Aaron | Twelve
The day after I confessed to Dad changed my life completely.
I walked down the stairs after a long night of wondering if they would kick me out the house, or if they would disregard me in the way that criminals disregard the law. I wondered where I would go if they told me they didn’t want me to live with them anymore. I didn’t know anything about being homeless. I didn’t know how someone would beg for food, or how to dumpster dive and not get caught by restaurant owners. I didn’t know how to stay warm through the middle of the night; there weren’t any recognizable shelters in town, if any. I would be living on my own, by myself, and I would have to become accustomed to it, and acknowledge the reality of dying in the streets as the rich pedestrians pass my rotting body and the rats feast on what’s left.
The smell of coffee swam through the kitchen as Mom held her boring mug underneath the maker to catch the black liquid that flowed out. Dad was leaning over the island with his reading glasses on, scrolling through something on his laptop. Neither of them looked up at me, let alone say something like, “Good morning,” or some type of greeting. I frowned, opening the fridge to get a handful of grapes.
I wondered if this was the last food I would have the pleasure of tasting.
Before I walked out the kitchen, Mom said, “Hey,” and handed me a plaid pail. I looked up at her, staring at her shimmering eyes, a smile that brightened my morning. But her lips weren’t curved; they fell flat across her face.
“Thank you.” I swiftly turned on my heels and headed out the door, walking with my head hanging low, stepping over the crunchy snow.
I looked over at my bike, at the metal that was twisted like a pretzel, and frowned. Someone had vandalized my property in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep. I didn't know if Dad called the police; I just knew that I would now have to ride the bus to school, and deal with the blank stares that correlated with Mom's, as they at my neck as I sat in the front seat.
School was different.
Ever since I got caught skipping classes, I swear the teachers and other staff have been keeping their eyes on me. I can feel their eyes on my back as I open my locker door; I can feel them staring at me as I write an essay on if I believe that Lee Harvey Oswald assassinated JFK. Every time I turned around, they pretended to be staring down the opposite end of the hallway. It was quite pathetic, the school system, I thought.
I feel forced to go eat in the cafeteria, too, with my peers who look at me like I’m a speck of smallness. They snarl at my back, too scared to look at my face; they make comments when they think I can’t hear them. But the worst of all is seeing those I used to know: Carson, Lily, and Elin, acting like they’ve never seen me before.
It’s been days since I’ve talked to Elin. For some reason, this hurt the most. I’ve seen her walking the hallways alone, stacks of books in her hands, as she controlled her ticks. Her lipstick was bright, along with her smile. I would try to smile at her when she was alone, and, thankfully, she would smile back, giving me the smallest hope.
One day I caught her in the library, eyes glued to the letters that formed words that were in sentences that read like a ballad. She was smiling; she had finally found a place that wouldn’t mock her ticking, a place that would accept her for who she was, her insecurities and all. So there she was, reading a book, while I pulled up a chair opposite of her. She peaked up at me, but continued to read until she read the last word on the page she was reading, closing the book and sighing.
I was hoping that she would say something first instead of staring at me, but she didn’t. There was so much vacuity in her eyes that I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t.
“Hey,” I said. It felt uncanny, like this was the first time I’ve spoken to her. Like we hadn’t spent the rest of my junior year and part of my senior year talking like best friends. There was that awkward silence, the stares, the stuttering to find words.
“Aaron—”
“I know,” I laughed, but it was filled with pain. I tried to smile. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. Who knows what they’ll do to you if they knew you were talking to me. I understand. Really, I do.” I didn’t know what I was saying; I was just rambling. Nothing I said felt right, though I didn’t stop. “It’s just...I don’t know what it’s just. It’s like, different, to be in this situation where people think that, since you did one thing, that it defines you; it becomes what people notice you as. But I didn’t do it. I didn’t kiss him, he kissed me, and I just want someone to realize that. I need someone on my side.” I paused, looking at my dirty fingernails, picking at them, trying to hold back any tears I left behind. Elin looked at her surroundings, but let me continue. “I thought that that someone would be you, but the next school day you just ignored me like everyone else.
