Shadow You Drew

31 | Dan

It's only when I flip my sketchbook page over to write the date on the back of a drawing that I realize what day it is. July 14th. My birthday.

It could be better, I guess. I used to imagine that by the time I turned sixteen I'd be out having fun with a girlfriend and my scars would have faded and I'd feel amazing and I wouldn't be thinking of death. But it also could be worse. In more recent times, I imagined I'd be gone by now.

I'm sitting in my backyard, with my sketchbook in my lap, adding little touches to a drawing of a bird that landed near me. It's hot out, but not so hot it's uncomfortable. I've been eating normally for weeks, I've only cut once or twice the whole summer...

Yes, it could be a lot worse.

It's kind of funny, actually, the house is dusty and dreary and almost always empty. My parents are usually at work or drinking and I'm barely ever here. They always act like they're mad at me when I come back but I know they never noticed I was gone. It's become routine. I spend four, five, six days with the guys and then come here for a night, get beaten to a pulp, deal with a few hours of intensified anxiety and painful aches, and then if I can make it through that it's alright.

And then the time I spend with the guys is perfect. During the day, we're usually playing music, whether at the school with Mr. Cyr or at their places. In the evenings Ben and Platz try to get us to go out as much as possible, for dinner or ice cream or to walk around the Strip or to hang out at Red Rocks. When I'm just with Wayne, we stay at home and watch dozens of movies and he teaches me guitar and we write.

Home. When someone says that now, I think Wayne's house. His room, his basement, his living room, his kitchen. I think of waking up on my mattress beside his bed, or sometimes in his bed if I was lonely the night before. I think of the extra drawer in his dresser where I keep half my clothes.

I think of how we say I love you before we go to sleep. How healing the words feel coming from my lips.

Smiling to myself, I close my sketchbook and head inside to get my backpack so I can walk to Wayne's. I really like drawing. I've always doodled in class but no one's ever given me any indication that I should actually try it. So now that I have pencils and paper I do it a lot. It gives me a similar feeling that cutting does, the control and the calming sensation. It's not the same thing, but it helps a little, along with music, and along with having people to talk to.

When I get to Wayne's house, I let myself in with the key his father gave me and slip my shoes off at the door. I head down to the basement, where Wayne and Ben and Platz are lazily playing a video game.

"Hey," I say, sitting on the arm of the couch.

"Hey," they all answer, not taking their eyes off the screen.

Okay, so I was kind of expecting a happy birthday. They knew it was today...we all remembered Wayne's last month...

No, whatever. No one's perfect, right? I'm not gonna be an asshole. It's fine.

The day passes as usual. Ben gets me a controller and we play the game in comfortable silence besides random groaning and yelling at the screen for a while. We have lunch, although I'm feeling that nodon'teat crawling feeling in my stomach and I'm not sure why. That feeling goes with teary eyes and itchy arms. I thought I was doing better...

Relax. You're not gonna feel good all the time.

But something's wrong and I can feel it. Is it the getting older thing? That I failed to get out so many times and I'm still alive to turn sixteen?

It's not really just that they forgot, is it?

One little thing can't ruin my whole day.

At six, Ben announces he's bored and suggests we go to his house instead. We agree and walk over there, my mind starting to fog. I hate this. I was feeling so good for so long, why does this always happen, why does one tiny thing upset me, why have I become so spoiled with affection that I can't stand not having it again for a single day?

Ben opens his front door and I walk in without even looking up until I feel all their stares on me.

So I look up. And what I see is something I've never seen in person.

There's a big Happy 16th Birthday banner hanging from the doorway that leads to the living room. Streamers wrapped around the railing of the staircase. When I look into the kitchen, I see a cake sitting on the counter, and when I look into the living room, I see presents.

Presents.

Cake.

For me.

I look between the guys, who are all grinning at me, and try not to cry.

"How many birthday parties have you had?" Platz says, breaking the silence.

"None," I whisper.

"Well, we'll just have to make up for it then."

I step forward to Platz and hug him, which I've never done before. Ben joins us from behind and we open our arms to let Wayne in.

"I love you so fucking much," I murmur.

"We love you too. But there's a cake sitting over there and I want it," Ben says. I laugh and we race over so we can slice it.

They light sixteen candles and sing to me. I blow them out and wish for nothing, because at this particular moment, there's not a thing wrong with me. I have three slices of the cake Ben made, and for once I don't feel hungry.

Platz got me some new weighted pencils to draw with and a bag of guitar picks. Ben, a pair of earbuds since mine are broken and a fresh notebook for songwriting. Wayne got me a few really thin long-sleeved shirts in colors that aren't black, a bag of candy, and a stuffed turtle.

I think I'll always be attached to the owl, but the turtle is really soft too.

But the most important thing is that they all wrote me long notes inside blank cards. I didn't read them all yet, I'm saving them for a harder hour.

So yes, it could be much worse. But I'm not sure it could be much better.

A/N: I'm sorry! I know it was a long wait. Like I said, I'm working on something new so expect updates to come a little slower. Love. <3