That year, the last of my father in my life boiled down to a Christmas card, explaining everything, talking about his life and what he expected for the rest of it. I'd never made it past the first line without feeling my whole stomach threaten to upheave itself.
The card still sat at the bottom of my bed stand drawer, half torn and stained with morning oatmeal from the trash can. I would lie on my bed, holding it and reading over the first few words before I flipped onto my other side and tried to sleep away the torment. But sleep never found me easily, and whatever minimum I did grasp, I only did it to not remember the feel of the card's paper between my fingers.
In the nightmares that found me, my mother would be there, whispering.
Angel, my Angel
What have you done?
___________________________________
February came like a fever dream.
January's drab chill faded out slow and steady into the rosy atmosphere of the new month. People were no longer mulling over the loss of last year, and were now in the full swing of the new one. Pink and white candies appeared on shelves. Chocolate boxes were pasted on posters against windows. Rings and necklaces were in every other media advertisement. The air was chilly but spiked with sweet.
Every month had its shining holiday, and February's Valentine's Day was not forgotten from this rule.
I didn't have anything against Valentine's Day, but I didn't have anything for it either. I'd never genuinely dated anyone in my life, what with my bevy of trauma and my lack of interest. God would not approve of my romantic history at all, in fact, even if it only supplied of three incidents. Needless to say, I'm no Romeo.
"Maybe you should just do what all lonely people do on Valentine's," Maia said as she counted tips. "Buy a box of chocolate and watch a bunch of rom-coms."
"Or do a goddamn science project," I muttered, leaning against the counter. "Mrs. Moon is making us do a subject-combination project."
"You got chemistry?"
"I got chemistry." I shook my head. "What the hell?"
Maia laughed, tying up her hair. "Sounds fun. What do you have to do?"
"She picked out everyone who took chem last year and told us to write out a reaction that could relate to The Scarlet Letter," I said. "Whatever the hell that means."
"Ah, that," she said. "My friend did something like that last year. She just burned lithium, because the fire is red."
I perked up. "I'll just do that."
Maia frowned. "You can't just steal—"
"I won't, I won't." I tore off a blank order paper and scribbled something down. "I'll do strontium chloride. Burns a similar color."
She laughed. I raised a curious brow.
"For someone who remembers so much about chem," she explained, "you sure did fail it miserably."
"I'm not much of a school guy," I replied. "Being smart gets you nowhere."
"Gets you somewhere if you use it."
YOU ARE READING
Suicide Buddies
Teen Fiction"My mother once told me there are three, and only three, truly defining moments in your life. One: When you don't know. Two: When you realize you don't know. Three: When you know. This is about the third one." --- Angel Young is going to die. Or at...
A Struggling Student's Guide to Robbery & Rhetoric
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