Liberosis ~ the desire to feel the blissful childlike state of indifference and experience life's joys without being burdened by its cares
~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~
~°~
I want to dwell inside the mind of a teenager, one that isn't like me. A teenager who has not a care in the world for anybody else but themselves, and they can do this effortlessly. One who indulges in impulsive, reckless behavior all because it looks or sounds fun. Who doesn't think before they act or speak. Who has no concerns for their future, whatsoever.
When I told this to Mr Pierce, he had given me a sad look, like I had missed out on something that I can never get back.
I know that I did. He saw this as an opportunity to bring up me making friends again, suggesting that hanging around my own peers would do me good. Would give me the life experiences that I need in order to feel at least a little like them. In fact, he even suggested that the most common reason why teens mostly do such things is to impress their friends, and less of because they want to. I don't know, sounds like a really stupid reason.
However, I'd stopped consuming myself with those thoughts by the end of the day. By then, it has kicked in that today is Friday, that I won't be going to school or seeing Mr Pierce until Monday.
I'd arrived home to the same silent droopy atmosphere, unable to shake of the heavy urge to cry. It sat over my chest like pure lead. I didn't succumb to it, though. I had such a great week with Mr Pierce, I don't want to ruin it. The ache starts to protrude more, knawing and stabbing into my chest. Almost like a knife being twisted in the same place for the sake of inflicting me pain.
With a wince, I hurry to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Only halfway though the task does the pain spread and start to close around my heart. I suck in a breath, but not an ounce fills my lungs. Panic settles in me as I grip the edge of the counter, taking in yet another breath but getting no air inside me.
My hand darts to my chest and I start heaving violently, crouching down and trying to figure out what on earth is happening. It's when I get lightheaded that I realize that I'm going to pass out if I don't do something quickly. My legs barely shake as I stretch them to lift up. Shaking hands open the cupboard while I try to retrieve a glass. The task becomes keeping it there as I make for the sink, still unable to compose my breathing or get any air into my lungs.
The tap opens, water fills the glass and I drink like that's my last remaining life source. The moment I feel water run down my throat, feel anything really, the tension within me eases gradually.
When I came down, my cheeks were soaked with tears and I was still mildly dizzy. I stood leaning against the counter and staring into the space around me. One would think that I had some significant thoughts, the way I stood there with my eyes focused on one thing, but I was blank. There was absolutely nothing in my head but the consistent sense of ringing that I heard in my ears. Occasionally, the beating of my heart would make an appearance as well.
And I stood there until it was nearing dark time. The only time I moved was to whip my head around when my ringtone resounded across the room. I patted my pockets, only absently knowing that it's never in my person. I always lose my cellphone, it's just so small and useless. My mother uses it to call me, so I have keep it on and around the house. I don't know where around the house it might be right now, though.
I follow the sound to the living room, seeing it on the coffee table. I pick up the device and hold it against my ear. "Hello?"
"Aquila, don't wait up for me tonight, okay? I'm sleeping at Eli's," my mother tells me. She speaks fast, like she's rushing somewhere.
"Okay."
I end the call and put the phone back where it was. I'm accustomed to nights without her. Sometimes, when her boyfriend, Eli, picks her up from work, he prefers to drive her to his place rather than here at home. I'm not filled in as to the reason, nor do I have any comfortable assumptions to make, so I just don't make any.
I decide to change out of my uniform and clean the house. It's been long overdue anyway, especially my bedroom. For some reason, I've committed to spring cleaning the place. I move the couches, beds, fridge. Take out the glasses and shine them, then cleaning inside the cupboards they were stored in. Rewash the old, fancy China that we never use and wipe inside their storage cupboards as well. I deep clean the bathroom, as well as the en suite in my mom's bedroom.
I wash mine and my mother's blankets and sheets and pillow cases and replace them with the extra ones in her closet that smell of heavenly fabric softener. I refold all of her clothes, they were in need of it. I had already done the laundry last weekend and she and I only ever wear uniform, so there isn't always much. As a last resort, I pull all of my own clothes out of my closet and start folding them again, reorganizing them into colors rather than pants and shirts.
Towards 7PM, I leave the apartment to take out the trash, the last duty I have to fulfill before my work is done. I pass a young man as I throw it into the garbage dump of our apartment building, who stares at me for a particularly long time. Honestly, a stare isn't the worst that he could do, so I easily dismiss it.
It's when I'm halfway up the stares and I see him leaning along the railings and smoking a cigarette that my concern spikes. He glances over at me through his brown curls, tips dyed blonde. A grin stretches his lips, a piece of gold shining within his teeth. It doesn't take too long to conclude that this young man is bad news.
His pants hang low, so much that I can see his boxers beneath them. He's wearing a short sleeve basketball T-shirt, putting his lean tatted arms on display. If the Timberlands on his feet don't tell me that he's willing to put up a fight for anything, then I'm voluntarily blind.
I don't plan on engaging in any conversation with him, so I make to go pass him. He stretched a leg out from where he stood on the rail to the wall opposite it, blocking my way.
He smirks, "Going somewhere, mamas?"
"Home," I reply. "Please move."
"So you live around here?" I don't reply. "How come I've never seen you around? Ain't no way I won't remember a pretty face like that." His gaze sweeps over my face painstakingly.
