The clatter of plates and forks keep me awake. It'snot even that I need them to keep me awake because I know that I couldn't sleep even if I were lying on the most comfortable bed in the whole goddamn universe, what with the goose feather pillows and all that shit. That's my constant dilemma: my body needs to sleep desperately, but my mind is always on overdrive mode. I don't know why, but it's been like this for as long as I can remember and I can't stop it.
I play with my forks and knives for a while,switching their positions to see which looks better,like that episode I once watched in Spongebob where he had three pencils and couldn't figure out how to evenly place them on both sides of the book lying on his desk. It's really quite frustrating and pointless if you think about it, but I guess most people are masochistic in a small way.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Gap scrambling to our table, two plates balanced steadily in his hands.
"There you go," he says, setting down one of them in front of me. It's decorated with baked beans, two slices of ham, a corn on the cob, and two omelettes. "Is that okay? Or do you wanna switch with mine?"
"It's alright," I smile. We eat our breakfast in silence.
"How'd you sleep?" he asks.
"Same as usual." I wipe my mouth with the napkin provided on the table.
"I figured. You look like shit, man."
"I always look like shit."He turns his head around for a brief moment, fork and knife still in hand.
"Hey, check out that girl on the counter." I stretch my spine up and peek over his couch. Talking to the lady on the cashier is a very pretty blond girl who seems about our age,with incredibly long legs and high cheekbones. I gulp."I dare you. I'll pay for breakfast," he raises his eyebrows, challenging me.
I scratch the top of my head, shaking my head slowly. He sets down his utensils and finishes chewing. Then, with his fingers laced together, he swallows, and says to me all serious-like, "I know it's hard, but it's been five years, man. Really, you need to get your shit together. Come on."
I look back at her. She has her arms crossed on the counter, a smile still lingering on her face even after the lady has gone back into the kitchen."She's in a conversation, I don't know, I don't wanna interrupt."
Gap looks back again. "She's not in the middle of no conversation, don't bullshit me, Ryan. Get your ass over there, now." Tough love has always been his method of encouragement. Just like Aaron.
He nods to the direction of mile-long-legs. "You can do it. But fix your hair, would you? You look like a stoner." He points to the restroom just behind me. Reluctantly, I lift myself off the couch and drag my feet to the men's room, making a show of just how reluctant I am."That's the spirit," he calls out.
The men's room consists of three stalls and one single sink with a mirror above it. I get in the stall and take a piss first, then approach the sink.My eyes are droopy and bloodshot, as they have been for the past couple of weeks or so. At least the brown in them haven't changed, eh, Em? Or have they? I barely ever look at myself in the mirror,so I can't really tell. My skin is pasty and ashen, like I'm a cancer patient or something. My hair is, as Gap said, a mess. And not even in that 'hot mess'kind of way — it's just basically a mess. Strings of long hair sticking out in all directions. My hair has always been kind of wild and hard to control. But you know, I guess this is kind of how I look on a regular basis. Isn't that right, Em? I don't really recall how I usually look. I can only remember how I really look like when I'm facing a mirror.So looking at myself in the mirror now, it feels like this is me, this is the way I look, the way I've always looked, and how I will remain to appear until the day I die.
