Clarity (Part 1 of 2)

Paul Martinez

3/18/2014

Clarity

Crimson, bleach, and water running through my hair; staining me.

I don't care what you see. Am I even there?

Walking home alone is so solemn.



Shifting screens of smoke clouded my room. I looked in the mirror, smiled, and laughed at myself. I thought about a boy I knew once. Where had he gone? Nowhere; I'm gone. Holding a pipe in my hands, I remembered all the times I've set it down. Inhaling smoke, I remembered a year ago:



It was another early morning, the horizon bright enough to cast my shadow onto the table in front of me. The shadow played with her hair, brushing invisible strands together. We, the shadow and I, focused back towards what the day faced. I saw my friends who sat around me: Todd, Amy, Alex, and Samantha. There was a lot of colour at our table; Amy with her bright cerulean eyes, so determined; Alex and his unkempt blonde hair that flowed with bronze hues; Sam, her sparkling lips. In a distant window I observed myself and I saw red. Red, crimson, burgundy; what did the colour need to mean anyway? I thought it represented passion, but what passion did I have back then? Colour blinded my mind in a veil of meaning.

As I studied myself, Jay entered through a door near the window. He went in between the shadow and reflection of me; I didn't take notice, then. To think I thought he was so inconsequential, how could I be so wrong? I ask these questions to remember answers long taken for granted.

I was dead wrong.

When Jay came and sat down, I didn't notice what he wore, it didn't matter. Nothing did. Alex greeted him like any other day and they all carried on talking, like any other day. But I just sat there quietly, unemotional eyes speechless. Words indistinct in my head remained dumb. I had nothing to say to this stranger. Nothing.

Looking at Jay didn't change anything, until he caught me staring.

Electric bolts shocked they're way through my face, jolting me back. That charged spasm struck me away into space, away from that boy's face. I felt a numbing peripheral cringing before I bolted from my seat. Zap.



First class, second class, third, and then it was time for me to go. I didn't want to stay; nothing to be learned, I thought. It wasn't a long walk from the school. I passed a thousand brown houses with white sidings until I reached my home, a brown house with white siding. As I walked up to my house, arms hanging by my sides, a red string bracelet hung from my wrist. A single silver key loosely held onto the string by a single braided noose. That red twine swung the key by its notches, slapping my palm repeatedly, rhythmically, to my lax strides down the lawn. Always after that first step up, the cold metallic key swung into my hand naturally. Holding the key in the lock, the turning sensation clicked a familiar sound.



With my mother not home, I was able to ditch and relax in my room. Heading for my bedside drawer, I pulled out my pipe. Once pink and clear, the color was diluted into a smoggy maroon and charred brown hue. Loaded, I pried out a lighter in between other assorted pipes, and took my first breath that week.

         

Just like now, I sat in my chair, pipe in hand, and a smile on my face.



My lungs upbeat, heart jumping up and down, I listened to the rhythm of my body. Ambling about, almost all apathy absolved. Wondering words, I already was at the point where I wondered where my thoughts were. Did it matter? After a bowl, my mind began to roll. Uphill, downhill.

All my thoughts began to spill Alone in my room I inhaled and inhaled again. Exhaling stroked my throat. Smoke hung softly in the air, thicker than stratus clouds cloaking the spring time sky. Floating inconsequently above myself when I was sitting in a chair, my thoughts drifted off into rolling daydreams. These were my days; weeks; months; constantly breathing in.



The next day, after clearing a bong hit or two, I decided to go to school. I'll tell you something: school is great. There was so much to do! As soon as I walked into third period with a dopey grin, everyone centered in on me.

Hi, Selena

Hey, Selena

Selena! Hey!

You're late Selena

Selena, Have a seat.

Sit next to me, Selena.

Selena sit here.

I sat next to Amy, the only one who just quietly waved. I stumbled over to my desk, giggling the whole way. Crimson shades, my bangs hid my eyes in the clear. No teacher would be able to see these eyes unless I wanted them to.

"What'd I miss?" I asked rhetorically.

