Isn't buried treasure great? I don't mean just the kind at the bottom of the ocean. I mean A bottle of Naked you forgot was in the fridge. $20 bills you didn't know you had (yep, I found one last week. It bought me a new pair of flats, which I would be thrilled to show off if it would stop freaking snowing already). A theatrical morsel you wrote but never published.
You guessed it - I found one of those, too! Enjoy and comment. Your literary critiques are more valuable than forgotten Naked. Maybe even more so than free money... convince me ^_^
(MARCUS and JADE walk into a messy bathroom. JADE has an empty grocery bag in one hand and is dressed/groomed nicely. MARCUS is wearing sweats, hair uncombed.)
JADE: Wow… everything looks exactly the same. It’s like I never left.
MARCUS: Sorry it’s such a fucking mess. My dad lives like a–
JADE: Like a frat boy. I know. Don’t worry about it; I just want to grab my stuff.
(She opens the bottom drawer. MARCUS stands in the doorway and watches, shifting his weight uncomfortably.)
MARCUS: I’d really like to clean this place up.
(Beat; JADE moves pajamas from drawer to bag.)
MARCUS: Dad just gets so pissed when anybody touches anything, y’know?
(Beat; JADE grabs a handful of make-up and throws it in the shopping bag)
MARCUS: But, y’know, he goes to New Orleans in February, so maybe then I can…
JADE: Yeah. (She throws a tube of toothpaste in the bag and shuts the drawer, stands up)
MARCUS: So you’re doing OK? School and everything?
JADE: Well, you know. I like it about as much as I did last year…. (Beat; then, brightly:) But I have an internship now.
MARCUS: That’s great! What are you doing?
JADE: Channel four news.
MARCUS: That’s fucking great!
JADE: Yeah, it’s been fantastic so far. How about you? Written any good songs lately?
MARCUS: No, work’s been kicking my ass. That's what sucks about Christmas. The post office looks like a fucking bomb went off. Hey, you wanna… go grab dinner or something? Catch up?
JADE: Oh, umm… Tonight’s not–
MARCUS: C’mon, I’ll treat.
JADE: With what, your Monopoly credit card?
MARCUS: Hey! I have real money.
JADE: (Laughs) I know, I know. But you like to save it. Don't go throwing it away on my account.
MARCUS: I got paid today. Come on, where should we go? You always like that place, what is it, that place in Gloucester. I’ll take you there.
JADE: (Breaks eye contact, pushes past him to go downstairs) I have to go. My boyfriend’s waiting in the car.
MARCUS: (Looks surprised, but tries not to miss a beat; follows her to the door) Oh. Well, we should hang out soon.
JADE: (Opens front door, faces MARCUS. A black car is parked outside, still running, with said boyfriend in the driver’s seat) Yeah. Well, uh, thanks for my stuff and, uh, take care….
MARCUS: You too. I’ll call you.
JADE: Sounds good. (Leaves, closing door behind her; chuckles softly) Sure you will.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
55 fiction: Felled
Surely it’s there. Decades have bloomed, withered and died, but my feet cannot forget the trail they trod so often with him. It should be there, the sapling we (but saplings ourselves then) had claimed with ugly, abecedarian scars.
But alas! I settle my arid bones upon the darling, decomposing stump.
It, too, is gone.
--------------------
I've only been meaning to try my hand at 55 flash fiction for the past half a year now. Dang! It is not easy! 55 words is about two sentences, three or four if you keep 'em short. Hardly enough to tell a story. I challenge you all to give it a try if you haven't; it really forces you to be picky about word choice and burn the chaff. Post me a link when you're done! I can't wait to see what everyone comes up with!
Peace, love, and sleep deficiency,
Miss Rex
But alas! I settle my arid bones upon the darling, decomposing stump.
It, too, is gone.
--------------------
I've only been meaning to try my hand at 55 flash fiction for the past half a year now. Dang! It is not easy! 55 words is about two sentences, three or four if you keep 'em short. Hardly enough to tell a story. I challenge you all to give it a try if you haven't; it really forces you to be picky about word choice and burn the chaff. Post me a link when you're done! I can't wait to see what everyone comes up with!
Peace, love, and sleep deficiency,
Miss Rex
1:43 AM
I woke up from a dream about you last night. I could feel a smile on the lips where you had just been, and was dismayed to realize that it hadn’t been you at all, and merely my imagination – taking advantage of my gullible mind, once again. Everything was as it would have been in life (except that the couch we were sitting on was located in the middle of a frozen pond…). Is it sad that I know you so well that even my dreams of you seem true to life?
