The rebellious teen looked puzzled at the six foot man standing in front of him. The boy knew what he wanted to do, but he was not sure how he would execute the act. History should not repeat itself, but the police would be on the man's side again. This was nothing criminal or immoral. He wanted to put the man in his place for several reasons over a series of past events. It was no male bashing party, but a party with limited guests. A private party without the music, stripper pole, and a hard-working middle class mother pretending to be a volunteer firefighter under a downpour of singles. The man found an opportunity to pick a fight with the teen after he discovered his wallet was missing a few Jackson's. There were no drugs, no paraphernalia or erotic subscriptions. The boy was desperately stealing date money. He was no jock, pickup artist, or frequent player in the modern dating world. The teen was unemployed for several months after a highly reputable business closed their doors to American consumers. The European investors would not hire him back. The boy was not a thirty year old polyglot with a college degree willing to accommodate an international clientele. He was an average hormonal teen looking for a network of friends with cuddle benefits. The past experiences with different relationships have helped him make a connection between hostility over intervention. The man demanded more than financial gain. He wanted the teen out of the house so he can carry out his misogynistic behavior upon the teen's mother. The mother was naive about the way the man treated her. She believed it was tough love. This man had no tolerance for love. The man who craves knowledge without power will be more successful than the man who craves power without knowledge.
The belligerent man's voice escalated out of rage. "Get over here right now! Don't make me count!" The man's index finger remained pointing at the hardwood floor as if he was addressing a dog to follow a command. The man's direct eye contact was intimidating to the teen, but his actions failed to carry out his seriousness. Imagine Hitler in a football mascot costume trying to gain control of the entire stadium. All he can do is stand straight like a store mannequin in the center of the football field with his right arm raised to the sky. Imagine the inattentive crowd around him witnessing the priceless expressions on his face from disloyalty. This mannequin had no fashionable sense with a hashtag directing back to him, "#ManHeCant." The man showed a natural appearance of a wild black bear looking for food at a campsite. Unfortunately, Smokey's cousin did not find a single crumb of obedience. He was shot with a challenge. The teen instantaneously shot a tranquilizer dart straight to the man's ears.
"Count! Fucking count, you dick! Stop treating me like a child! The only time you ever count is when you sleep behind my mother's back! She doesn't deserve you! No woman on this planet deserves a sack of shit between their arms. You're a fucking disgrace to men!"
The silence grew with intense emotions escalating inside each other. The man's face became a distinct fire truck red as he perspired from his forehead. The rage traveled to his eyes as they grew wider while his nostrils filled with air. He was a bull preparing his release into the ring against an amateur matador. The tension passed through his fingertips as they curled into the palm of his hand.
"Excuse me?" He cleared his throat and paused for a minute. "What did you say to me?"
The teen shook his head in disbelief. "Don't act like you didn't hear me, asshole. You might have selective hearing but you heard everything. You only listen when it's all about you. Would you like me to repeat it for you? You're a disgrace if you call yourself a man. Do us all a favor, okay? Leave my family alone!"
The man was speechless as his fists were clenched together against the sides of his legs. His knuckles became discolored. The look in his eyes labeled him as an apathetic asshole, but his intent was confirmed. He wanted to strangle the teen with his bare hands before the mother arrived home from work. The man impatiently encouraged the teen to seek independence outside the home. The transitional period for a baby bird to fly out of its nest is compromised when the nest collapses beneath the confidence to fly. As a traditional man of disciplinary action, it was his definition of becoming a father. He believed disciplinary action was a form of support. A man can discipline his son to refine behavior and morale without supporting the decisions his son makes when he reaches desired characteristics. It was not a matter of not supporting his step-son, but supporting himself to support others in their self-discovery.
The man extended his hand to the teen when he wanted to attack. There were never exchanges of praise, hugs, or even handshakes. The first attempt of abuse was only a week before this happened. In another heated argument, the man's fingers were a few inches shy from leaving a mark on the boy's neck. The teen threatened to call the Department of Children and Families, but his mother was a peacemaker. She had a heart full of platinum because of her altruistic nature. She would sweat over a hot stove after a nine-to-five shift in retail to support her family. If anyone watched closely, they were able to see the struggle in her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes were never bloodshot, but her pupils were entrances to a black abyss holding a young woman captive of her own body. She shed more than thick layers of experience and perseverance, but those were no ordinary tears from onions. They were heavier with a slightly different flow across her pale skin. They were always extremely difficult to watch from afar. The teen's mom tried to prevent her makeup from smearing. She kept her feelings to herself to prevent any unwanted attention. The attention was an untold story of a middle-class working mother providing the most for her family before she finally catered to herself. If, given the opportunity, she gave herself some time to reflect. The teen knew his mother faced depression under the control of her boyfriend. The boy had nothing else to say to the man, but a simple hand gesture. The teen raised his middle finger high above his head as he turned around heading toward his room across the hall. The teen did not bother to jerk his head back to see the reaction from the man's face. It would have been the last reaction the boy wished he would have seen.