“So I thought I was alone, and I was right. I told Dad, and I’m positive he told Mom, because the morning after I told him, they both started to act different. They don’t tell me ‘Good morning,’ or ‘Have a nice day at school’. They were disappointed, and I know it, so I ran away, but I didn’t get far. The pigs caught me and drove me back home. Dad looked at me in disgust; for what, I don’t know. I’d like to think that it’s for who I am, for the lifestyle I have, but I didn’t choose it, and I’m doing him a favor. He doesn’t want a son that kisses boys. He doesn’t want me.”
Somewhere in that I started to cry.
Somewhere in that I lost total control of myself.
Somewhere in that, Elin said, “I believe you.”
I looked at her, tears streaming down my cheeks. Inside I felt hot; my ears felt like someone was holding a match next to it. I wondered if my face was red; I wondered how pathetic I looked.
“What?” I stumbled.
Elin exhaled. “I said I believe you”
“What?” I said again. My mind couldn’t grasp the fact that she believed. For a moment, I thought it was just me dreaming that she said it, but then I remembered that my fears are constant in my dreams, and the only way out of them is to find hope.
Elin is my hope.
“Listen, Aaron,” she whispered. “I know that there’s conflict between you and a lot of people right now, but you should know that I never lost faith in you. It’s been hard walking around the hallways and seeing you alone, but—”
“But what?” I interrupted. “You could have done something about it. You could have been there for me throughout the whole thing!”
“It’s harder than you think. Just last year, I was being made fun of because of my ticking, and this year things have been different. I’m sorry, but that’s just something I couldn’t risk.”
That disappointed me. “You shouldn’t care what others think, though. You’re your own person. You make your own decisions.” I said, but that’s not always true.
“I agree.”
“Then why not change it?”
Elin exhaled again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
And she left me in the library alone, my tears echoing through the quiet room, the librarian shushing me with her wrinkled finger.
I’m at the mall on the last week of school before Christmas break starts. It’s filled with parents trying to buy last-minute presents for their children; with teens that sit on high tables in fruit juice restaurants; with children that toss pennies in the fountain, making useless wishes. I watch as a little girl giggles as she makes her wish. Something in me wants to shake the happiness out of her, to tell her that her wishes are for not, but I look away. Staring down at my feet, I begin to listen to the conversations that buzz around the fountain. The smell of freshly brewed coffee roams around me.
Next to me, an old couple with their granddaughter laugh at her dancing to the melody on the radio. The grandpa starts dancing with her, holding her tiny hands and shaking his old hips. He looks pretty fit for an old man; the grandma, on the older hand, looks almost like a shriveled prune, her eyelids well-sagged and flappy biceps, and an almost toothless smile. I cringe at her rotting teeth, wondering why the man has stayed with this woman for years. I wonder where her beauty is, or if it lies within.
Intimacy is anomalous.
There’s a buzzing in my pocket. I reach for my phone as the parent of the little girl comes to take her away. She looks nothing like her. Maybe her wish would be to find her real parents.
When I look at the screen, I see a picture of Elin. I immediately answer it, though she doesn’t give me time to greet.
“So I talked to Carson,” she whispers. She must be in public. “He evaded the subject. Like, he didn’t say much about it. But if you guys kissed and there’s something going on, don’t hide from it. You should really talk to him. Stop hiding.”
“It isn’t that easy.” I whisper too, leaning my head down, not making eye contact with any shoppers. “Trust me I’ve thought about it plenty. And even if I did, I’m afraid of what could happen.”
“I know, I know. But I worry about you and you shouldn’t be hiding from him just because of the kiss. No one saw you two. For now, it’s just a rumor.”
I scoff. “A damn shitty one at that.”
She continues. “Everything happens for a reason, and who knows if something good comes out of this.”
“The ratio of something miraculous to come out of a rumor is slim to none.”
“I know, I know.”
“I just want answers as to who spread it. No, I need to know. And why, too.”
