The question was senseless.
It was the product of a night of gateway drugs and the whisperings of meaningless dreams in the forgotten motel that sat just outside the city's border. Despite the thin film of smoke that lined the ceilings of Room 14, we both remained lucid enough to understand the implications of such a question.
The question that would change my life was asked by Cooper Rowe, sitting shirtless on the windowsill with a cigarette in his left hand and a bottle of brandy in his right. The bottle clinked against his lip ring every time he took a sip, and he hummed "People Are Strange" between swallowing and inhaling.
I was lying face up on the still-made bed with my shirt unbuttoned and one sock on- the result of a hot August night and laziness. The fan spun above my head quickly and unsteadily, as if it may detach and come down on me at any moment. That thought was not one I was opposed to.
As we silently counted down the last days of summer with empty bottles, we were forced to think about the reality of September. Another ten months of jumping through hoops and smiling smiles that didn't quite reach our eyes just wasn't an appealing thought, and it was perhaps that thought that had prompted Cooper's question.
"Do you ever think about running away?"
My answer was obvious. Yes, a hundred times over. But I'd long learned in life that what you wanted was not what you were given, and what you thought was hardly ever what you did. If it was, I could certainly say that I would not be where I am today. I would be in a wooden box in the cemetery two blocks from the place I had called 'home' at that given time. I could already see the inscription: "Joseph Caron- Not it!".
My whole life had been one long game of not-it. It started with my father who knocked up my mother in her junior year, and then disappeared. Not it. Then my mother decided she didn't want to keep the very thing that had ruined her life. Not it. After that, the game just became how many months a foster family could last with me before they would inevitably crack. Not it. Not it. Not it.
"Do you?" I asked.
Cooper stared out into the rising sun, the sign of another night over and one more summer day counted. He took one last drag of his cigarette before throwing the remainder out the window. He leaned back against the white window frame.
"Everyday."
I shifted on the bed, sitting up and meeting his gaze with mine, which he quickly diverted. My skin felt hot and sticky. My eyes felt heavy from the sleep deprivation. Room 14 was our hide out. Cooper wanted to get away from his family, and I didn't have one. The lock on the door had been broken last February, and the owner had neglected to replace it as it didn't get enough business for it to be worth it. I guess we were technically breaking and entering without the breaking. But it just wasn't worth them calling the deputy on us.
"I don't have anything holding me here," I replied honestly, my feet touching the floor as I walked to grab the brandy from him.
"I've only got things pushing me away."
We never talked about his family. All I knew was that he had a little brother, Jesse, who adored Cooper, and parents who were indifferent about his entire existence. It wasn't always that way. When Cooper was an honours student it seemed to be enough to justify their love. Sometimes I wondered if he purposefully let his grades slip.
"I've always wanted to go to Florida," I said with a shrug.
"New Orleans has always intrigued me."