It was just… your hand felt so solid, so concrete, so existent in mine. Your breath was gentle and warm on my cheek. Our conversation mirrored exchanges we’ve shared before. You know the kind. When I say, “Isn’t this fun?” and you shrug and say, “I miss video games,” but I can tell you’re really enjoying yourself in spite of whatever you say.
I was saddened, and really rather offended, that you chose to dissolve at precisely the moment I trusted you most. You would never do such a thing in life, now, would you? But I suppose you couldn’t help it, being a figment of my imagination and all. I suppose I couldn’t blame you, having created you in my mind, right?
I was awake for a long time after that.
I got a drink of water. Then I ate something that tasted surprisingly good for 1:43 in the morning. I checked on the cats. Even they slumbered on, mindless of my restless state. It was as though the earth, and time, and everything within had come to a halt beneath the isolating, muffling, time-stopping blanket of snow I could feel weighing on the skylight. The only evidence otherwise was the engines purring inside the cats.
It was like being the only one alive in all the world. Eerie. Lonesome. I wanted to fall back asleep, to come find you again, but toss and turn as I might, 1:43 AM did not take pity on me.
I wondered, would it be so catastrophic if I told you everything? Would that destroy the friendship I already cherish? Would I have to be content with this mirage of you… indefinitely?
Infinitely?
Dreams don’t really come true.
“There you are! I was waiting for you.”
“Waiting? For me? I’m flattered. Sorry for holding you up.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“All right.” Pause. “Hey, let’s go adventuring! Look, we can cross the tundra! Let’s pretend we’re pirates, and global warming reversed, so the whole world froze over, and we have to fix it!”
You’re looking at me like I’m crazy. You have no idea. “Sure, okay.”
Commence trekking. You’re not saying much. That’s all right. My ears might be too cold to hear, anyway. Those icy gusts slice right through my snow gear more effectively than our plastic swords ever could.
“Hey. Is that a sofa?” I guess I can still hear all right. Good to know.
“What? In the middle of the tundra?”
“Looks like it.”
“In the middle of the tundra?”
“Let’s go see.”
“Looks like it belongs at the dump.” Obviously that doesn’t bother me much since I sink into it anyway. “Being a pirate is tiring. Let’s take a break.”
You collapse beside me. “Okay.”
“Isn’t this fun?”
You shrug. “I could be playing video games.”
Glare.
You laugh and admit to it. Your smile, your eyes reassure me that you aren’t just telling me what I want to hear.
We’ve lost our mittens. Suddenly our hands find each other. The warmth of your fingers enveloping mine sends chills up my spine. You’re looking at me, truly seeing me, and I realize: this is it. You’re going to kiss me. It took you long enough.
I feel a spark on my lip (and to think we haven’t actually kissed yet). My heart skips a beat or several.
All at once I realize I’m clutching your hand at all, but rather that hideous plushie you won me at the fair last summer. I taste blood: I’ve just split my lip smiling.
I sigh and stumble out of bed. I’m sure you don’t think of me this often. I check the little clock in the corner of my laptop screen. It’s 1:43 AM. Something about that seems eerie to me, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Instant Messenger. Yes. A brilliant invention. Conversation is the best form of distraction.
You’re the only one online.
“Trouble sleeping?” you ask.
“You could say that.”
“Weird dreams?” you ask.
“You could say that.”
“I mean, really – pirates?”
I stare at the blinking cursor, wondering if I’ve lost it. The snow drifts press in on the little bubble of the house, insulating my little corner of heaven on earth. It’s 1:44 AM.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is another one I drafted a couple years ago. To think it's already been that long! I don't have much to say about it, really. I'm almost positive it was inspired by a real dream about a sofa in the middle of a frozen lake, almost kissing the person I liked at the time, and then waking up because I split my lip smiling. I am the biggest dork. I suppose it keeps things interesting. ^_^
It was just… your hand felt so solid, so concrete, so existent in mine. Your breath was gentle and warm on my cheek. Our conversation mirrored exchanges we’ve shared before. You know the kind. When I say, “Isn’t this fun?” and you shrug and say, “I miss video games,” but I can tell you’re really enjoying yourself in spite of whatever you say.
I was saddened, and really rather offended, that you chose to dissolve at precisely the moment I trusted you most. You would never do such a thing in life, now, would you? But I suppose you couldn’t help it, being a figment of my imagination and all. I suppose I couldn’t blame you, having created you in my mind, right?