"Hehe, just school," Amy replied. Hours of coping down notes of things I could easily remember.

"So nothing, then?" I asked with a grin.

"Yeah," she said before we laughed at each other.

I turned and saw there was an open sit next me, but class was already almost over. I wondered who sat there. You're free to guess.

As I was mulling over the seat, Amy popped back into existence and asked, "You're thinking about Jay, aren't you?"

"Hey,' who said anything about me liking Jay?" I spat out, embarrassed.

"Nobody did, actually," Amy said with a smirk, "You're starting to slip, Selena," she said in a singsong manner.

"Shh-shut up," I whispered, almost following my own command.

"So is it true? I see the way you two look at each other," said Amy as if she was trying to prove a theory, "he catches you staring, and you start blushing away."

"Really? How long do you think he's noticed me?" I said twirling a pencil in my hands. It was right after I asked when class ended.

"We better get going, before Jay comes and swipes you off your feet."

As I walked back out into the hall, I peered back at the empty seat. I heard Amy ask me about my plans that night. I said, "Hopefully something different," like I normally did.

"Hey, you know there's a concert coming up,"

"Yeah," I said, "it's this weekend; will you, or Alex, be able to buy tickets?"

"We'll work something out, I'm sure," Amy said distantly. Until recently, Amy has always been ecstatic when talking about Alex, but not then. I did feel sorry for her later though, poor girl.

We were sitting at a table, everyone asking Amy questions about Alex, and she got a little defensive like earlier. I drifted off and watched how all the girls kept chattering away. When Todd came by and took Amy away to the gym, I felt a bit alone. I didn't really talk to the other girls. They were just seagulls, scavenging for somebody's self-respect. Not many of them tried to talk to me either. Amy was an interesting case, with her black make up on all the time, but the other girls didn't even try to analyze me.

Did that make Amy popular, and I'm just her loser friend?

We weren't different, we were friends.

I remember how she used to get picked on all the time for her make up; snarky comments shot her way like piercing arrows. She always deflected them; nothing brought her down.

I was still at the table, head in the clouds, when I saw Jay walk by.

Amy was right, I did stare.

Jay was watching as I was drooling over him with my head in my palm; at least I think he was, I could barely see out of my bangs. I didn't stop, I felt my arms numbing, and I was paralyzed. He didn't turn away, he stopped in place, and he noticed me.



That had to have been the start of it, the staring from across the room. Either I was just stoned, or I really felt something that day. I thought I had to be stoned. I was beginning to think my obsessive staring was scaring him, but he stood up and started to head over to my table.



While I load a bowl, I think about what happened next. Remember: don't lose faith, when faith loses you or something. Anyway, Jay was heading over to my table:



I was bracing myself for him to go talk to me, when he went... elsewhere, over to another huddle of his friends. I thought that I didn't interest him; Jay was one of this kids that got along with everyone, he didn't need me. I was just that moody stoner girl with red-black dyed hair, who barely went to school in the first place

Looking down at my shadow, I felt sober thoughts crawl up my skin, like infesting rats. Eating at my brain, those filthy thoughts could've brought tears; those little brown pellets, shitting out my eyes. Biting and chewing away at my frame, the constant scrounging of happiness left me a hollow home to take care.

I glanced toward Jay's group. With us only being a few feet away, one of them was looking back between Jay and me. I'm sure my bangs covered my eyes because the boy started... thrusting his pelvis and laughing with the rest of them; he was mocking me, had to have been. Did Jay see me watch that rude prick? Maybe, maybe not. I couldn't tell whether or not he thought it was funny, he had his back to me.

Feeling my buzz start to fade, I looked for Amy and Todd. As I was entering the gym, a flock of gulls approached me. I wanted to swipe at them, but they caught me in a rush. I looked down in the gym, and saw Amy, Alex, and his older brother, Troy. I saw Amy's worried face look up to where I was. After a few moments they had left out of doors nearby.

With Amy gone, and my high fading, I wanted to go home. I had a plan:

Step 1: Leave.

Step 2: Be gone.

Step 3: Get gone.

As I exited the gym, I bumped into someone.

