ethereal

one

I took a deep breath, feeling the sensation of my chest rising and falling, then twisted the door knob as quietly as I could manage. My mother couldn't find out, it would break her.

I squeezed my small figure through the thin space I had created and slipped into the freezing winter air. I pulled the door tight behind me and waited for movement inside the house. Once I knew I was safe, I stepped off of the Welcome mat and down the steps of my porch. My feet joined the sidewalk and I started my trip through my neighborhood.

I started to kick the saddening gravel that was dispersed on the sidewalk from the developing driveways, making a split decision to alter my route to the road. I continued my journey following the fold in the street.

Before I knew it, the tears started. My cheeks were stained and I found my head pounding and throbbing. I pulled my coat tighter and let my face drown in my own saltwater. I took deep breaths as I came to the Stop sign, grabbing it with my trembling, calloused hands. I spun myself around and around, watching my shadow dance around under the streetlight.

"You too?" A voice called out, making me jump and halt my movements.

"Shit!" I exclaimed in my state of fright.

He chuckled and stepped forward, taking a seat on the curb beneath my feet.

"I said, 'you too?'" He smiled, looking up at me and crinkling his eyes together to avoid the harsh light of the lamp above our heads.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, stepping away from him and letting my shoulders droop. "Straighten up," my mother would say.

"I mean, you want solace outside of your home but you're afraid to run too far, so you just walk yourself around the neighborhood like you're on a leash, correct?" He elaborated.

"No, I'm just really fucking high," I lied.

"Bullshit, I know what high looks like and you're not it," he responded.

"Oh, yeah? What does high look like, then?" I mocked, cocking my head to the side.

"Not you," he laughed.

I scoffed.

"So, was I right? Are you on a leash?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"No," I muttered, not wanting to admit anything to a stranger.

"Would you feel better if I told you I was also on a leash?" He asked, patting the concrete beside him, inviting me to take a seat.

"I'll stand, thank you," I said.

"Suit yourself," he breathed. "So are you the lonely or the loved?"

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, everybody knows only the loved and the lonely come out at night. Which one are you?" He pestered.

"I don't quite know. Maybe the lonely, maybe the loved. Take a gander," I suggested.

"You're the lonely," he stated, just as if he had read it out of a textbook.

"Then you're the loved, are you not?" I asked.

"Why can't there be two lonelies?" He pouted.

"Cause then we'd have to fall in love," I whispered. "And I don't even know your name."

"How about I tell you why I'm here with tear stains on my cheeks and you do the same. Then I'll tell you my name and we can get to falling in love later," he suggested.

I was fascinated. He was so proud about everything he said and never stuttered a syllable. He was dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket with his hair falling in his face in an effortless clump. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one and stuck it in his mouth, drawing a flame from the end.

He told me that his mom killed herself a few months ago and that his sister was killed by her abusive boyfriend last year. His dad was working his ass off to pay the bills, but he had already found another woman to fuck. He cried again.

I told him that my boyfriend cheated on me last night and then hit me when I tried to break up with him. I told him that my mom and dad were both having affairs and that my brother was probably tripping on LSD in the bathtub right now. I told him that my best friend killed herself last year. I cried again.

We didn't cry because of our problems and how heavy they weighed on our hearts, we cried because we were the lonely and not the loved.

"So, can I know your name now?" I asked, lining my bare feet up to his shiny black Doc Martens.

"I'll tell you, but you have to agree not to call me by it."

"What do you expect me to call you by, then?" I laughed weakly.

"My name is Kurt, but please, call me Adam," he rushed.

"Like Kurt Cobain?" I wondered.

"Yes, I'm named after a junkie who killed himself, what a blessing," he uttered.

"Why Adam?" I asked.

"Because it's generic," he answered, and I could tell it meant less to him than a name should.

"My name is Evelyn," I told him, shaking his hand.

"Do people call you Eve?" He asked, smirking.

"No, why?"

"Because it would be real fucking unfortunate for us to fall in love with our names being Adam and Eve. It'd be nearly as bad as Romeo and Juliet," he laughed.

"Oh, God, it would," I cringed. My heart thrived after inferring that he wasn't too fond on religion.

"Can I ask you something, Adam?" I whispered after a few minutes.

"Shoot," he nodded.

"Do you smoke on purpose?" I mumbled, keeping my eye on his dead cigarette that rested beside his foot.

"On purpose?"

"Do you smoke to die or because you can't stop?" I replied.

"I don't smoke, dear Evelyn, I inhale," he cockily responded, standing up and pulling me with him.

We began to walk away from each other without another word, returning back to our houses. I looked down at my figure and stuffed my hands in my oversized denim jacket. My unshaven legs were begging for the warmth of my bed as I walked home in one of my boyfriend's tee's.

I was soon safe and sound in my bed, cuddled to myself under the thick sheets and duvet. My head rested on a pillow as I began to drift to sleep without a tear in my eyes or a thought on my mind.