I was awake for a long time after that.
I got a drink of water. Then I ate something that tasted surprisingly good for 1:43 in the morning. I checked on the cats. Even they slumbered on, mindless of my restless state. It was as though the earth, and time, and everything within had come to a halt beneath the isolating, muffling, time-stopping blanket of snow I could feel weighing on the skylight. The only evidence otherwise was the engines purring inside the cats.
It was like being the only one alive in all the world. Eerie. Lonesome. I wanted to fall back asleep, to come find you again, but toss and turn as I might, 1:43 AM did not take pity on me.
I wondered, would it be so catastrophic if I told you everything? Would that destroy the friendship I already cherish? Would I have to be content with this mirage of you… indefinitely?
Infinitely?
Dreams don’t really come true.
“There you are! I was waiting for you.”
“Waiting? For me? I’m flattered. Sorry for holding you up.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“All right.” Pause. “Hey, let’s go adventuring! Look, we can cross the tundra! Let’s pretend we’re pirates, and global warming reversed, so the whole world froze over, and we have to fix it!”
You’re looking at me like I’m crazy. You have no idea. “Sure, okay.”
Commence trekking. You’re not saying much. That’s all right. My ears might be too cold to hear, anyway. Those icy gusts slice right through my snow gear more effectively than our plastic swords ever could.
“Hey. Is that a sofa?” I guess I can still hear all right. Good to know.
“What? In the middle of the tundra?”
“Looks like it.”
“In the middle of the tundra?”
“Let’s go see.”
“Looks like it belongs at the dump.” Obviously that doesn’t bother me much since I sink into it anyway. “Being a pirate is tiring. Let’s take a break.”
You collapse beside me. “Okay.”
“Isn’t this fun?”
You shrug. “I could be playing video games.”
Glare.
You laugh and admit to it. Your smile, your eyes reassure me that you aren’t just telling me what I want to hear.
We’ve lost our mittens. Suddenly our hands find each other. The warmth of your fingers enveloping mine sends chills up my spine. You’re looking at me, truly seeing me, and I realize: this is it. You’re going to kiss me. It took you long enough.
I feel a spark on my lip (and to think we haven’t actually kissed yet). My heart skips a beat or several.
All at once I realize I’m clutching your hand at all, but rather that hideous plushie you won me at the fair last summer. I taste blood: I’ve just split my lip smiling.
I sigh and stumble out of bed. I’m sure you don’t think of me this often. I check the little clock in the corner of my laptop screen. It’s 1:43 AM. Something about that seems eerie to me, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Instant Messenger. Yes. A brilliant invention. Conversation is the best form of distraction.
You’re the only one online.
“Trouble sleeping?” you ask.
“You could say that.”
“Weird dreams?” you ask.
“You could say that.”
“I mean, really – pirates?”
I stare at the blinking cursor, wondering if I’ve lost it. The snow drifts press in on the little bubble of the house, insulating my little corner of heaven on earth. It’s 1:44 AM.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is another one I drafted a couple years ago. To think it's already been that long! I don't have much to say about it, really. I'm almost positive it was inspired by a real dream about a sofa in the middle of a frozen lake, almost kissing the person I liked at the time, and then waking up because I split my lip smiling. I am the biggest dork. I suppose it keeps things interesting. ^_^
Hello, My Name is Nobody
For anyone who hasn't seen the post in my former blog, this is a story I started in junior or senior year of high school. It was inspired by someone I actually knew, who actually did some of the things that Seth does in the story. Hint: choose the most awkward scene. That's the one that happened.
Anyway, I hadn't touched the story in a couple years. Then one night, all of a sudden I realized why I had to write it, where it was going, and that it was way more important than preparing for my Media Writing class the next day by reading the elusive Zinsser text, which had finally came in at the book store that afternoon.
On a side note, I totally stole the name "Brown Car" from Allison.
Without further ado, please enjoy "Hello, My Name is Nobody."
At first we were amused by Seth’s total goofball attitude, his lack of social graces, and his few inhibitions regarding classroom conduct. At first, his lack of direction and motivation in life seemed normal attitudes for a teenage boy. At first we laughingly blamed his alternating hyperactivity and exhaustion on obsessive video gaming habits and a fictional addiction to Mountain Dew. At first, we poked fun at him for the way his shoulder blades stuck out like little wings that never got the chance to grow.
All that changed when I “adopted” Seth.