"I'm sorry," I said, solemnly looking downward.

"Hey, don't mention it."

Wait a minute, I thought, I know that voice.

I turned in place, and there he was. Jay stood like a statute, still, seemingly observant. It must have only been a moment of stillness, because I stormed off, upset that he blocked my way. I never made note of it, until I remembered just now.



For someone who smokes, I have an amazing memory.



When I was a little girl, I used to have a white dress with pink fringe. I loved that dress, more than anything. I wore the dress as often as I could.

Every time there were spots on my dress, I'd go to my mother, and say, "clean, clean, clean." That was back when I was still learning English, but my mother and father were so very patient.

I guess I was wild as a kid, but I was born into it. Always running around in that dress; always getting into trouble. It is sad, thinking about what makes me wild now; life was quite enough then. The dress was burned, along with the rest of the house in Texas. Up in smoke. Then we moved here to San Diego, where my father had family and a place to stay. My mother had family, la familia, but they were no family of mine.

Mi madre nos quiere mucha. It makes her happy when I remember the Spanish she taught me. My mother had stopped speaking to me when she had found out I smoked.

She said the mota "dirtied my head, and killed my dreams." My mother said this.

We don't talk--in English, we barely look at each other, but when we do talk, we speak in coarse Spanish. You could hear the bitterness on our teeth.

"Limpia tu cuarto, hija," she'd say.

"Lo har madre," I'd reply.

"Sermejor, ni," she'd say.

But when she yelled, "Selena dejar de fumar mota!"

And if I talked back, "Eres un inil, estida!"

With my dad... he hates it when we fight. He really argues down the middle; I think I understand why. His daughter or his wife, what is fair to say, and what's not? Dad has always tried reverse psychology when trying to get me to quit. "Just let her. Let her smoke her brain away, she'll learn."

He's a lover, and a fighter.

Unfortunately, the lover and the fighter

Are strangers to one another.

Dad steps up and keeps us together.

Still, the strain wears him down.

This strain wears me down.





After school that day, my other friends--not Amy's friends--had decided to go down to a nearby mall. I wish I had at least rolled one before going with, but it was a careless accident.

Being with friends was alright when I was sober some days, but I still felt an emptiness lingering. Their words wrung me inside, banging around in my body. Unusually annoyed, I was cursed with dwindling excitement; everything slowed to a halt after only an hour.

We--Samantha, Jay, Todd, and me-- started at a music store, at my request. Sam and I were looking at shirts when Jay and Todd came up behind us. Jay and Todd had on as many wristbands and bracelets as they could find. Todd started acting like me, skulking up to everyone. It wasn't funny at first, but I caught one of the employees laughing. I wasn't that bad anyway. Whenever I went to music stores, I always picked up a random CD and buy it. Usually, if I get a really crappy album, I'll find someone at school who would want it. Never failed. This time I picked up some Zappa. As we were heading up to the register, Todd asked, "What's the point in buying a CD? You could download that so easily!"

I wanted to explain to him the value of even having a CD, but Jay said, "It's strictly commercial," catching me with a pun.

"Hey, I'm surprised you'd know that," I said.

"Parents are musicians, kind of have to," Jay said nonchalantly.

"Can you play?" I asked, almost hopeful.

"What, an instrument? Yeah," he said.

"What else would you play with?" I asked negatively, not catching myself.

He almost nervously scratched his head and chuckled a little.

"Well, I play..." Jay started before he looked over at Samantha and Todd, who were watching the cashier show off his tongue piercing.

I turned back to Jay, who was smirking at me.

"What?" I asked nervously.

"You're blushing," Jay thought.

And I was?! Almost like a bolt from his eyes, he sent sparks into my face. My face had glowed red; every boy pointed it out because my red highlights matched my embarrassment. I was turned into a cherry, gummy, bear.

I looked back and he had too. That's when I started to remember him. That look on his face, was such a hopeful smile. Yet again, it was another single frame of an album I wasn't ready to bind, so I laughed as if skull-shaped-tongue piercing-guy was still funny. Jay laughed with me but not as hard; actually, he seemed to walk away after, as if put off. I thought about it, but dismissed; did it matter?