"You're number one, bro!" The teen slammed the door behind him and lied flat on the floor with his ears aligned with the threshold. The boy could hear a wide range of slurs and familiar curse words. He smirked at the mentally vivid image of a truck driving pirate blowing his loud horn through the hallway. A few minutes passed before the man grew tired from waiting outside the boy's bedroom door. The man left the hallway huffing back to the kitchen to light a smoke. The man could burn through several packs a week leaving the ash trays spilling over the sides. He was a disgusting man with no respect to the home. The mother smoked outside to escape reality, relieve some stress, and carry on her busy schedule. The boy had no interest in smoking from being a second-hand smoker for his entire childhood. This was enough to realize the effects of smoking without lighting a single cancer stick. The kids at school were always playfully teasing him by bumming for cigarettes. A few teachers questioned the smelly clothes while others assumed it was a parental burden hindering the freedom to enjoy a cleaner home. A clean home not only provides comfort and happiness, but a sense of direction and well-being. The man had a different direction in mind for the boy without the consent of his own mother.
"That kid is going to be booked on the next flight to a boarding school! I am done with this bullshit!"
The house filters with unsettling silence. The teen sat on the floor against the door as tears trickled across his face while he pulled the pocket knife out of his back pocket. The blade glistened from the moon's reflection passing through the window. The sharp blade across the surface of his wrist was cold and the anticipation grew with fear and regret. A flash of images with family, friends, unfinished aspirations and future obligations sparked in front of him as his eyes were shut. The boy's defiance quickly subsided. The blade suddenly rose above his skin as his eyes opened.
"I can't do it." The teen hesitated to press further into his skin. "That prick isn't even worth a second of my life. A stranger is not worthy of my blood, unless it is the only thing left to offer. What am I doing?"
The teen threw the pocket knife across his bedroom floor. The boy did not want to waste another minute with the man occupying his life. The final decision was made. The teen grabbed his backpack from the floor to fill it with necessities from his bedroom. This was barely enough to last him for a week, but he had a box of snacks stashed under his bed for midnight cravings and sudden apocalyptic emergencies. The teen dangled his feet over the sill shortly after he opened the window. He glanced back at his room with regret knowing he was going to leave his mother behind.
He wiped the last tear across his cheek. "I am sorry, mom, but I'll be back. I love you."
The boy descended out of the window falling into a bush below his feet. The bush scratched the side of his leg causing a small trail of blood. He ran a finger along the side of his leg and the bleeding stopped.
In a desperate attempt to run away from his family, the teenager approached the bus shelter a block away from his home with his fingers digging into his jean pockets. He pulled out a few quarters, dimes, and nickels. Pennies annoyed him. The face value will always remain below the production cost. He had a jar full of pennies left in his room on the top shelf of his closet. He had no reason to take them to a coin collecting machine at the store. After counting the change, he knew there was no turning back even if he wanted another transit ticket. He made the final decision as the bus came to a complete stop.
The doors opened with a friendly smile on the driver's face. The teen dug inside his pocket and placed his hands over the farebox hearing the coins clink against the metal sides. The teen commuted on the last evening bus to the city. The street lights from the suburban neighborhoods welcomed his spontaneous drive for freedom as they guided his way toward his unexpected fate. The city was a beautiful place at night during the winter holidays. The streets were decorated with festive lights in the shapes of white snowflakes, yellow holiday bells, and red ribbon bows. The nearby highways were skies on the ground with shooting stars flying in sync with each other. The traffic extended around the corner in multiple lanes which prolonged the peaceful ride into the downtown area. The bus was calm, the driver was too relaxed, and the lights from small businesses dim for the night. When the city bus came to a complete stop, the driver looked back with a sigh on his face. He shouted to the back of the bus.
"Ay, ay kid! Sleeping Beauty! Wake up!"
No response, not even a flinch. A deep sleep was in the way of his undivided attention. The driver rose from his seat and walked through the aisle. The bus driver's sudden tap on the boy's shoulder provoked sudden movement.