Seth was in my journalism independent study first semester of senior year. He was, in fact, the only other person in my journalism independent study. Consequently, I learned a lot about Seth just from working overtime on layout. I couldn’t believe how little I actually knew about him. We ate lunch together with a few other guys and girls, drove around town listening to ska and reggae music with that same small crowd, played some video games in our spare time – but what did I know about his life? Nothing.
In Journalism, I learned that Seth’s parents were separated. He lived in town with his mother, while his father lived upstate – far enough to be forgotten for the most part, but close enough to stop by and stir things up whenever Seth and his mother least expected it.
I had never met either of Seth’s parents, but from what I could tell, well, let’s just say that the irresponsibility and quirkiness we all knew and loved in Seth were not unprecedented by any stretch of the imagination. More like “inevitable.”
His father spent his free time (which he had in abundance, as he was unemployed) on eclectic projects. He was big on “routine” home maintenance – that is, hollowing out the walls so he would have somewhere to hide his valuables, which consisted mostly of comic books but may have included several thousands of dollars in cash. He was also fond of elaborate culinary endeavors whose products he rarely consumed, but rather concocted in bulk as though for a huge, imaginary crowd. In Seth’s own words, “the man is definitely not all there. Christ, he gave me a power drill for my fifth Christmas.”
Meanwhile, his mother scraped up enough money working at a nearby factory and performing various odd jobs in the community to pay rent on a townhouse each month. Because of her erratic and time-consuming schedule, she was rarely home.
Second semester rolled around. Once again, Seth and I were the only students in fifth block Journalism independent study. The more time I spent with him, the more I tasted the off-color, bitter, lonely flavor of his life. He didn’t let on much – I mean, when he told me about his family, he stated things as cold facts with a practiced indifference and discussed their abnormalities as though they were some kind of joke to be laughed at.
And I played along. I laughed. I didn’t know what else to do. He seemed okay with the way things were. I got the feeling he didn’t know any other way of life existed. The best thing I could do for him was to continue being his friend in a school that, with the exception of the five others who ate lunch with us, left him to fend for himself on the outskirts of high school society. The most I could give him was a companion when he was comfortable being the odd one out because no one ever let him in.
And that was all.
~
“Adelaide.”
“Yep.”
“Could you… uh….” He tapped the keyboard lightly, uncomfortably. “Could you come to my house and help me do my laundry?”
I had to laugh. “Do your laundry? Where’s your mother?”
I regretted that comment the moment it passed my lips. I kept forgetting that things didn’t work that way in Seth’s home.
Seth shrugged. “She went away. On business, I guess.”
On business? What business? Factory workers don’t go on business trips. There was still so much about Seth’s family that I didn’t know. Like why his mother would leave a kid like Seth to look after himself over an extended period of time. But it sounded like Seth knew no more than what he’d told me, and I couldn’t hold that against him.
“When will she be back?”
Seth shrugged again. “Dunno. But my laundry and dishes are piling up, and I’m hungry.”
I’d developed a soft spot for Seth, and he didn’t need to add “I ran out of ramen” for me to agree to go help him out.
~
I waited in the parking lot after school. Seth didn’t drive. It wasn’t that he couldn’t if he wanted – he just hadn’t gotten around to getting his license.
Seth would be nineteen that summer. I figured it was about time he started taking care of himself, especially if his mother made a habit of up-and-leaving for indeterminate amounts of time. Call it maternal instinct, but I was ready to take on the challenge of preparing this kid to face college in less than a year.
“Your car smells like a box of crayons,” Seth commented as he ducked into my 2003 Volkswagen Golf.
“Just what I needed to hear.” I checked the rearview and backed out of my parking space. “Look, I got it used from this eccentric little old lady. And the air freshener is pine.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“All right.”
Seth played with the knobs on the radio while I dreaded the state of his house. I’d never been inside before, though I’d seen the place when our friends dropped him off after long drives and Denny’s runs. Parking on the grass (the driveway was full), I couldn’t help noticing that the townhouse seemed a lot bigger from the perspective of a housemaid.
“Come on,” Seth said, popping out of the car like a Jack-in-the-box. “We can just go in through the garage.” I followed him tentatively. The garage didn’t look too bad. But that didn’t necessarily indicate anything. Maybe Seth never made it out to the garage with his trash.
Seth crashed through the door without holding it open for me, and I tripped along behind him. Yes, the garage had been a poor litmus test for what lay inside. I tried to pretend it didn’t smell too bad and waded to the kitchen through clothes, soda cans, junk food wrappers and other debris. I had to ask: “How do you live like this?”