"Selena, you coming or what?" Samantha called out. I scurried over when I realized we were leaving. Jay walked furthest from me, but I swore he wanted to talk to me. I'm glad I did later.

We wandered around for a while longer, and I kept getting irritable. I calmly requested something light, like smoothies or juice, but Todd interjected by saying pizza, over and over. Every time I spoke, "Shh, pizza." Shushing me, I was ready to hit him in the face until Jay said pizza sounded fine. Apparently Jay knew someone who worked there. I was still upset, but I guess it couldn't be that bad.

"And hey," Jay continued, "If you really want that smoothie, I can walk over there with you."

I mouthed thank you and smiled. Then, I stared daggers at Todd and Samantha for coyly chuckling in my peripheral.

"Just mention my name, I'm sure you'll get discount," instructed Jay as he walked me over to a nearby line. Although he didn't say anything at first, standing next to him in line made my stomach uneasy, like a crooked tea tray on two broken wheels next to a crying baby in the engine room on a steam train heading south; off a cliff.

Feeling my stomach roll around, I tilted to the side. For a couple seconds I was leaning on Jay; my stomach balanced itself. Looking back know, he had to have noticed. I can still remember the feeling of his heart beating against my head like music. Pounding quickly, I must have tuned in his heart to my radio special.

"Hey, Selena," He finally spoke.

"Oh. Yeah. What," I stumbled after standing up normally.

Jay laughed, "What do you want to order?"

"Umm, well..." I thought.

"I'm guessing something with strawberries and banana?" Jay suggested.

"Ooh, that sounds good," I pointed out, "what are you getting?"

"I usually don't go to these kinds of places actually," Jay reluctantly said.

"Don't worry, I know what's good," I said, staring in to his eyes. It wasn't the color, but the way his pupils dilated, the wholesome honesty held me in place. What I saw in Jay would hold me together in the end.

"So it seems. where do you like to go? What's good?" Jay asked, his face returning a familiar look.



         Hold on. Let me smoke this, and then I'll tell you what I told him.



Normally, I went out to music caf to feel that string of passion whenever I had sober days, yet, it was a high day for me, undoubtedly.

Each cord strung up my sorrows in a spectrum of songs. If only music had colour, what would be my favorite colour? Red--the colour of passion, why not? Why choose favorites, and instead see everything for what it is? I see colour and think what a beautifully meaningless thing we've been given. You can't hear colour. Music is the colour of the blind, the palette of rhythmic bless. Colour, it can be seen, but not to the people who listen hard; they can hear for the colour all at once. So why only try listening for a single colour, a single song. Feel every chord around, appreciate all the sound you can, because one day can make anyone go blind; maybe then they'll listen.

It was a late afternoon, and I was starting to come down at the caf Quieting down, the music in my ears was fading into the quiet. I sighed as I inhaled the colour out the world. In every breath I could see the bar lose its nighttime aurora; the stage lights dimmed. Sighing, another sad exhale, I heard the gray scale in the indistinct murmurs of the bar.

Then a beaming ray of a spotlight sowed pigment and hue to a sliver of my view. A lone guitarist stepped on stage, wearing the umbra of the shadow of his hat like a thief's mask. An array--almost an aura--followed the guitarist to the stool left on stage. Lefty, he held the guitar opposite to regular means, but he pulled a pick from his pocket. A purple chip in the dark; the pick fell up and down between his fingers; only an exercise. Silence sat quietly next to me as I sat in anticipation.

Running water, the notes cascaded down from the instrument as his fingers swam up the guitar; the pick oared the song around the room. The rhythm flooded my ears, a sea of steady, swaying, sounds of Spanish guitar. I heard the name dance around my head in symphonic singularity.

Flamenco.

Watching the strumming guitarist's fingers perform, almost as if out of reflex, had made me hear the shades of blue flowing from the guitar. Azure astounded me when the song's crescendo vibrated off my bones. When the guitarist stood, lifting his hat towards me, the lights in the bar increased. Shocked, I gasped when I saw those piercing eyes look back at me, my body jolting back in my seat.

