I hate this house.
I hate the stale smell of beer that permeates the smoke filled hallways. I hate the crowded rooms, filled with people and clearly pushing the limits of capacity the tiny rooms can hold. And I absolutely hate the constant pounding of techno music that blares from the speakers, vibrating the run down walls to the point where I think everything might collapse.
I hate this house.
Yet, I find myself here almost every Friday night, this one being no exception.
Even with the thumping bass of some terribly repetitive song, I manage to hear someone yell my name over the noise, the sound of "Elle," hardly noticeable in the distance. It's loud enough to catch my attention though and my eyes move in the direction of my called name, trying to lessen my scowl as I turn toward the voice.
It doesn't take much to find the person yelling my name because out of everyone in here I know of only one person who would have the balls to do it, so I begin to push my way through the crowds of people, being far more aggressive than what is probably acceptable. I don't really care much though, in fact I find a little satisfaction in the pushing. As I move my way through the hordes of people I run my fingers through my hair, trying not to get them stuck in the tangles the waves result in. When I reach him I stop and blink, looking at him as he smiles back at me.
"Hey, Matt," I sigh out, annoyed. Not necessarily annoyed to see him, I like Matt, just annoyed like always. "What's up?"
"Not much," he responds quickly with the smile still on his face followed by a pause as he presses his lips against the beer bottle in his hand, taking a long gulp. "I saw you walk in... did you just get off work?"
"Yeah," I nod answering his question as he hands me a beer that was sitting unopened on the table behind him.
I work at Annie's Diner, the cutest darn diner in all of Brookings, South Dakota. When I say cutest, I'm being sarcastic, but the truth is it's actually very cute. I'm just not too keen on admitting to it though.
"Awesome," Matt says with a huge smile on his face. With his tanned skin and shaggy blonde hair you'd think he belonged on the cover of a Californian surfing magazine, but no instead he's in this shithole of a town.
I nod my head back at him, not wanting to say anything else. Matt is nice. He's one of the few people I can actually stand to be around, but I don't feel like forcing any of this sweet small talk crap. I already had my fair share of that at work today and I can only go so long before it feels like I might explode.
Instead of realizing this he just continues to stand with me, smiling widely as I turn my head to the side with my arms crossed in front of my chest, doing a quick scan around the room. It's stupidly hot in here. Not that it surprises me considering there's fifty-some teenagers and the occasional twenty-year old crammed in the tiny main room with no air condition when it's still hot outside with the South Dakota summer. I'm even wearing a minimal amount of clothes and still I can feel myself sweating, which is stupid because I'm not even moving.
"Elle," I hear Matt's voice again, interrupting my spaced off thoughts. "This is my cousin," he points to a boy I didn't notice before, not realizing he was standing next to Matt this whole time.
His hair is on the longer side just like Matt's but it's darker and much curlier. I can tell he's taller than Matt, even with his lean on the table behind him. I take notice of his clear disinterest in this party happening around us and for a brief second feel this urge to give him a look that says "I know, man. This sucks." I keep that look to myself though because I'm not a fan of pointless bonding moments with strangers.
"This is Harry," Matt's voice is filled excitement. "He's visiting from England for the summer."
England? Is the thought that flashes in my head with this information. I could tell he wasn't from here, that was plenty obvious after one quick look at him, but I wasn't expecting England.
"Harry, this is Elle," Matt says as he looks to the boy, still smiling. "I graduated with her last week. She's probably the coolest person I know."
Thanks, Matt.
Even if I won't admit this to his face, his compliment does make me smile on the inside... just a little. I take another swig of the beer in my hand and stare at the new boy in front of me... Harry. What's with British people and the name Harry? Prince Harry. Harry Potter. Harry, Matt's cousin from England. Isn't it possible for them to be a little more original?
"Nice to meet you," Harry's large hand is suddenly in front of my face, speaking the words slowly but still managing to fill them with enthusiasm.
"You too," I nod, ignoring his hand and finishing the beer in mine. "Why the hell would you want to come here? It's probably the shittiest town in South Dakota, maybe even in all of America."
"Oh c'mon, Elle," Matt pushes my shoulder slightly, laughing like I just cracked the funniest joke in the world. "It's not that bad."
I roll my eyes at his comment, but try not to make it too obvious as I do. Matt is one of those people who looks on the bright side of things. Plus it's very likely he's friends with almost every person in this fake ass town.