Seth shrugged and laughed. “It’s easy. Too easy.”
I sighed. “All right. Let’s start with laundry. Do you have a basket?”
“…Basket….”
I looked around and found a basket on top of the washer machine. “Put your dirty clothes in here,” I said, passing Seth the basket. He looked sheepish. I sighed in exasperation. “Okay, I’ll come.”
Like scavengers, we rooted through the carpet of crud. I wasn’t too picky and let him judge what needed to be washed without commenting on what was left behind. He must have owned as many pairs of jeans as I did. And as many shirts, and as many pairs of underwear – which is especially scary because I have this weird compulsion that my panties and bra must match the rest of my outfit, so I have a lot of underwear.
“Umm… I think I need to wash these pants,” Seth said apologetically, indicating the pair he had on. Without further warning, he pulled them off and threw them in the basket.
“Oh my God, Seth!” I shielded my eyes in horror.
“It’s okay. I’ve got boxers on.”
“I don’t care. Put something else on. You must own something that isn’t currently carpeting your floor.”
I toted the overflowing basket downstairs and ran the load of laundry, showing Seth which buttons to push. “How do you know that?” he asked in awe. “This isn’t even your washer!”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Uhh…. They’re all pretty much the same. How about some food?”
That piqued his interest. I dug through the fridge, trashing several leftovers that had seen better days. Seth watched in amazement as I scrambled four eggs that seemed fresh enough to eat. He remained oblivious to my requests that he hand me a spatula or a plate, so it was dinner-and-a-treasure-hunt for me. I threw some bacon on the side and toasted a few slices of bread. Seth wolfed it all down while I loaded the dishwasher.
“You’ve got to rinse them before you put them in the machine,” I explained.
“Mmhmm,” Seth said around the largest bite of eggs and toast I’d ever seen anyone take.
“Wanna help me get some of this trash out of here?” I asked when he was done.
He looked at the wrappers, cans and pizza boxes on the floor. “Looks all right to me,” he said calmly. I noticed he still wasn’t wearing pants.
I snapped. “Seth, I’m not your mother! I don’t mind helping you out, but God, you’re going to have to get it together! People won’t just do this stuff for you your whole life. What are you going to do when you go to college next year?”
“I guess I’ll figure it out when I get to college next year,” he said, pairing the statement with his classic reply, the shrug.
~
Going to Seth’s house after school became routine. I got the house looking habitable again within a couple of days. But the routine stuck even after his mother returned from whatever “business” trip she’d been on.
I look back fondly on those afternoons of studying for my AP Literature test while he destroyed boss after boss on his Xbox. Most days we had dinner together, even if it was just something dumb like peanut butter and jelly. Our friends liked to tease us, saying that I might as well just move in because we were more or less married anyway.
“You should,” Seth told me sometimes. And sometimes I wanted to. I felt like he needed me there while his mother was working, and the more time I spent at his house, the more I realized that she was always working.
Springtime flowered all around us. Unfortunately, that meant exams. I’d never had such a stressful birthday as that May morning when I took the AP Literature exam. When I stumbled out of the testing room, bubbles swimming in front of my eyes, Seth was waiting for me.
“Happy birthday,” he told me. I was flattered that he’d even remembered. “Can I take you to lunch?”
“Seth, we always go to lunch together,” I mumbled.
“I mean, can I take you out to lunch?” he corrected.
Out to lunch? That definitely was not allowed, and I said so. In twelve years of school, I had never cut a class, never left school grounds without permission, never taken any chances with the administration. Why should I start now?
“We have Journalism after lunch hour. Let’s go then.”
He was so persistent about it that I agreed.
Lunch break, although it had never provided enough time for me to eat, stretched out like Laffy Taffy that day. I was famished after my exam. I couldn't help thinking, Seth had better have something really good in mind.
As soon as the bell rang for fifth block, we signed out on newspaper business and headed for the parking lot.
“This way,” Seth directed.
“My car’s over there. Where it always is,” I said.
“But we’re not taking your car,” he said with a grin. He reached into his pocket and dangled a set of keys in my face. “We’re taking mine.”
My jaw dropped. “You got your license?” I squealed. I hated the sound of my voice just then. It sounded like it belonged to a silly fangirl, not an almost-high-school-graduate. I blushed.
“It took me like, three tries…” he confessed. “But I got it in time for your birthday!”
“This is so exciting, Seth! Where are we going to go?”
“Well, since I emptied my life’s savings account to buy this car and have about ten dollars left to my name…. In ‘n’ Out?”
