It's dark, the sound of shuffling being the only thing my mind can fathom. Slowly, about ten seconds worth of slow, and my eyes have adjusted, my leg tingling with laziness, willing me to stay asleep with it. I can see Alex darting around, starting at the window to the far right of his room, over to the bathroom door on the left. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but he seems to be carrying something. He freezes as I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, then he exhales. In what couldn't have been half a second, he's hunched over in front of me, struggling with a backpack, a sweatshirt, and a book. A pre-cal textbook to be exact, mine actually, and while I'm making this connection, he shoves them onto my lap.
Out the window, Mr. Moon greats us in a friendly light, reflecting off of Alex's auburn hair giving him a sort of hue as he stood before it, fumbling with the lock. Finally, and just as I'm getting up to assist of course, he pulls it open, turning back to me.
"Leave." The words fell from his mouth distant and cold, it'd be like getting hit in the gut, if I wasn't used to it. But I am, obviously... I mean why wouldn't I be, right? Moving on. He gestures to the window in an irritated swiping motion, acting as if angry with me, then pushes his fallen sleeve up. Relief washes over me, a sigh in my bones, he isn't angry at all. Angry Alex wouldn't take the time to fix, nor would he notice, the fallen sleeve. This poses the question, why the act? And as I'm scrutinizing his every move, trying to grasp what exactly it is that's bothering him, he is approaching me. He's swift, and light on his feet, seeming hyper-aware of the noise he was making. He grabs me by the wrist and attempts pulling me up from the bed, nearly falling backward himself, he sighs through his nose, as many do when things don't go the way they want. "Get out." This time you could hear in his voice that he was agitated, much like a rash, honestly the similarities between the two are practically endless, but I couldn't just leave. No, I'm to stubborn for that.
"Why?" For lack of a better, well anything that could have been said, I asked this. I really should have just left, I could tell by his nervous body language that I should've, but I asked a pointless question instead. In response his eyes narrowed a tad, and rolled, causing a laugh, or more of an exhale of extra air, like when you "lol" at something online. Usually he'd cross his arms, or show signs of the angst raging inside his little body, but he glanced at the door instead. Seeing this obvious distress I pulled on my sweatshirt, slung my bag over my arm, and kissed him farewell. Not that he seemed to pleased about that last part.
I'd hardly gotten through the window before it was slammed behind me. I glanced back only once to see him so kindly giving me the finger.
I can remember sneaking out of his window the first time, not knowing exactly how to get down. We were sixteen then, neither of us sure why we were here, together at least. We'd only spoken once before that, and the visit was extremely awkward. Three hours of sitting on his bed, very few words being shared, he stayed in his mind, and I in mine. He only really acknowledged my existence when he was shoving me out the window. I admit I was angry at first, seeing as he had invited me, ignored me the entire time, and then shoved me out with not the courtesy of a single goodbye. Though that feeling of anger quickly dissipated when I'd seen his dad's truck in the drive, looking at it as I am now. To the surprise of many, Alex's father was quite strict with him. He couldn't have people over, sweets were prohibited, dating was out of the question, and leaving the house was a once in a blue moon thing. In his father's eyes I wasn't much of a threat, he thought Alex to be straight as a board, and viewed him as a sort of itch he couldn't rid... sometimes.
The walk home was cold, 36 degrees worth of cold, and smelled like rain. In march. Oh weather! Why must you be so unkind to this wandering traveler! Despite the chill, in my heart I was content in my journey, it gave me time to think. Thoughts about everything, and nothing flood me. Math tests, questions about how exactly economics is considered a history course, insecurities, cats, what pigeons do when no one is watching. Everything and nothing. Nothings that could be somethings. Everythings that could be the equivalent to white space. Mostly the pigeon thing though.
My mother was definitely not impressed by the "timely manner" in which I decided to return home. She stood arms crossed in the hall repeating the questions I'd heard far to often. "Why wouldn't you think to call?" I'd respond with a shrug, and say that I just didn't. She'd continue saying that I needed to be more responsible, "what if something happened to you?" In her eyes there was concern, though you wouldn't guess it from her voice.