For whatever reason, a lot of people feel similarly about me. I can't tell you why though because I'm certainly not the friendliest of people. I don't really listen to people when they talk to me, half of the time I barely even acknowledge them. Somehow though, people still pretend I'm this great person, which doesn't make any sense to me because I'm not even close to the same level as Matt in any aspect of personhood. I don't say this to sound pretentious... I think people just pretend to think I'm great, probably because they're all fake, smiling idiots.
"I'm actually looking forward to it," Harry smiles at me, moving his hand away after I've rudely ignored it for longer than I should.
I decide that I like his voice, even if I find his enthusiasm a little overbearing. It's deep and with his accent it's weirdly soothing.
"Well," I push the air from my lungs out, making a puffing sound between my lips. "Just wait, pretty soon you'll be running back to England," I say and he laughs even though I wasn't trying to be funny. "I'll see you later, Matt. I need to find more alcohol."
They both say bye, Harry holding a smile a little longer than I would have expected, and I make my way back through the crowd of people, tugging at my shorts as I walk. They're so short they probably shouldn't even be considered clothes, but I pull them down a little so I'm not showing off my whole ass to the few creepy thirty-year old's that show up every weekend.
On my way to the kitchen I stop and talk to a few people. The conversations are short and rushed on my side of things because I'm not in the mood to be overly friendly. Not that I ever really am.
When I reach the kitchen I find the coolers filled with beer, walking toward the counter to get my hands on one. I hate beer, but I hate being sober at these things even more, so I reach in, grabbing a can from the ice.
After I pop the can open I look around the crowded kitchen, trying to see if there's anyone here I would even bother talking to.
I notice a group of girls who look like they're about fourteen or fifteen standing in the kitchen. While I'm sure they're plenty nice I can tell I already have zero interest in actually talking to them. Judging by their matching clothes and overly done hair, I'm assuming they'll be freshman next year and this is their first official party of their high school careers.
Definitely not talking to them.
I scan to the other side of the room where I see Rick, Tom, and Hunter. Bro tanks and khaki shorts are their outfits of choice... and I don't especially like talking to boys who voluntarily wear khaki. Rick has a snap back on backwards while the other two wear dark sunglasses. Just like Matt, I graduated with them last week and while they aren't awful, I've never been particularly stimulated by any of the conversations I've had with them. They were your stereotypical jocks in high school. They all played football, ran track and said "bro" a lot.
Definitely not talking to them either.
I look over to the small kitchen table and notice a girl dressed in all black. She's sitting by herself and flipping a lighter on and off as she stares into the flame. I've never seen her here before, which is strange because I'm a regular and she looks about the same age. Then again, this house is prone to bringing in people I've never seen before. She seems interesting but just as I'm about to walk my way over to her I see George Reely, the twenty-year old who just graduated high school with us this year because he got held back twice, sit down next to her. I don't know him personally but George Reely gives me the creeps with his dark mustache and high pitched voice, so I don't think I'll be going over there anytime soon.
By this point I've finished my second disgusting and cheap beer so I grab another, walking out the screen door to the back porch. There isn't anyone else out here and even though you can still hear the thumping of the bass and screaming of drunk girls inside, it's much quieter.
I hate this house but I love this back porch.
Even with the darkness of the sky it's still warm outside. There's a slight breeze so the temperature feels nice. I hate the heat during the day when the sun is burning down on the ground, but I absolutely love summer nights.
As I take another sip of beer from the can in my hand I look out the yard in front of me. The grass is long and unkempt, and I wouldn't be surprised if it hasn't been mowed in at least a year. The sound of frogs from the pond down the street can be heard in the distance, and crickets are chirping in the long, yellow grass in front of me. I take a deep breath as I lean back on my hands. Then I look up at the sky above me, noticing the stars twinkling in the night sky, and light a cigarette.
Within my first puff the screen door I walked out of only minutes ago screeches open and slams shut, the loud sound causing me to jump. I don't turn around though when I hear the sound of someone walking on the wooden porch behind me, hoping they missed my startled reaction. I also hope if I ignore their steps in my direction, they'll just go away. It doesn't seem to work though as I hear the feet getting closer and closer, and before I know it I have a companion sitting next to me on the steps.
"You know smoking is bad for you," he says quietly. I'm not used to his voice and even though I don't really feel like being social right now, I like listening to him talk.
"Yeah," I puff out. "Well, I'm what you call a social smoker."
I hear him laugh and I turn to look at him, smiling a little to myself. His curly hair is pulled back with a light colored bandana and he has a dimple on his cheek from his smile that I didn't notice at first. That dimple is distracting too, because I find myself staring at him far longer than I'd like to.
"Aren't social smokers supposed to be around people when they smoke?" Harry looks me in the eyes as he asks the question, gesturing to the completely empty yard and porch around us.