“He spread the word about it, but maybe he’s just scared.”
My heart plumps to a desolate pit within myself. The blood in my body stops flowing through my veins. My bones feel like paper. It hurts to hear that Carson is the one that spread word, but who's to say that he told it right, but the person who he told spread it incorrectly? But everything in me still feels like nothing. If Carson told someone like Noah, and heard Noah telling it differently, why didn’t he stop it?
I’m starting to wonder where truth and lies meet.
“Oh, okay. Thanks for calling. I’ll talk to you whenever.”
“Okay. Call me back after you call him. Take care. Bye.”
“Bye.”
But I’m not going to call him. I am going to ask him in person.
“Hey,” she utters.
I’m sitting in a sweets parlor eating cotton candy when Bentley’s sister, Reagan, sits opposite of me. I don’t respond, though I do stiffen up slightly. She reaches in her pocket and pulls out a cig, searching for the lighter.
“I already know the answer but, I’ll ask anyway.” She shows me the cig before putting it between her lips. “Want some?”
I stop eating my cotton candy give her a black look. “You can’t smoke inside the mall. It’s illegal.”
I think I catch a sly grin, but I can’t tell with the cig in her mouth. “Right. I’m not smoking. Not technically.”
I divert my eyes to the fountain. Staring into her eyes intimidates me. Everything about her intimidates me. It’s like we’re David and Goliath, but I’m not defeating her anytime soon.
“Hey, um—”
“Are you following me now?” I ask, deadpanned.
“No.” Reagan points to a bookstore that I’ve never been into. To be honest, I’ve never realized it was there. I can see it: A big girl with not so many friends, working around something she loves. I wonder what her favorite is. “I work there,” she says, then, “Just saw you here.”
I breathe out. “What do you want from me?”
“Now? I want to apologize for what happened the other day at your house. I shouldn’t have.”
She’s bluffing. I can tell from the quivering of her lips. “What do you really want?” I demand.
Then she finally grins. “Have you ever thought about unreliable people are?”
“No.”
She exhales. “Well, I do all the time, and I want to test myself on it. I want to see if I’m reliable.”
“What?”
“I want to be the only person there for you. That’s all I want.”
I jolt up from my seat, looking down at her look of seriousness. My hands grip the edge of the table as my cotton candy rolls in the pool of germs on the floor. I grit my teeth. “I’ve said it once and I sure as hell won’t hesitate to say it again. You’re not my friend. You’ll never be—”
And she interrupts me, a slick smile written on her face. “Who else knows about the kiss?” The words easily slip out her mouth like she’s said it millions of times before. I suddenly turn away to distract myself from the harsh words. From the corner of my eye, I see her stand up, too. Now she’s towering over me. I’m the ant under her boot.
“I saw it with my own eyes,” she says. “Did I mention that I work at Howard & Hassard’s? Remember that, Phillips. I might be the only person willing to be there for you.” She leans closer to me. “And this opportunity never comes twice.”
Before I can say anything, she leaves, and I watch as she turns the corner.
At home, I’m walking through the front door when I see Mom sitting on the steps with her head hanging low. When I shut the door, she looks up at me. Her eyes are red and cheeks wet. I can tell that she’s been crying.
Throwing my backpack in the corner, I walk slowly to Mom, who looks away from me like I’ve got something on my face. I kneel down beside her and wrap my arms around her. She doesn’t flinch, so I think it’s okay for me to touch her.
“Where’ve you been?” she asks. Her voice is shakey; she stutters her words.
“At the mall.”
“With who?”
“No one,” I truthfully say.
Mom looks at me then. “Don’t lie to me, Aaron.” Mom never stares directly at me. It makes me comfortable, and I shift my position, loosening my hug and stare at something else in the house. Before I can say anything, Mom swears. “Goddammit Aaron! Would you just fucking tell me truth for once? Who’ve you been with?”
“No one, Mom. I’m being honest. I haven’t been with anyone. I swear.”
