Spur

Leaving Brooklyn

I spent the next two classes tearing apart my brain in search of what to say to her in the letter I had to send and hope got to her on time. After more than a few irritating remarks from the teachers ("The class can see your erection from here, Mr. Martin. Put the letter away." Once again, I hadn't the ghost of a boner. Also, is it illegal for a teacher to say something like that?) I had finally settled on a short notice on cheap folder paper.

Friday, the Second of November
Freya,
I'm leaving with some friends of mine to L.A. tomorrow. By the time you get this, we'll probably already be there, or, at least, almost there. Here's the plan:
Next-next week Tuesday we meet at the Echo Park Lake, say, around three? In the afternoon, of course. Wear something red, so I know it's you. I'll wear a suit, so you'll definitely know it's me. :)
I love you,
Ozzie Martin

It didn't occur to me that I could look like an idiot waiting for Godot in a suit; it didn't occur to me that everybody could be wearing red and I could have to approach everybody at the lake to find her. All I thought of was choosing a public place so that she wouldn't feel nervous and choosing a good date so we could have enough time to refill Shelby's tank every other hour.

Roman dropped me off at the post office after school. "You ready, Oz? We're gonna blow this chick's mind out her ass with your sexy bod."

I made a face. "Ew. No thanks." I turned to Missy, who was uncharacteristically quiet in the front seat. I leaned forward on her open window, the toes of my shoes hanging off the concrete. "How's the girlfriend?"

Missy shrugged. "She forgot our anniversary...so, I dumped her." She looked sadly into my eyes, her lower lip quivering ever-so-slightly. "You were right."

I laughed nervously. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that." I looked to Roman who quickly turned forward as if to say, You asked.

She shook her head. "It's fine. See you tomorrow, Oz." I stepped back from the car and put my hands in my pockets, rocking back on my heels.

Roman gave me a cheeky grin. "Later, Ozzie," he called out as he stomped on the gas and the car leapt forward in an impressive show of horsepower. I smiled after them for a moment before turning around to send out the letter.

~

I brought my suitcase and backpack downstairs and stood in front of my mother, who was staring absently at the blank television screen. She was like this every Saturday morning, drinking herself to death from five a.m. to tomorrow. I snapped my fingers to get her attention, inciting only a mild stirring of her thin body in what used to be dad's favorite chair. She was a completely different person on weekdays, I noticed.

"Mom."

She shook her head and her once-electric green eyes rolled to me, now dull and watery. "Arthur."

Arthur. My father. I could feel my heart clench in my chest as I grimly stared her down. "No, mom. It's Ozzie." I sighed, "You were fine yesterday, ma. You're killing yourself..."

She let her eyes turn back to the T.V. "What is it, Oswald?"

"Roman and I are taking a trip to California for a few weeks. I'm leaving now," I gushed quickly, bracing myself for her disapproval, but I was met with an apathetic glance.

"Fine. Be careful."

No, "When will you be back?" or, "Why are you going to California?" or even, "No." None of the things a mother should have said escaped her lips, and she continued to ignore me.

I felt my eyebrows furrow as I tried not to cry. "Oh, fuck you," I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

A car horn sounded outside the door, and I knew it was time to go. I checked my phone, the screen lighting up joyfully and shouting, "Seven in the morning!" Without another look at my mother, I walked out the door.