"Wake up, kid."
The driver watched a set of frequent twitches and stretched out fingers as the teen awakened. A set of dark brown eyes suddenly stared back at the driver. The startled teen quickly lifted his head from the seat. An awkward silence between the driver and the teen passed as soon as the driver explained the situation. The boy rose from his seat. The man quickly walked over to the wheel to complete his shift. He was shaking his head with pity as he opened the bus door right beside him.
"Kids these days."
Quickly rushing out of the bus, the teen made his first step into independence at a bus shelter near a poorly lit streetlight. A nearby pub turned off their lights for the night as the last customer stumbled against the lamp post. The bus passed by the boy with the lights turned off. The rush of being miles away from home quickly escalated to fear. The alert teen cautiously looked around for anyone walking the streets like a reality game of Apocalyptic Ambush. He passed by a bakery on the corner with bums sitting by the curb eating the daily leftovers from the dumpster. Bums. The boy would cringe at the word and suggest something more politically correct. They were urban dwellers, or people who reside in the city. The teen was disgusted by the local bakery. He wanted the owner of the shop to spare a few pastries to the lurking shadows. The teen's stomach rumbled. A man in a trench coat politely walked to the boy illuminating under the streetlight. The teen hesitated to engage in a conversation until the man genuinely tipped his hat to acknowledge his presence.
The man smiled at the teen. "You're running away from something."
"No, I ... uh, got off the wrong bus stop. I'm trying to find my way back to the suburbs."
The man laughed hysterically at the boy's white lie. "I can sense your fear, young lad. The neighborhood rats have more confidence than you do. Tell me. Where would you wish to be right now?"
The boy stuttered looking up at the tall man. "Anywhere?"
The man looked around him presenting the city like a real estate agent selling property."Yes, anywhere you want."
"I wish to be anywhere but home."
"How does the city sound?
The boy paused for a minute. He embraced the new environment surrounding him with vulnerability and hope. The sight of brightly lit strip clubs, late night restaurants, and a few pedestrians walking by provided a good vibe of a new beginning. A smile appeared on the teen's face as his mind raced with new ideas. The boy wanted to live in a high-rise apartment building overlooking the entire city, almost as enthralling as the sight overlooking France's historical monument. The night was fascinating to him since the time his parents flew over to Florida for a summer vacation. The airplane window seat was always priority seating on night trips. A maintenance-free lawn in the city lured him closer. The ease of living life without the hassle of outdoor chores and responsibilities filtered through his mind. An instantaneous response to the man's question rose to the conversation. The city sounded like a drama free home welcoming his arrival. It was an unexpected offering to lift the weight off his shoulders. The boy responded with his head facing the streetlights.
"Listen, it's absolute bliss."
Despite the experience of living the boy's naive dream, the man chuckled at the sound of speeding cars, car alarms, and city dwellers rustling in the dumpsters for more food. The alarming sirens from the police cars and ambulances were more exciting to the teen than loud neighbors shouting in their backyard during family picnics and loud parties.
"Well, I can live with those changes. I wish to live here. Far away from home. Far, far away from him."
"Who?"
"Nobody. He's nothing special."
The man grinned with his eyes shut tight as he lifted his hands above his head. The foreign words astonished the teen as they escaped across the man's tongue. A mixture of Latin, English, and gibberish created a ritual of chants with a gust of wind swirling around their feet. A stack of papers from nearby dumpsters swirled around in a circle creating a surreal experience found in movies.
"Ahhhshumbella! Ahhhshumbella! Barba tenus sapientes! Carpe noctem! Ahhhshumbella! Ahhhshumbella! Ex nihilo nihil fit! Cui bono? Cui bono! Take your panem et circenses apart from lust and sin. Feel your heart beating within! Close your eyes and count to three. Your beard shall grow as your pain sets you free!"
The wind subsided as the newspapers descended back to the ground like autumn leaves. The man walked away into the dark alley laughing hysterically. He turned back around to smile at the boy.
"What are you waiting for, kid? This is your home. No down payments. No contracts. No paperwork. I am not even carrying a pen on me anyway! Find yourself a crate near the restaurant back door and make yourself at home. Sit back and relax. I suggest you take a few crates with you." The man pointed at a stack of crates beside the teen. The boy squeamishly stepped back as the rats scurried around for food. "What? Wait, here? This place is disgusting!"
"Fix it. If you are not necessarily keen about here, there are a few other alleys to check out. Young lad, please remember one thing, you cannot go back to where you once lived. Your family will not recognize you. Follow me. Take a look for yourself." The man's stern appearance disappeared as he walked through a streetlight.
