Disequilibrium

Part 3: Junior Year - Scene 1

Summer

 

Summer is a bitch this year.

The air is more humid than hot, the kind that sticks to your skin like super glue. And no matter how many cold showers I take, I can't get that gross feeling off me. Even though I despise the heat, it doesn't stop me from sitting outside. Not doing anything in particular, of course. Just staring.

I'm doing something today, though. I've spent about a week doing nothing since school ended, and sitting outside only leaves me with my thoughts, which aren't very good. Sometimes I'd think about offing myself, most times I'd think about offing other people, and there are days where I'd think about him. I try not to, though. Thinking about him only leads to my chest hurting, which leads to vomiting my dinner on the kitchen floor.

I know Dad suspects there's something not quite right with me, but he just won't say it. Sometimes he'd stare at me for a while, say something stupid like boys and their damn hormones, then start talking about something irrelevant to make himself feel better. Nichole's smarter. She'd touch my knee the way she always does when she's concerned and ask what's up. I never tell her what happened. I mean, I don't fire at her anymore, but that doesn't mean she has to know everything. 

I've got his letters in my hand. I'm sitting at the back of the trailer instead of the front, staring at them baking on the floor in the summer heat. There's a cigarette burning between my fingers but I'm barely smoking it. I can't stop staring at those damn pieces of paper.

Dear Holden, I know you said you understand, but even that won't stop me from feeling like an ass, so I'll apologise for writing late anyway.

I miss the hell out of you.

It's sad. He's drowning and they're still sailing.

He said I'm pretentious.

It reminds me of you.

I rip my eyes from the papers and suck some smoke in my system, blinking a million times per second even though there aren't any tears in my eyes. Fuck him. I'm pissed. I'm annoyed. I'm broken, and he doesn't even care. I haven't heard a single thing from him since the phone call. And even when I try contacting him myself, he never picks up. So fuck him.

I dig out the lighter in my pocket and flick it open, putting the flame right on the corner of his second letter. I recline in the lawn chair and watch the pieces of paper burn up slowly, first white, then orange, and then a charred black.

It takes a lot of strength to stop myself from reaching out to save the letters, to be honest. It almost hurts watching them turn to ash, but I guess it's best to forget them. It's best to let go. And I swear, as I'm watching the letters turn into a black pile of shit, the memory of him rejecting me is sort of burning out too. Fucking hell. It sounds more like a distant echo rather than a terrifying roar.

"Holden! Holden, are you back there?" Dad calls. "Holden, come around to the front for a second. There's someone here to see—is that fire I smell? What the hell are you doing back there?"

Before he can come around and give me shit for lighting things on fire, I stand and step on my half-finished cigarette before jogging to the front. I'm thinking it's Anila again (even though we don't talk much, she probably found my place one way or another), but nothing on earth could prepare me for what is waiting at the front yard.

It's Mrs. Jeong, looking beautiful in the blazing sun. She's got this pretty yellow summer dress on and white pumps that make her legs look goddamn amazing. She's a beauty. She really is. I can tell by the way Dad's ogling her now. I know he doesn't mean it but he just can't help it—you kind of have to stare at people like her. There's just no way of looking at her without a second glance.