"They come to me," I smirk at him, leaning back on my elbows. "See, you're here," I nod. "It obviously worked."
"I guess you're right," he admits, leaning back on his elbows as well, joining me in the slumped position on the porch. His arm presses against mine, his skin warm and smooth, and I find it strange to be so close to someone that I've known for about five minutes.
"Truth is," I take another puff. "I think cigarettes are disgusting."
He looks at me again, clearly confused as I return the cigarette between my lips.
"Why do you do it then?"
"Mostly because I couldn't find any weed. Can you believe there is no weed at this party? Who doesn't have weed at a party?" I ask loudly as he stares at me, chewing a piece of gum slowly. "Well, there probably is but I don't feel like asking any of the weird thirty year olds here."
They would probably give me something that's laced with something much more hardcore. Or they'd make me give them a blow job, and neither of those situations are worth it in my opinion. I'm not that desperate.
I would have my own but since I came straight from work that isn't the case. I don't like to keep something like that with me while I'm at my place of employment. I do some stupid things, but that is not one of them.
"Do you have weed?" I ask, feeling hopeful.
"No," he shakes his head, smiling at me a little. Even though he's letting me down with this answer, I can't seem to care with his smile... but that's not important. "I don't have weed."
"Shame," I turn my head back to look out into the garden. If I stare at him any longer I'm sure something weird is going to happen, so I force myself to look away from his smile and return to the original conversation. "Mostly I just smoke to piss my parents off."
I don't smoke cigarettes often, like I said I think it's pretty disgusting. I just do it every once in a while when I'm at parties or for my parents to notice. I know it's stupid and unhealthy and I have no intentions of doing it to the level where I can't stop. Right now, I still have some of that mindset that I'm young and these things will never come back to bite me in the butt, even though I'm smart enough to know this isn't true.
"Why do you do that?"
"Because," I lean back up, sitting upright and putting out the cigarette with the bottom of my shoe. "It's fun. I can only be an angsty rebellious teenager for so long before I'm just the fuck up child, right?"
He doesn't say anything and I'm unsure of what to do. He just sits there, leaning back onto his elbows, staring at the long grass of the yard in front of us. Since I don't know what else to do, I stare at his ridiculously tight black jeans and the worn boots on his feet, wondering how he's able to function right now. There must be something wrong with him because it is way too hot for jeans and boots.
"You see," I continue, annoyed with his lack of response. "My parents are both doctors. They have these extremely high expectations of me and rightfully so because not trying to sound full of myself, but I'm extremely smart."
The part is true, and not usually something I'd bring up to people I've just met. I graduated at the top of my class and was offered scholarships to school I didn't even apply to. School has always been easy for me. Teachers would often give me a hard time at the beginning of the school year because I always came in with a "I don't give a fuck," attitude, but they always shut up after a few weeks in when we'd start turning in our assignments. Honestly, it was all easy, even the advanced classes weren't challenging for me. They try to make high school seem like such a big deal when really it's all a joke.
"Anyways, because I have all this potential, it makes disappointing people that much more fun. I know I can do whatever I want and be successful at it but it's kind of fun to fuck up the system and do what everyone would least expect of me."
He still doesn't say anything, simply staring back at me with his surprisingly pleasant green eyes. He continues to chew his gum slowly, tapping his finger softly against the wood we sit on top of and again I have to force myself to keep going in order to avoid staring back at him. Since he's already staring at me, I don't have any intention of reciprocating it... that feels much too mushy for any of the feelings I have with this new acquaintance.
"My parents wanted me to go to a fancy university so I could get a great education and become a doctor like them... but I don't want to do that. Fuck that."
The thing is as much as I like to piss off my parents somewhere deep down I really do love them, although I don't always like to admit it. I know if I dug down far enough they only want this because they mean well, like most parents do. It's just they have been pushing this down my throat for the last four years and they haven't even bothered to acknowledge what I want to do.
"What do you want to do?" he finally says something after staring at me for the last five minutes in silence. His silence paid off though, because he managed to ask the one question I've been waiting for from my parents.
"I want to paint," I say as I breathe out, looking up again at the stars above me.
"Paint?" he sits up as he repeats the word, moving from his elbows to get closer to my face. I continue to look up, ignoring his gaze, and eventually he does the same and looks up to the stars as well.
"Yeah," I sigh. "Not any of that abstract shit though, which is good in it's own way. I want to paint words. I want to make these awesome old school signs for stores and events. Maybe I'll paint a few sunsets too, but not much of that modern stuff."
