The Quest For Eternal Happiness

Chapter One

"Yeah, it sounds nice. All royal-sounding and all that." I said with a half-smile. My mom had a real intellectual upbringing. Originally from the East Coast, she speaks with the same Mid-Atlantic accent that's in so many old Hollywood films from the 50s and 60s, except hers isn't made up. My dad apparently fell in love with it though, and after 26 years of marriage, he still listens to her ramble – every night, after 7:00, with glasses of red wine and charcuterie. On the ride home, my mom surprised me with some news:

"So, guess who's coming to dinner." She began.

"Who?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Skye, as well as her father." She said. "I'll be cooking lasagna, since I know it's Jason's favorite." Jason was the name of Skye's dad.

"Oh! Well, that's nice." I had something to look forward to now.

Where do I start with Skye Miller? She was my best friend since 1st grade, where in said class, our 5-year-old snotty-nosed selves decided to make a friendship pact, stating we would be together forever. This pact was encouraged by my parents, who thought it was wonderful that their shy, introverted son finally made a friend, and her parents, who insisted (and still insist) that we'll get married someday. Do I like her, in that way? I don't know, honestly. But anyways, adding a relationship to my laundry list of "things currently causing me suffering" doesn't seem too appealing.

When mom and I arrived home, my dad greeted us by the dining room table, a paper cutter in his hand as he sorted through a pile of mail. My dad has been described by almost everyone who I know as a middle-aged Santa Claus. With a large, curly gray beard, a body resembling a bloated chicken dumpling, and a warm personality that will melt your heart, the comparison is pretty solid.

"Silas! How was your day?" He exclaimed, loudly. "Therapist treating you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm totally a new me, dad." I said sardonically.

"Well, nice to meet you, new Silas." He poked.

"On that note, I think new Silas should freshen up for tonight." My mom said. "We have visitors, and I don't want you to embarrass your future father-in-law."

"That joke's, like, so old mom." I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, it's not a joke, mishka. Hear me when I say that the day you bring any other girl home other than Skye will be the day I drown myself in my own misery and a bottle of chardonnay. She's such a sweet thing."

"Your happiness is our happiness, Silas." My father butted in, "But just know we'll be very disappointed if your 'friendship pact' expires."

"I'm too young to be thinking about that sort of stuff, dad." I said. "I should be doing teenager things, like vaping, and developing an unhealthy social media obsession."

"Funny, you already have one of those things." My dad responded. "Now hurry and freshen up, they'll be here in an hour."

My dad went back to cutting open bills and grocery coupons while I moseyed my way up the creaky wooden stairs, and into my room, which overlooked the front yard. My room was, or should have been, as my therapist called it "my safe space" where the sorrows of adolescence can fade into the background of my mind. Instead, every time I opened that door, I immediately took notice of the empty soda cans, tissues, and other various pieces of litter that inhabited my room.

There was also a pile of clothes stacked on top of my chair. They were not clean enough to go into my closet, but not dirty enough to go into the wash, so they all ended up getting the chair treatment, where ambiguous pieces of clothing went when they skirted the line between filth and cleanliness. I usually reserved them for school, because I didn't care about school as much as other events, like that night.

I went to the bathroom across the hallway from my room, turned on the sink, toothpaste caked on the bottom of the basin, and stared at myself in the mirror.

"Look at you." I thought to myself. "Lazy eye, hollow cheeks, pale white vampire skin. God, aren't you just a stud." My therapist told me I should try talking to myself more positively. I don't think I was doing it right.

I bent down and washed my face with the ice-cold sink water, and then after patting my face dry with a towel, I put on some acne spot treatment and moisturizer.

"You're doing so good." I started the self-love façade in my mind again. "Look at you, taking care of your... pimples. Wow. Incredible. Five Stars."

Being ghostly white used to be a beauty standard in Victorian England, you know. Maybe I was just born in the wrong generation – a generation that couldn't give my Vitamin D deficient face the love it deserves. Or maybe I should go outside more. That's a possibility.

I gazed towards the clock on the bathroom wall, just above the toilet. 5:30 - I still had about an hour until they arrived. So, I decided to walk back to my room, shut the door, collapse on my bed, and pull the blankets over my head as I drifted into dream land.