Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

2 Minutes Cannot Remember 28 Years

R.I.P. Mitchell Adam Lucker. stomp your heart out in heaven you beautiful human being.  music lost someone beautiful yesterday and I just want to take a moment to remember him.     

my best wishes to your wife and child, brothers, mother and friends. to all of those who's idol crossed over yesterday, just remember, he's having a great time up in heaven, stomping and growling and making gorgeous music up there just waiting for us to experience when our time comes to join him.  "One day you're not going to be here. So be glad you know what life is. You're alive. LIVE." 

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 Why was he with that kid?

Justin hasn't appeared since yesterday, when I lost it on him. I shift around on the cold steps, filling my lungs with the calming smoke to release it into the downpour. Blurry rows of headstones sprawl throughout the wet grass. 

Who was that anyway?

I look around for signs of my ghostly boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. 

Dammit Justin, where are you? You know I was just angry.

Silence. 

I stand up and throw my cigarette to the dirt. It fizzes out upon impact with the watery ground. 

Fuck you too.

Justin's not there for me anymore. I don't know why I can't just allow myself to let go of him-- to stop clinging to his memory-- especially when I've been given no choice. It's not like my boyfriend is going to come back to life, no matter how badly I want him to. He's dead. I'm living. Something about that makes it impossible for relationships to work. 

I watch the rain as I walk. My shoes stick in the mud and by the time I've reached the train-tracks, the once black canvas has prematurely browned. Around me, the Earth is being given life in the form of H-2-fuckin-O. I almost feel like I'm been given life, after being gifted so much death, and I embrace the cold numbness with my arms spread wide. 

Everything is wrong but that doesn't mean I can't feel right. 

Timmy.

A flash of blue darts across my subconscious and into my vision. It's as though a light switch has been hit, and everything explodes into blue. Where is my little blue haired boy?

He couldn't have been getting high, I reason uselessly with myself. It's too out of character.

"But then what else would he be doing. I mean, you don't just hang around kids like that and expect to keep your sobriety for long."

It's a pang of sadness when that thought hits. Timmy was the only person I could count on to stay clean and now I could have lost him. While most people use substances as a way of escape, I'm in need of escaping them. 

I light up another cigarette under the shelter of my shaking palm. With each step I take in a breath of smoke and with each exhale I push another thought from my mind. 

Inhale. Step. Exhale. Justin-gone. 

Inhale. Step. Exhale. Timmy-gone.

Inhale. Step. Exhale. Teddy-gone.

Inhale. Step. Exhale. School-gone. 

I continue this routine until everything's gone except a compact orb of light in the center of my brain, filled with nothing but warmth. I want to reach in and pull it out and cradle it in my arms and light the tip of my smoke with in and protect it from all the blackness surrounding it in my mind. But I can't. 

So with another exhale, I let that go too. And then it's just me and the rain. 

It's nice to step back and simply observe things without emotions getting in the way of it all. Water drips from each strand of hair and each fiber of clothes and off the end of every finger. Seventy percent of me is made of this liquid the clouds share with everything around. I'm being shared with the ground. I'm being shared with the trees and the bushes and the boy I trip over because I'm not watching where I'm going and the rock I face plant into. 

"What the fuck!" I curse into the solid surface. My hands push me up and away from the stone and roll me to face what shouldn't have been standing in the way. 

"Sh..shit!" It stammers, and the voice is questionably male, pre-to-mid pubescent if that's the case. It's unsure of the words it forms, as if they're not the ones it's owner is familiar with.

He, this being the gender I've decided on, and having confirmed my conclusion with the lowering of his white hood, is surrounded by marijuana smoke. 

I snatch the joint out of his pale hands. It's shredded between the sole of my shoe and the gravel in a sudden burst of anger.  "What the hell were you doing!?"

Timmy's caught in a moment of shock as he gazes up at me, green eyes wide. He looks just like the boy I remember- the one I thought I'd fell in love with- and I almost forget to be angry. But then he composes himself and it's all gone.

"That's wasted money, you know," he states. "It doesn't grow on trees, either."

"Money, or weed?"  It's not the right thing to say, but given the situation, nothing else comes to mind.

He rolls his eyes and looks up at me. "It doesn't matter. That's wasteful."

"What the hell were you doing, smoking that? I though you hated drugs."

Timmy huffs. He seems to have aged ten years in a matter of weeks. "We all think things. People change, Damian."

I stare at him in disbelief. None of my thoughts can be made into vocalizations. What the fuck changed so drastically to ruin such an innocent boy? 

"You gonna sit, or what?" 

I sit. What else am I supposed to do? I accept a smoke from his outstretched hand and allow him to light it for me. I watch him take a drag of his, and then another and another until he's smoked it down to the filter and mine's been extinguished by the rain. 

"You never show up to school anymore," I start. My voice breaks and stutters throughout. I get a sudden urge to go silent again, but silence is as much my friend as talking is. 

"Neither do you," he points out. "You're always outside smoking or something instead of class."

"How do you know that?"

"Please, Damian. I can see you. You're not invisible in all that fucking black."

He tugs at the edge of his sweatshirt. My sweatshirt. The one with the illegible scrawl on the front and obscenities on the back.  The one he was so afraid to wear before, and now so carelessly uses words exceeding the phrases it carries. 

"I've gotta go. I have to meet Robert in ten minutes."

Robert Cosworth. Of course. That's who he was with the other day. 

"I'll catch ya around, yeah?"

He stands and leaves me without a chance to answer him.  

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once again, i want to say, Rest in Peace, Mr. Lucker.