I laughed. That was so typically Seth. He drove us there in this clanking garbage can he appropriately called “Brown Car,” which was covered with more dents than paint and was missing the left mirror. He bought my burger and fries. It was delicious.
~
My phone rang early in the morning the day of graduation. I knew something had to be wrong the moment Seth’s name appeared on the caller ID. Seth did not make phone calls, not even to me.
“Adelaide?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to like this,” he said. The static was heavy: It sounded like he was somewhere really noisy.
“Where are you? I can barely hear you.”
“I’m in the back seat of my dad’ car. He’s got the radio up really loud. I don't want him to hear me talking to you, else I’d turn it down.”
I swore. “What the hell are you doing in your dad’s car? We’re graduating today!”
“I’m not,” he said despondently. “My dad wants me to move in with him.”
I was enraged. “And he won’t let you get your diploma first? What kind of father does that?”
I could almost hear him shrug in the silence at the other end. But his answer surprised me. “I don’t know. I want to be there. I was always the Nobody people didn’t expect to graduate. I wanted to prove them wrong.”
I couldn’t speak. Seth cared? Who would have guessed?
“Adelaide?”
“Yeah –yeah, I’m here. What do I do?”
“Do?” he asked, bewildered. “Why would you have to do anything? I was just calling to tell you I wouldn't be there. And congratulations, since I won’t see you later.”
“When will you see me?” Suddenly that question seemed more important than Seth graduating or me being at the ceremony. It’s strange the way habit works on our minds. After seeing him almost every day for the past six months, just the thought of life without him left me feeling aimless and hollow.
“Hopefully soon,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll dig some of Dad’s cash out of the walls and buy a train ticket home.”
“Promise?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Promise.”
“Why is it so important that I promise?”
“Because,” I said. “I need you here.”
Anyway, I hadn't touched the story in a couple years. Then one night, all of a sudden I realized why I had to write it, where it was going, and that it was way more important than preparing for my Media Writing class the next day by reading the elusive Zinsser text, which had finally came in at the book store that afternoon.
On a side note, I totally stole the name "Brown Car" from Allison.
Without further ado, please enjoy "Hello, My Name is Nobody."
At first we were amused by Seth’s total goofball attitude, his lack of social graces, and his few inhibitions regarding classroom conduct. At first, his lack of direction and motivation in life seemed normal attitudes for a teenage boy. At first we laughingly blamed his alternating hyperactivity and exhaustion on obsessive video gaming habits and a fictional addiction to Mountain Dew. At first, we poked fun at him for the way his shoulder blades stuck out like little wings that never got the chance to grow.
All that changed when I “adopted” Seth.
Seth was in my journalism independent study first semester of senior year. He was, in fact, the only other person in my journalism independent study. Consequently, I learned a lot about Seth just from working overtime on layout. I couldn’t believe how little I actually knew about him. We ate lunch together with a few other guys and girls, drove around town listening to ska and reggae music with that same small crowd, played some video games in our spare time – but what did I know about his life? Nothing.
In Journalism, I learned that Seth’s parents were separated. He lived in town with his mother, while his father lived upstate – far enough to be forgotten for the most part, but close enough to stop by and stir things up whenever Seth and his mother least expected it.
I had never met either of Seth’s parents, but from what I could tell, well, let’s just say that the irresponsibility and quirkiness we all knew and loved in Seth were not unprecedented by any stretch of the imagination. More like “inevitable.”
His father spent his free time (which he had in abundance, as he was unemployed) on eclectic projects. He was big on “routine” home maintenance – that is, hollowing out the walls so he would have somewhere to hide his valuables, which consisted mostly of comic books but may have included several thousands of dollars in cash. He was also fond of elaborate culinary endeavors whose products he rarely consumed, but rather concocted in bulk as though for a huge, imaginary crowd. In Seth’s own words, “the man is definitely not all there. Christ, he gave me a power drill for my fifth Christmas.”
Meanwhile, his mother scraped up enough money working at a nearby factory and performing various odd jobs in the community to pay rent on a townhouse each month. Because of her erratic and time-consuming schedule, she was rarely home.
Second semester rolled around. Once again, Seth and I were the only students in fifth block Journalism independent study. The more time I spent with him, the more I tasted the off-color, bitter, lonely flavor of his life. He didn’t let on much – I mean, when he told me about his family, he stated things as cold facts with a practiced indifference and discussed their abnormalities as though they were some kind of joke to be laughed at.