I haven't fully figured out my favorite style of painting yet. Sometimes I'll do watercolors on paper, other time's oils on canvas. And while I can appreciate all types of art, I prefer to paint words and intricately detailed signs, that, or scenery.
"Why don't you do that then?" he asks the question I have been asking myself for the last few months. It sounds so simple coming from him, like it's the only possible option that could pop into his head.
Why don't I do that then?
I don't know.
Instead of answering his question though, one that I've been struggling with for months now, I change the subject.
"Do you want to know how I imagine my life?"
"Sure," he turns his head so he's looking at me again.
I honestly don't know why I'm talking to him right now. Maybe it's because he doesn't seem to give a fuck about this party either. Or maybe it's because somewhere deep inside of me I'm lonely. I don't know what it is but I can't seem to stop the words from coming out of my mouth.
"Okay," I breathe in, crossing my legs so I'm facing him, placing my hands in my lap. "So first of all, I move out of this shit excuse for a town to a big city. New York preferably and I find a crappy apartment somewhere in the city that's literally a room with a fridge, mattress and a toilet in it," my voice has a serious tone but Harry still manages to laughs at me, obviously amused by my toilet talk. "I'll get a job at a café down the street where I have a real asshole of a boss because he cannot contain his continuous sexual advances toward me."
Harry still stares at me and it's almost intimidating. I've never had someone look me in the eyes and look like they sincerely care about what I'm saying to them. It almost feels like he's leaning into me because he's so curious what the next word out of my mouth will be. I think about stopping and giving up on the story because his stare almost puts me in a place where I'm lost for words. But then he blinks and it feels like his way of saying that he wants me to continue, so I do.
"My tiny apartment would be covered in paintings that I've done. There would be one of a nice grass field in the corner and one of New York at night right above the toilet. I would have the job at the café so I could afford rent and the occasional package of ramen but I'd spend the majority of my time painting signs for all the stores on the block."
It's funny because I've thought about this idealized dream of my future almost every night for the last five or so months. I know living in the future is bad for your mental state, just like living in the past is, but I am so obsessed with this idea that I can't get it out of my head.
"I would be getting on just fine with my painting and work, but there will be a month in winter where I'm feeling particularly down. Then to top it off my boss decides to grab my ass at work right before a busy shift, which obviously pisses me off. When I go to my next table there is a guy sitting there by himself with a guitar case. He orders something ridiculously stupid like oatmeal and prunes and I'm being a total asshole to him because I can't stop thinking about my boss and how he felt entitled to grab my ass when I clearly wasn't welcoming it. The guy at the table is super nice to me though, stupidly nice considering how big of an asshole I'm being."
I watch Harry chew his gum as I talk. It's almost hypnotic, nearly distracting me from the words spewing out of my mouth.
"He would keep trying to start up a conversation with me and for once in my life I actually go along with the small talk. I find out that he's a musician, hence the guitar case, and at the end of our conversation he invites me to a show of his at a bar later that night. I decide to go and when I sit towards the front he waves to me from the stage. He'll play a bunch of Bob Dylan songs and a few original ones, which is when I decide he might be worth my time."
I have never told anyone about this idea before. Then again I don't really have any friends. Matt is probably the closest thing to a friend and maybe Gerdy, the old lady I work with at the diner, but neither of those relationships are deep enough to talk about the hopes and dreams of my future. I still can't explain why I'm telling Harry all of this, but I find it impossible to stop.
"We end up falling madly in love and not long after I move into his apartment because he actually has a real bathroom instead of just the toilet sitting in the middle of the room like mine. We do this for a few years. I paint and he makes music. Eventually we get married in this really old church in the middle of the city. We'll invite all the homeless people from our block to the reception, and it's quite romantic."
Harry laughs again and I decide he has a nice laugh.
"We move into a much nicer apartment, a loft, because at this point we are actually doing pretty well financially and in my dream world rent in New York is a lot more reasonable. My sign painting has really picked up and he starts booking regular shows. We are also having a lot sex at this time, a lot of sex," I repeat. "Good sex too, so good that our neighbors probably hate us. Turns out that I'm eventually pregnant from all the amazing sex we're having,"
Harry smirks at me, raising an eyebrow.
Oh, is that how it's going to be?
"We're thrilled and months later we have our first child, a baby boy. We continue to live in the city, painting, making music and raising the coolest child ever." I laugh a little. "A few years later I'm pregnant again and we decide that we want to move away from the city since it's not exactly ideal for raising a family. So we move out to the beach. He starts teaching music classes there and continues to perform in the city on the weekends and I keep painting, opening a studio in the small town."