"Well, nothing did, I mean I can check again if you want." Please ignore my disrespect, I'm not always this rude. She'd sigh, and mention the countless times we've had this conversation, and take the time to discreetly reiterate when exactly my curfew was. Glancing at the clock I can tell you now, I'm two hours past curfew, the current time being 11:03. I sigh, looking down on her from halfway up the stairs. "I know Mom, I just lost track of time." She drops her crossed arms, and looks up at me, her voice a bit discerning.
"You've been losing track of time a lot lately." Her fingers trace the railing of the stairs as her eyes shift from mine. "Is there anything you're not telling me?" Yes.
"No ma, I've just been busy lately." This was complete bullshit, but what else do I tell her?
"With what Darren?" She rests her elbows on the rail, cupping her chin in her hands, feigning a pose of interest. Losing the worrisome mother resolve, she replaces it with her dominant voice, designed to evoke a particular frightened response. One similar to the response of a child, feeling nervous when caught red handed. But has she really caught me at all?
"Stuff." Short and sweet, an effort to frustrate her into leaving the conversation.
"What kind of stuff?" Turning my own strategy on me? Clever. And sadly, effective.
"I don't know mom! Stuff! Does it really matter?!" She opened her mouth to speak, my father entering the room, cup in hand. Her name was all he'd said, warning her to back off. He'd mentioned Tommy sleeping, and she sighed. She'd looked exhausted as she released the tension from her body, pushing some stray strands of hair behind her ear. Now it was my turn to exhale into the air. I apologize for my behavior, suddenly feeling spent myself and try to give some reassurance. "I'm eighteen, I think I can take on a few creepy crawlies." She smiles a bit, my father passing me on the stairs, turning back to ask if she was coming. She'd smiled tiredly and nodded, yawning softly into her hand as she ascends the stairs herself. I allow her to pass, a sharing of goodbyes, goodnights, and see you in the mornings floating into the atmosphere around us.
Entering my room was a like a hug. By my unmade bed sat the window that let in symphonic smells in the mornings, by the window sat my laptop rested upon my bed. By my dresser sat my bed, by my window, by my laptop. And across the room lived the television. I had a rather small room, hardly having room for my things, and everyone else's things, seeing as my room was used as storage. Not that it bothered me much, I liked my small room with little adornments.
I approached my bed, removing my jeans, replacing them with pajama pants, and crawl in with a creek. My only complaint with my bed was that it was a twin mattress. I was to tall to fit on it three years ago, and I am even more so now, and it's so old the springs have actually cut me through the fabric. At the end of the day though, I wouldn't change it, I've had so many memories here, on this very mattress. I first kissed Alex here, which he left abruptly after, I snuggled my first girlfriend here. I've spent countless summers here, cried here, laughed here, had sleepovers here. I can tell you every stain, and how it got there. This bed is a part of me. Apart of the last eight years if my life, and I honestly, almost, never want to replace it. What it lacks in comfort it makes up for in nostalgia.
Another creek graces me as I shift to lay down, hardly getting my eyes closed before my phone rings. Low and behold it's Alex, speaking softly not to be heard, an apology floating towards me. He apologizes for earlier, and let's me know that he's grounded for ignoring his father. He drones on and on like a teenage girl, complaining about his lack of freedom, and how his father doesn't trust him, but I wouldn't either if he were my child. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, attempting to conspicuously come home wasted. I laugh at his complaints, somehow finding his whining a little cute.
"Don't laugh at me asshole" He grumbles, and I can picture him scowling. Again I laugh.
"Baby, it's late, I've got to sleep." He sits quietly on the other line while I yawn, and await his response.
"Whatever." Short and icy, that was the end of the phone call, and my cue to finally go to sleep. Math test in five hours. I'm going to fail.