And I played along. I laughed. I didn’t know what else to do. He seemed okay with the way things were. I got the feeling he didn’t know any other way of life existed. The best thing I could do for him was to continue being his friend in a school that, with the exception of the five others who ate lunch with us, left him to fend for himself on the outskirts of high school society. The most I could give him was a companion when he was comfortable being the odd one out because no one ever let him in.
And that was all.
~
“Adelaide.”
“Yep.”
“Could you… uh….” He tapped the keyboard lightly, uncomfortably. “Could you come to my house and help me do my laundry?”
I had to laugh. “Do your laundry? Where’s your mother?”
I regretted that comment the moment it passed my lips. I kept forgetting that things didn’t work that way in Seth’s home.
Seth shrugged. “She went away. On business, I guess.”
On business? What business? Factory workers don’t go on business trips. There was still so much about Seth’s family that I didn’t know. Like why his mother would leave a kid like Seth to look after himself over an extended period of time. But it sounded like Seth knew no more than what he’d told me, and I couldn’t hold that against him.
“When will she be back?”
Seth shrugged again. “Dunno. But my laundry and dishes are piling up, and I’m hungry.”
I’d developed a soft spot for Seth, and he didn’t need to add “I ran out of ramen” for me to agree to go help him out.
~
I waited in the parking lot after school. Seth didn’t drive. It wasn’t that he couldn’t if he wanted – he just hadn’t gotten around to getting his license.
Seth would be nineteen that summer. I figured it was about time he started taking care of himself, especially if his mother made a habit of up-and-leaving for indeterminate amounts of time. Call it maternal instinct, but I was ready to take on the challenge of preparing this kid to face college in less than a year.
“Your car smells like a box of crayons,” Seth commented as he ducked into my 2003 Volkswagen Golf.
“Just what I needed to hear.” I checked the rearview and backed out of my parking space. “Look, I got it used from this eccentric little old lady. And the air freshener is pine.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“All right.”
Seth played with the knobs on the radio while I dreaded the state of his house. I’d never been inside before, though I’d seen the place when our friends dropped him off after long drives and Denny’s runs. Parking on the grass (the driveway was full), I couldn’t help noticing that the townhouse seemed a lot bigger from the perspective of a housemaid.
“Come on,” Seth said, popping out of the car like a Jack-in-the-box. “We can just go in through the garage.” I followed him tentatively. The garage didn’t look too bad. But that didn’t necessarily indicate anything. Maybe Seth never made it out to the garage with his trash.
Seth crashed through the door without holding it open for me, and I tripped along behind him. Yes, the garage had been a poor litmus test for what lay inside. I tried to pretend it didn’t smell too bad and waded to the kitchen through clothes, soda cans, junk food wrappers and other debris. I had to ask: “How do you live like this?”
Seth shrugged and laughed. “It’s easy. Too easy.”
I sighed. “All right. Let’s start with laundry. Do you have a basket?”
“…Basket….”
I looked around and found a basket on top of the washer machine. “Put your dirty clothes in here,” I said, passing Seth the basket. He looked sheepish. I sighed in exasperation. “Okay, I’ll come.”
Like scavengers, we rooted through the carpet of crud. I wasn’t too picky and let him judge what needed to be washed without commenting on what was left behind. He must have owned as many pairs of jeans as I did. And as many shirts, and as many pairs of underwear – which is especially scary because I have this weird compulsion that my panties and bra must match the rest of my outfit, so I have a lot of underwear.
“Umm… I think I need to wash these pants,” Seth said apologetically, indicating the pair he had on. Without further warning, he pulled them off and threw them in the basket.
“Oh my God, Seth!” I shielded my eyes in horror.
“It’s okay. I’ve got boxers on.”
“I don’t care. Put something else on. You must own something that isn’t currently carpeting your floor.”
I toted the overflowing basket downstairs and ran the load of laundry, showing Seth which buttons to push. “How do you know that?” he asked in awe. “This isn’t even your washer!”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Uhh…. They’re all pretty much the same. How about some food?”
That piqued his interest. I dug through the fridge, trashing several leftovers that had seen better days. Seth watched in amazement as I scrambled four eggs that seemed fresh enough to eat. He remained oblivious to my requests that he hand me a spatula or a plate, so it was dinner-and-a-treasure-hunt for me. I threw some bacon on the side and toasted a few slices of bread. Seth wolfed it all down while I loaded the dishwasher.
“You’ve got to rinse them before you put them in the machine,” I explained.
“Mmhmm,” Seth said around the largest bite of eggs and toast I’d ever seen anyone take.