I knew what instrument Jay could play.



Exhale. Ashed, I clean out my pipe. I peer down the piece, looking for resin.



The day I realized my emotions had dulled came late; too late. My brain had been corrupted, my thoughts afflicted with virus. I cried, but it was beyond the eye, in my mind. Nothing escaped my memory, yet I couldn't remember to care for anything; no one taught me how. I was lying on the floor, alone with my thoughts. Thoughts; Remembrance; words I used often, how they spilled out of me like blood that soaked the carpet.

Drugs, drugs can kill you young and old.

Pot isn't a drug. It can't kill you; it'll make you pretend you're happy.

Life isn't a drug. It can't kill you; there's no overdosing.

Death is a drug. Dying will kill you; stay away from that shit.

Occasionally, I'll think I'm dying, my body just withering away.

Pot isn't a drug, yeah, but I've had too much.

Why I wake up and smoke a long night's worth is beyond me. I just want more, and more, and more, and more.

I know that I love flamenco.

I know that I love mi familia.

I know that I love that boy, Jay.

I don't know why I don't care, I should. I laid on my side look at my dresser, shrouded clothes being vomited out the drawers; here I lay, a pile of vomit on the ground to be scrubbed away. I always made proclamations when I felt like this.

"I will stop. I will stand on my own. I will be better. I am better."

Am I better?

There was a knock at the door, my mother; she welcomed herself in. Smoke and scent soaked the air, and my mother's eyes burned through. I curled over so I could sadly face her. With my bloodshot eyes, nobody could tell whether I was crying or not.

"Hija," my mother said... apologetically, "Ququieres comer conmigo y tu padre?"

"Si," I want to eat with her and dad.

"Selena, si siente bien?

"No," I'm not feeling alright.

I stood up slowly, my mother watched me with careful hands as I headed towards the kitchen. In between the threshold of my room and hallway, my mother held me; I was reminiscing the times after my dress--the one with pink fringe--was cleaned and my mother held me.

"Chica no llores. Estbien estar triste. Ya sque no te caigo bien, pero Te quiero, hija. No te escondas en tu habitaci, echamos de menos su sonrisa. Por favor, beb Selena, no llores."

Clean, clean, clean.



Sitting at the dinner table with my family usually drew on sad feelings, but I felt different; miserable all the same, but more relaxed, something I can cope with. We were eating quietly, but I had a soft smile settling in.

"Mom, could you pass the salt," I asked in English, not needing salt.

My mom and dad shared hopeful stares, and my mom said "Yes, Selena."

To hear her say yes was all I needed.

"Thank you, mom," I said with a glimpse of cheer.

Dad cleared his throat, "So how was school?"

"Oh, well Samantha and I--"

"The Samantha that came over last week?" my mom asked.

"Yeah, we were in Chemistry when Professor Daniels came in late with a huge coffee stain on his shirt!"

"Someone needs to be careful," my mom said half-jokingly.

"He just came into work like that?" asked dad.

"Well, he is pretty weird, but, as it turned out he had a spare shirt with him and He made the accident into an experiment!"

"What?" Dad said, befuddled.

Eagerly, my mom asked, "how did the experiment work?"

Using many hand gestures, I explained that, "Professor Daniels used a mixture of bases and other chemicals. I mean, basically he cleaned his shirt in front of class, but he broke it down scientifically."

"Maybe he should come shopping with us next we need some spray," Dad said humorously.

"Are you kidding, the stuff mom buys would re-stitch the shirt clean!"

"Oh you must be kidding, hija," my mom bashfully said.

"Only a little bit," I honestly claimed.

We laughed so much that night. I don't think dad had ever seen me and mom get along so well. Mom didn't let up; we were so filled with unprecedented joy. I realized just how unhappy I made my family.



As I sit here with another bowl ready, try not to think of the irony ahead.