I fight off a cringe. If he looked closely enough, he would see that I'm sweating like hell from all the cleaning, my afro shrunk from the moisture, my old band T-shirt has faded from black to brown and my sweatpants are ripped at the knees. There isn't a reason on earth he's interested in me romantically, so he must want something else.
"Do you want something?"
The smile on his lips stretches significantly. He drops his leg, facing me completely. His height is impressive, especially with me being a step below him. He comes close enough for me to smell the weed in his breath. "Nah," he drawls. Scans me up and down once again. And for some reason, does not grimace in disgust when he sees my raggy outfit. Must be partially blind or something.
Suddenly, he asks, "Where do you stay?"
Don't tell him
"At number 33."
Idiot!
"Forreal?" he asks, intrigued.
Say no
I nod my head.
Goddammit!
"That's right across from me."
My eyebrows raise, but that's the only reaction I give him. He's watching me once more. I'm not certain what he's trying to get out of the engagement.
I reiterate impatiently, "Do you want something from me?"
A low sound leaves his chest. "You shouldn't ask me things like that, gorgeous. I'm only one man."
Easing the unease that chills my bones, I explain calmly, "I really have to get home. My mom will get mad."
"The woman that left for her shift this afternoon that lives with you usually comes home at midnight. I live just next to the elevator, I see her everyday. You use the stairs, don't you? It's why I don't ever see you."
"You clearly don't pay attention if you've seen her walk out, but never me coming in," I fire back.
"Nah, it's time. You're off to school in the morning, I'm sleeping. My bros come over 'round the times your moms goes to work and we hang till round the time she comes back. Must have been missing you each time. You just moved here couple weeks back, too. I'm sure I'd have seen you soon. I'm seeing you right now, aren't I?"
"Okay." I didn't need the lengthy explanation.
"Chill, little lady. I'm just tryna be friends. You don't want friends? It gets boring here without good company."
This makes me bite my lip thoughtfully. I remember Mr Pierce had insisted that I make friends twice this week. I don't want him to have to tell me again. He'll think I'm stalling or something.
I scan the boy up and down judgingly. For some reason, this makes him chuckle. My sharp eyes meet his. "How old are you?" I ask him.
"Twenty-six. You?"
I take another moment for thought. Twenty-six is my peer, right? Besides, seeing as he is a man, my prefrontal cortex has done way more developing than his has. I catch a glimpse of the cigarette in his hand. Considering he smoked that once a day and the amount of brain cells he might be losing, I'd say I'm at least five years ahead of him.
"You need my ID?" he questions wryly. "What you thinking 'bout?"
"Fine, I'll be your friend."
"Yeah?" he's amused.
"Yes."
"Awesome-"
"Just don't do that in front of me." I point at the blunt. "I don't smoke or drink, so don't ever try to make me." He looked like walking peer pressure.
"You sound boring."
"I am."
I push past him, but he grabs my hand before I leave. "I like you, though. You seem tough."
"You seem like I shouldn't be friends with you."
"You ain't tryna be corrupted? It can be fun sometimes, you know? Corruption."
I pull out of his grip. "Not for me."
"You're what, sixteen?"
I flash him a glare. "I'm eighteen. Why would you want to be friends with a sixteen year old?"
He disregards my question. "You look like a child. You know why?" I keep walking, not too interested in his logic. He elaborates anyway. "Because you've never had any good fun. No tattoos, no hangover experience, probably a virgin. I'll bet you a million all you do on weekends is homework."
"You're wrong. I read."
"For fun?" I halt just as we reach the door to my apartment. Look up at him sardonicly. "Reading is like recreational homework. You ever step out of that place for anything but school?"
"I walk around the city."
"That fun to you?"
I shrug.
"That's not stimulating at all, is it? You have any regrets? Hold up, what's your name?"
"Aquila."
"I'm Andre, call me Dre." I lift my hand to shake his, but he slaps it away. "See that shit, that's some sissy shit. Little girl shit. Do you have regrets?" I shake my head. "Then have you lived?"
"You think that to live is to have regrets?"
"I think that to have regrets is to live. You look like you think too much."
I frown. "You say it like it's bad."
"It is. Nobody who thinks is ever happy."
"That's not true."
"Are you happy?"
My mouth slams shut. I think to lie to him, but he's already caught me. With that, he comes closer, so much that I have no choice but to back up against the wall. He braces his arm onto it so that he can position himself close to me. Once again, his weed breath hits my nostrils.
"Thought so," he whispers gruffly. "It's a good thing I met you then, isn't it?"
I ask, "Why? What are you going to do?"
"To you? I'm going to make you feel so much that you forget how to think, Aquila. Would you like that?" He practically breathes the words out.
I'm about to shake my head, but he grips my chin. "No more of that. From now on, it's this." He tilts my head up and down. "Say yes, to everything. Stop caring, stop worrying, just live. Got it?" I don't answer, so he nods my head for me again. "Good girl. I'll see you tomorrow then."
He pushes off the wall, going across the hall to his apartment. "Tomorrow?" I inquire.
"Tomorrow. Saturday. Party at my place."
"I didn't agree to that," I tell him defiantly.
"You want me to ask you?" I nod. He leans against his doorframe, amused. "Fine. Can you come to my party tomorrow, Aquila?" I pause before replying and he adds, "Don't think. It's a yes, then?" I open my mouth. "Don't think!" He tells me again. "Are you coming?"
"Well, yes, I mean, no-"
"Perfect. See you there."