Counterfeit Children (KURT COBAIN)

10. rumors

sal and a girl from my algebra class and i were sitting outside in the slowly drying grass that monday eating peanut butter sandwiches the school gives you when you haven't given them money. sal was tall, even taller than me, his chin was strong and coated in sad pubescent stubble, he spoke of his mother, pinching his cheeks and begging him to shave his "mustache" both embarrassed and proud seeing the man he was going to become. he laughed and gestured largely while saying bad puns, almost lost his sandwich bag to the wind, and as my eyes followed his lanky frame racing towards the piece of plastic, just beyond him, was the boyish kurt. sal was who kurt so wished he was, big, strong, and heavy metal. 

kurt ate his school lunch, spaghetti and meatballs, with his head bowed, resting on his bent arm, looking away from my direction and towards krist.

later that day sal invited me back to his house to do homework and meet his dog. we walked for a while, joking and laughing, lugging heavy books on our backs. of course, it was raining, but not heavy enough for us to seek shelter or run. soon we stumbled upon a small brick house that he gestured me up the front stairs of. he fished a key out of the mailbox and opened the front door, replacing it with double steps. 

"mi casa es tu casa," he said, gesturing largely and shutting the door behind us. 

"my mom should be home at like 5," he added, dropping his backpack and taking off his shoes, and soundlessly invited me to do the same. the walls were painted white and for the most part, the house was empty, there was an older sofa and a glass coffee table, the walls were barren of family photos. but then my eyes made it to the doorway of the kitchen, where a golden retriever sat.

"zep," sal said expectantly and the dog lurched forward, suddenly filled with movement, a fluffy tail wagging. he first reached sal's outstretched palm, licked it, and turned to me. i rubbed his head a bit and he sat at my feet. 

i followed sal into his kitchen soon after, noting that there was only one bedroom. 

"i sleep out there," sal said, noticing that i was inspecting the hallway. he pointed towards a shed with a rolling stones towel covering the window.

"why didn't your mom just get a bigger house?" i asked him. 

"i wouldn't sleep in there anyway, i like the privacy i guess. i also dislike my stepdad," he said, pushing his shoulder-length hair around his ear. 

"anyways," he said, awkwardly fidgeting with his hand. 

"would you like anything to drink?" he said, suddenly stepping towards the fridge. i shook my head and reached down to my backpack, fishing out my binder.

 "wait you're gonna actually do homework?" he asked, laughing a bit, and filling a cup with ice. i let out a 'oh' and put my books back in my bag. 

"you wanna go to my room and listen to some music?' he asked, and i nodded. he called for his dog and opened the back door, stepping onto a rotting wooden stoop and instantly cursing at himself due to the cold. i stepped out and we both ran towards the shed. 

he opened the door and stepped inside, flopping onto his bed that fit completely in over half of the space. the walls were covered with crude sayings, 'slippery when wet', photos of long-haired metal bands, caution tape, and so much bad psychedelic garb from what i assumed was a parent's attic 70's stash, spirals upon spirals. he had a desk in his room, which held nothing but a record player and a couple of dry paints. the desk backed right up to his bed due to limited space. 

"feel free to sit down," he said, smiling over a pillow he was hugging and then leaning over the desk to put on a record. 

i sat, crossing my legs under me. a record i didn't recognize at first spun in the background. it was rumors by fleetwood mac, i finally placed it in my brain after the first song. he clasped his hands over his pillow and rested his chin low, slouching. 

"when did you meet kurt?" he finally asked.

"as a baby,"

"i met him 6th grade i think, but it was 5th for you," he said. he awkwardly looked around.

"you guys are like, seriously not together right, at all?" he asked after he was silent for awhile. i shook my head, looking down.

"good, i," he paused, looking down too from my peripheral vision.

"don't wanna fuck anything up for anybody yaknow? especially not my friends," he said as he picked at a burn on his hand. he let out a long sigh, or groan.

"you smoke?" he asked, looking up at me. i shook my head again.

"never have, but i'm not opposed to trying," i said sheepishly, scratching at the back of my neck. he crawled across his bed and stood on the concrete floor, remarking that it was 'fucking freezing in here', which it was, being nearly halloween. he opened a desk drawer and out comes a pipe and a plastic sandwich bag, similar to the one he chased. he pushed the lock on the doorknob.

he looked over at me with a sly smile, his hair in his face.

"for good measure," he reassured. he sat back down across from me, crossing his legs under him too.

he inhaled once and exhaled seamlessly. he brought the pipe to his lips again, inhaled, and just as i was going to protest he grabbed my chin, pressed his lips to mine, and blew the smoke into my mouth.

i, of course, coughed and sputtered each time, but we still repeated it, over and over again. sal noticed the goosebumps on my arms when he grabbed my forearm while he kissed me. 

"fuck i'm sorry, you must be freezing," he said, getting up and digging through a drawer under his bed. he handed me a jacket, grey and reeked of cigarettes and general teenage boy, but i accepted and put it on.

how about we just forget this was about kurt hahahaahah he'll be back im sorry, this character is based on somebody i like so i want MORE