

As we walked hand in hand out of the hospital that day, Damien turned to me.
“Can you walk okay? The doctor said something about there being injuries to your feet
when you stepped on broken glass. I guess it was embedded into the skin.”
“I’m alright,” I reassured him. “I think it’s healing.”
“Al, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” he said calmly. “We’ve both found someone to
love, right?”
“Yup. Someone to love.”