“Wanna help me get some of this trash out of here?” I asked when he was done.
He looked at the wrappers, cans and pizza boxes on the floor. “Looks all right to me,” he said calmly. I noticed he still wasn’t wearing pants.
I snapped. “Seth, I’m not your mother! I don’t mind helping you out, but God, you’re going to have to get it together! People won’t just do this stuff for you your whole life. What are you going to do when you go to college next year?”
“I guess I’ll figure it out when I get to college next year,” he said, pairing the statement with his classic reply, the shrug.
~
Going to Seth’s house after school became routine. I got the house looking habitable again within a couple of days. But the routine stuck even after his mother returned from whatever “business” trip she’d been on.
I look back fondly on those afternoons of studying for my AP Literature test while he destroyed boss after boss on his Xbox. Most days we had dinner together, even if it was just something dumb like peanut butter and jelly. Our friends liked to tease us, saying that I might as well just move in because we were more or less married anyway.
“You should,” Seth told me sometimes. And sometimes I wanted to. I felt like he needed me there while his mother was working, and the more time I spent at his house, the more I realized that she was always working.
Springtime flowered all around us. Unfortunately, that meant exams. I’d never had such a stressful birthday as that May morning when I took the AP Literature exam. When I stumbled out of the testing room, bubbles swimming in front of my eyes, Seth was waiting for me.
“Happy birthday,” he told me. I was flattered that he’d even remembered. “Can I take you to lunch?”
“Seth, we always go to lunch together,” I mumbled.
“I mean, can I take you out to lunch?” he corrected.
Out to lunch? That definitely was not allowed, and I said so. In twelve years of school, I had never cut a class, never left school grounds without permission, never taken any chances with the administration. Why should I start now?
“We have Journalism after lunch hour. Let’s go then.”
He was so persistent about it that I agreed.
Lunch break, although it had never provided enough time for me to eat, stretched out like Laffy Taffy that day. I was famished after my exam. I couldn't help thinking, Seth had better have something really good in mind.
As soon as the bell rang for fifth block, we signed out on newspaper business and headed for the parking lot.
“This way,” Seth directed.
“My car’s over there. Where it always is,” I said.
“But we’re not taking your car,” he said with a grin. He reached into his pocket and dangled a set of keys in my face. “We’re taking mine.”
My jaw dropped. “You got your license?” I squealed. I hated the sound of my voice just then. It sounded like it belonged to a silly fangirl, not an almost-high-school-graduate. I blushed.
“It took me like, three tries…” he confessed. “But I got it in time for your birthday!”
“This is so exciting, Seth! Where are we going to go?”
“Well, since I emptied my life’s savings account to buy this car and have about ten dollars left to my name…. In ‘n’ Out?”
I laughed. That was so typically Seth. He drove us there in this clanking garbage can he appropriately called “Brown Car,” which was covered with more dents than paint and was missing the left mirror. He bought my burger and fries. It was delicious.
~
My phone rang early in the morning the day of graduation. I knew something had to be wrong the moment Seth’s name appeared on the caller ID. Seth did not make phone calls, not even to me.
“Adelaide?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to like this,” he said. The static was heavy: It sounded like he was somewhere really noisy.
“Where are you? I can barely hear you.”
“I’m in the back seat of my dad’ car. He’s got the radio up really loud. I don't want him to hear me talking to you, else I’d turn it down.”
I swore. “What the hell are you doing in your dad’s car? We’re graduating today!”
“I’m not,” he said despondently. “My dad wants me to move in with him.”
I was enraged. “And he won’t let you get your diploma first? What kind of father does that?”
I could almost hear him shrug in the silence at the other end. But his answer surprised me. “I don’t know. I want to be there. I was always the Nobody people didn’t expect to graduate. I wanted to prove them wrong.”
I couldn’t speak. Seth cared? Who would have guessed?
“Adelaide?”
“Yeah –yeah, I’m here. What do I do?”
“Do?” he asked, bewildered. “Why would you have to do anything? I was just calling to tell you I wouldn't be there. And congratulations, since I won’t see you later.”
“When will you see me?” Suddenly that question seemed more important than Seth graduating or me being at the ceremony. It’s strange the way habit works on our minds. After seeing him almost every day for the past six months, just the thought of life without him left me feeling aimless and hollow.
“Hopefully soon,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll dig some of Dad’s cash out of the walls and buy a train ticket home.”
“Promise?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Promise.”
“Why is it so important that I promise?”
“Because,” I said. “I need you here.”