The man slowly walked toward the jewelry store without looking back. He stopped to point at the reflection of the glass window. The boy approached the man as he admired himself through the glass display. The boy noticed an ugly bearded man looking back at him, mimicking the moves he made. The boy reacted in disbelief when he saw his new makeover.
"What happened to my face? That's not me at all! I'm hideous! I'm dirty! I'm ..."
The man interrupted as soon as he saw the boy move his hands closer to his eyes. "You're homeless. I advanced your growth. Be a man. It's the price you pay for your wish. "
"No! No, I wanted to live anywhere but home. You promised! You promised you would take me anywhere I wanted."
"Relax. You got your wish, kid. You agreed to live here in the city. Run along!" The man did not waste any more time. "I do not accept refunds."
A stream of tears passed through his brand new unkempt beard and along his blistering chapped lips. Running away from family and friends was temporary, but the change was inevitable. The family and friends back home questioned his disappearance and it was only a matter of time to forfeit all the effort acquired for a search. The disappearance of a soul is death to an impatient mind. Only the heart is willing to search for answers and reassurance.
"But my family, they will look for me. They will be worried. They will never find me."
The teen looked back at his reflection on the glass window. A few nose hairs were already curling around his nostrils, a dirty mustache sat above his lips, and his teeth wore a thick layer of plaque. The reality set in as his fingers dragged away from the scruff on his face. The hysterical laughter from the man stopped. The man slowly placed his hand over the boy's shoulder from behind. The boy startled as his whole life shifted in a new direction.
"Let me tell you this, kid. If you can grant a wish to someone else, your soul will be set free from the curse I cast upon you. The person cannot be related, a friend, an enemy or a past love. You have to meet someone, any undergraduate at a university willing to take a challenge toward self-discovery. You will know when you see them. You will feel the connection right away. Good luck, my boy. Catch some sleep. The city is a big playground. Play, stay alert, and watch your back. Nobody ever plays nice around here, not even the rats. You should never trust a walking soul on the streets. You will lose everything else left on your shoulders. Oh, and one more thing I must give you." A business card appeared from his pocket. "Take this. Keep it safe."
The trench coat disappeared in the dark as the man descended into the alley. The last tear was shed from the homeless teen's dirty face as his fingers rubbed against the business card. The teen noticed the card was blank.
"Why am I keeping this safe? How is this useful?"
He placed the card into his pocket while walking through the street lights glaring at the group of people hurdling around a trash can blazing with bright orange flames. They looked back at him with eyes signaling territorial defense. They seemed unfriendly, unwelcoming and overly-protected. They have earned their spot near the blaze and gained each other's trust to be a part of their elite group. The crackling flames and smell of smoke were fed with nearby wooden pallets. The boy watched the fire burn through the wood supply while the urban dwellers huddled together. The boy, awakened by an urban dweller by the next morning, became a man.
I snort after I conclude my story. The ending was weak, the narration was too dramatic, and my stepfather owes an apology to my mother. "Bliss. Anywhere, but home." Why did I make such a careless decision? My mind was overwhelmed with emotions. I was emotionally unstable. I was intoxicated with a heavy dose of negative energy. The dysfunctional family I left behind five years ago was never given a chance to listen. I never provided them one. I left my own mother behind with an egotistical man. He was a dick of all trades. The relationship with my step-father never improved and the distance away from my mother weakened her heart. She died from a massive heart attack. I found her obituary in a local newspaper thrown in a trashcan. The severe depression never helped her either. My step-father made her believe she was unworthy of her existence. He was manipulative, controlled what she did, and every penny she earned. She had to explain herself for not answering his calls within a minute upon receiving them. I sense she was not willing to let go as soon as her heart did. She believed in finding me. She had her heart set on finding an answer to where I am now. I became an independent urban dweller in an apartment down the street from where it all started. The thick skin I grew everyday was hung in the closet after every battle. The rebellious teen looked puzzled at the six foot man standing in front of him. The boy knew what he wanted to do, but he was not sure how he would execute the act. History should not repeat itself, but the police would be on the man's side again. This was nothing criminal or immoral. He wanted to put the man in his place for several reasons over a series of past events. It was no male bashing party, but a party with limited guests. A private party without the music, stripper pole, and a hard-working middle class mother pretending to be a volunteer firefighter under a downpour of singles. The man found an opportunity to pick a fight with the teen after he discovered his wallet was missing a few Jackson's. There were no drugs, no paraphernalia or erotic subscriptions. The boy was desperately stealing date money. He was no jock, pickup artist, or frequent player in the modern dating world. The teen was unemployed for several months after a highly reputable business closed their doors to American consumers. The European investors would not hire him back. The boy was not a thirty year old polyglot with a college degree willing to accommodate an international clientele. He was an average hormonal teen looking for a network of friends with cuddle benefits. The past experiences with different relationships have helped him make a connection between hostility over intervention. The man demanded more than financial gain. He wanted the teen out of the house so he can carry out his misogynistic behavior upon the teen's mother. The mother was naive about the way the man treated her. She believed it was tough love. This man had no tolerance for love. The man who craves knowledge without power will be more successful than the man who craves power without knowledge.