I always wanted to live on the beach. I think waking up to the sound of waves crashing and seagulls squawking would be heavenly. Life on the beach seems peaceful.
"Two more kids later," I continue and Harry raises his eyebrows at me again, clearly concerned. "What we like to have sex?" I laugh back, apparently unprotected sex. "Anyways, our four children all grow up and move out of the house. A few move back to the city but some stay in the sleepy town, starting their own families. I decide I need another change of scenery so we move to a farm a few towns down. I continue to paint but I take up gardening as well and we primarily live off the fruit and vegetables we grow. He takes care of the animals and finds another place to teach music. We're both happy and still ridiculously in love, and yes we're still having sex at fifty something years old."
Harry is still looking at me, laughing a little. I watch him as pulls his bandana out and runs his hands through his long hair before placing it back in its original position. His face is a little sweaty from the heat but not in a gross way, he just kind of glistens.
"Our fifteen or so grandchildren," I begin again.
"Fifteen?" Harry asks, obviously a little shocked. This is the first thing he's said since I started telling him this story and I'm a little taken aback by it.
"Yes, fifteen," I say seriously, if we have four children it's easily plausible. "They come and visit us on our farm all the time and I'll take them out to see the ducks at the pond. They all wear little rain boots and run around throwing bread for the ducks, laughing and loving life. Things are good. We're surrounded by wonderful people and still able to do what we love, while loving each other. But then one day he gets sick and everything stops. We go through treatment for a while but when we realize it's not working he decides he wants to go home and I'll take care of him until he... well you know..." I fade off.
Every good story has to have a sad ending. At least that's how the world seems to be for me.
"The day he dies all of our kids, grandkids and friends will be there. They'll all say goodbye to him and hug me as I stare at the ground, trying to figure out what to do. They will walk out of the room leaving me there with him alone. I'll crawl into the bed with him and he'll hold me one last time, whispering about our life spent together. When he takes his last breath, I'll hold onto him tighter before I ball my eyes out. When I finally bring myself to leave the room one of my grandkids will come up to me and kiss me on the cheek and I'll figure out how to pull myself together. For the last years of my life I will continue to paint until one day I can't do it anymore and then it will all be over."
I take a deep breath, not realizing how out of breath I was from talking. Harry stares at me, probably trying to process everything I said. So I turn my body so I'm no longer facing him and rest my head in my hands, blinking slowly. We're silent for some time before he finally speaks.
"Sounds like a shitty Nicholas Sparks novel," he says sarcastically. I look over at him glaring a little but I can't help but smile, because he's kind of right.
"You've read Nicholas Sparks?" I laugh, trying to imagine it. I thought only sappy teenage girls and sad middle aged women read that crap. While I've avoided any of the highly romantic novels, I know what they entail. I'm not above The Notebook... I've seen it before.
"My girlfriend made me," he sighs out, sounding slightly annoyed.
"Does your girlfriend know that you're in America talking to a girl who's wearing very little clothes?" I gesture to my short shorts and excuse for a shirt. Not that my clothes should make that much of a difference, but I know the brains of teenage girls and they definitely don't appreciate their significant others talking to girls when those girls are dressed like I am.
"No," he laughs. "We aren't exactly together anymore."
"And why not?" I ask. I feel like he's been asking me a lot of questions but he's barely said anything since he walked out here. I'm sure it's partly because I just told a twenty minute story about my idealized life, not giving him much of a chance to speak... but still.
"I'd rather not talk about it," he drifts off and there is a bit of sadness behind his voice.
Hmm? Sensitive subject obviously.
"Whatever," I sigh, taking a sip of my beer. I decide not press him anymore about it because honestly, I don't really care.
He doesn't say anything either and we sit here in silence again. I hear yelling from inside the house and I wouldn't be surprised if a fight broke out. That always seems to happen. But I don't have enough interest to stand up and do any searching to confirm this theory.
"I like you," he says quietly and I feel him turn toward me. "You seem interesting."
"Yeah," I throw my beer can off to the side, thinking about his words. Then I start to move on the step I'm sitting on, planning to find more beer. "You really shouldn't, I'm only going to break your heart." I finish and pat his knee as I stand up.
I turn around, pulling my shorts down some. I swear clothing companies want girls to have their asses hanging out constantly. I'm convinced old white guy CEO's scheme together so they can see young girls with the least amount of clothing as possible. Thinking about this, I walk across the porch and when my hand reaches the screen door I hear Harry say something more, stopping me in my tracks.
"Who said anything about falling in love?"