Why can’t she believe me? Why can’t she see that I’ve only been coming home late every day to avoid contact with Dad?
She wipes her nose. “I’ve talked to your father.”
I don’t want to hear it.
“And, coming from his mouth, he says you’re a disappointment.”
I completely let go of her. I know where this is headed.
“And we’ve come to the conclusion that, if he doesn’t like the person you are, then he could just leave the house.”
Tears still stream from my eyes. I don’t know why; I just don’t know why. Mom cries, too. She pulls me into her chest and holds my head as she says something about loving me, but I don’t quite hear it. My heart aches at the fact that I split the family a part. For how long, who knows?
“He’ll come around. He’ll see what big of a mistake he’s making.”
And it pains me that she actually believes in miracles.
Later that day, I’m sitting in my room while Mom sits downstairs drinking a full bottle a champagne. There’s nothing to do; nothing is on TV, the radio is repeating the same Christmas music over and over; no movies to watch. Finally, I end up cleaning up my room that barely has a mess. There are a couple of used pens that I throw into my trash can that’s next to my laptop with used tissues in it, reminding me to clear the history off my laptop. Then I clear off my dresser.
As I dust off the TV, I notice the note Reagan wrote sitting under a stack of magazines that have nothing but scandals in them. I drop everything and read the note. It reads:
“When few friends are loyal, one stranger can be reliable
- Reagan
:) “
Her number was on the back. I didn’t know if I should call it. What if she was the only person who was there for me? Elin stands between the line. Mom, well, I don’t know where she stands. She doesn’t seem upset, but she could only be wearing a mask. So I come to the conclusion that there are risks to take, since everything else seems to be for not.
She picks up immediately. “Hello?” I can hear her breathing.
For a minute, I want to hang up. I don’t know what to say; I didn’t plan this through. Again, she says, “Hello?” with a little anger in her voice. I don’t know if I hear her growl or if it’s my stomach, but I finally get the courage to say something.
“Uh, hey, it’s Aaron.”
“Who?”
“Aaron,” I reply. “Aaron Phillips.”
“Oh, Phillips.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ve made a wise decision opening that note. Like the quote?”
“Mm-hmm. Can I come over?”
She doesn’t deny my request. If I know her from observing her, there’s a smile plastered on her face. This girl is wicked; her skin glows when she knows she’s right, or when she knows she’s getting someone rowled up. And she’s a quick driver, too. She makes it to my house close to midnight. Mom is sleeping when I walk past her. I kiss her on her forehead, sneak out the house, and enter a car that has more smoke than fresh air. Reagan drives off before I put on my seatbelt.
Reagan’s car drags along the sidewalk before she pulls up in front of her house. She’s a reckless driver, cutting off other drivers that she swears to. I was scared for my life, hoping the cops wouldn’t pull her over. Thankfully they didn’t.
When I get out the car, I breathe in the air that blends with the smoke. Her house looks different. It looks less full of life.
“Your buddy is asleep,” she mocks. “He sleeps as if his ass had been beaten.”
“Can you please not?” I say under my breath.
“You can’t take back what’s already done,” she replies, and heads into the house.
Her room is closest to the bathroom. From the looks of it, it’s smaller than Bentley’s. It cluttered with packs of cigarettes and used lighters. There’s sharpie on the wall of all colors, but mostly pink. It’s strange, because when I look at a girl like her, I just don’t see her liking pink.
In the corner I see a poster. It has red string tied around thumbtacks that connect to different parts of the map. She notices me staring at it. I can feel her hot breath on my neck. It tickles. “It’s a college project. For geography.”
I take the poster and study it closely. I study how China is connected to Russia, which is connected to Germany, which connects to Italy and Austria. Behind the poster, though, is something different, something strange. It’s a dark poster with pictures of death and news reports on kids who’ve committed suicide.
“What’s this one?” I ask, intrigued.
She sort of grins. “It’s nothing. It’s just that death interests me, especially suicide. Everyone has a breaking point. I just wonder what it takes to make it there.”