I had to quit. After spending time with my parents last night, I knew I'd twist my own arm eventually. Monday, Monday, Monday. They always come up on you; tackle you to the ground, either with emotion or stress. I couldn't tell which was hugging me; I just felt arms clutch me tight. For once, I hadn't come to school high, and that sober somberness sat on my shoulders. Giving a tour of my life for my stress to see, I piggybacked tension all day.

Sitting in Chemistry with Amy wasn't going any smoother. We were talking about Jay, I don't remember why, and we had to do an experiment together.

"It's pink; didn't she say it would turn blue?" Amy questioned.

"Well I guess it's my fault, I probably measured the wrong amount," I said, imagining how packed the measuring spoon was.

"Let's just try again," Amy said patiently.

"Right, because we did it so well the first time,"

"I'll do the measuring this time instead." Amy began meticulously adding and subtracting from the spoon. Grain by grain, she grazed her finger across the surface. Patiently; quietly; I watched Amy slowly remove powder from--

"Hurry up," I said outright and loud, causing Amy to flinch.

"Uhh... whoops," Amy said under her breath, her notebook covered in chemicals.

I felt my brow furrowing behind my bangs as Amy chuckled.

When I finally poured the measurement into the liquid, I glanced over at Amy, and she intently looked back, determined to observe.

I didn't notice Jay lean on our table while we studied the amalgam closely.

He said, "Hey," and I scowled at him under my bangs.

"What?" I sent into the air between us.

Catching my displeasure, Jay went instinctively into defense, leaning towards and away from me.

"You having some trouble?" He said, smug. Maybe it wasn't smug, but he didn't back off.

"Go away, idiot," I said in exhale.

I winced at how he was smiling back at me, he wouldn't take me seriously. "So I'm an idiot now?"

"Yes, a dumb one to. Scram," I said sarcastically, unsure under what pretenses I meant.

"Really? Cut me some slack, it's not every day that I finish something early for you," Jay said with a playful sting.

I faced him, looking him in the face. "I don't need your help, okay?"

Jay laughed and nodded towards our lab dishes, "Clearly."

I looked at the current mixture, "blue?" I questioned.

"You had it right the first time," Amy said, holding the stirrer, "I was supposed to stir it this time."

"Oh," I looked over at Jay; still smiling away.

Realizing I was upset over nothing, I scoffed, "you're still an idiot."

Jay came in close, kissed my forehead while holding my face by the chin, and said, "That's fair, so what?" The way the warmth of the kiss fell down my forehead had erased my thoughts for just a minute. It was a second where everything calmed down; nothing was falling apart. Our lab was done, no more frustrating calculations.

I smiled back when Jay sat down, as he looked back up towards me. Feeling those warming eyes look into mine made me full dumb, mute rather. I didn't have to tell Jay a thing but he somehow knew how to lighten me up.

"Idiot," I whispered as I started into the blue test tray. So what, I didn't have reason why that abrupt kiss should bother me? He still was an idiot.



Immediately after Chemistry, Jay hugged me as we stumbled out into the hall. I growled at him for embarrassing me. We weren't together, but the feeling when he held me made hope we could be. As we bumped into a wall outside the classroom, I realized the feelings I had for Jay. I leaned into him as we leaned together against the wall. The pounding of my heart worried me; it wasn't fast beating like that unless I was coughing after huge, heart pounding hits of hash. I knew that particular sense of hope since before I smoked myself into a melancholic, but it rose up into my head stronger than any hit I've inhaled.

I turned around and flew back onto Jay's chest.

"Oh he-hey," Jay said as I pressed an ear to his chest. It was a few seconds of near silence, but the vibration of Jay's heart pounding was the only thing I felt.

He knew.

We stood up straight, awkwardly looked away from each other, Jay scratching his hair, me swaying in place, and we looked back.

"Listen, Amy's waiting to take me somewhere for lunch," I said to break the silence.

"Yeah, Alex wanted to play ball," Jay stated, "I'd better get going."

"Right," I said disappointed, but he stretched his arms for me to wrap my arms around his neck.

We whispered bye as we turned opposite directions to leave.



Truth kills lies.

And when I see your eyes,

I slowly start to die.