The belligerent man's voice escalated out of rage."Get over here right now! Don't make me count!" The man's index finger remained pointing at the hardwood floor as if he was addressing a dog to follow a command. The man's direct eye contact was intimidating to the teen, but his actions failed to carry out his seriousness. Imagine Hitler in a football mascot costume trying to gain control of the entire stadium. All he can do is stand straight like a store mannequin in the center of the football field with his right arm raised to the sky. Imagine the inattentive crowd around him witnessing the priceless expressions on his face from disloyalty. This mannequin had no fashionable sense with a hashtag directing back to him, "#ManHeCant." The man showed a natural appearance of a wild black bear looking for food at a campsite. Unfortunately, Smokey's cousin did not find a single crumb of obedience. He was shot with a challenge. The teen instantaneously shot a tranquilizer dart straight to the man's ears. "Count! Fucking count, you dick! Stop treating me like a child! The only time you ever count is when you sleep behind my mother's back! She doesn't deserve you! No woman on this planet deserves a sack of shit between their arms. You're a fucking disgrace to men!" The silence grew with intense emotions escalating inside each other. The man's face became a distinct fire truck red as he perspired from his forehead. The rage traveled to his eyes as they grew wider while his nostrils filled with air. He was a bull preparing his release into the ring against an amateur matador. The tension passed through his fingertips as they curled into the palm of his hand. "Excuse me?" He cleared his throat and paused for a minute. "What did you say to me?" The teen shook his head in disbelief. "Don't act like you didn't hear me, asshole. You might have selective hearing but you heard everything. You only listen when it's all about you. Would you like me to repeat it for you? You're a disgrace if you call yourself a man. Do us all a favor, okay? Leave my family alone!"
The man was speechless as his fists were clenched together against the sides of his legs. His knuckles became discolored. The look in his eyes labeled him as an apathetic asshole, but his intent was confirmed. He wanted to strangle the teen with his bare hands before the mother arrived home from work. The man impatiently encouraged the teen to seek independence outside the home. The transitional period for a baby bird to fly out of its nest is compromised when the nest collapses beneath the confidence to fly. As a traditional man of disciplinary action, it was his definition of becoming a father. He believed that disciplinary action was a form of support. A man can discipline his son to refine behavior and morale without supporting the decisions his son makes when he reaches desired characteristics. It was not a matter of not supporting his step-son, but supporting himself to support others in their self-discovery.
The man extended his hand to the teen when he wanted to attack. There were never exchanges of praise, hugs, or even handshakes. The first attempt of abuse was only a week before this happened. In another heated argument, the man's fingers were a few inches shy from leaving a mark on the boy's neck. The teen threatened to call the Department of Children and Families, but his mother was a peacemaker. She had a heart full of platinum because of her altruistic nature. She would sweat over a hot stove after a nine-to-five shift in retail to support her family. If anyone watched closely, they were able to see the struggle in her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes were never bloodshot, but her pupils were entrances to a black abyss holding a young woman captive of her own body. She shed more than thick layers of experience and perseverance, but those were no ordinary tears from onions. They were heavier with a slightly different flow across her pale skin. They were always extremely difficult to watch from afar. The teen's mom tried to prevent her makeup from smearing. She kept her feelings to herself to prevent any unwanted attention. The attention was an untold story of a middle-class working mother providing the most for her family before she finally catered to herself. If, given the opportunity, she gave herself some time to reflect. The teen knew his mother faced depression under the control of her boyfriend. The boy had nothing else to say to the man, but a simple hand gesture. The teen raised his middle finger high above his head as he turned around heading toward his room across the hall. The teen did not bother to jerk his head back to see the reaction from the man's face. It would have been the last reaction the boy wished he would have seen.
"You're number one, bro!" The teen slammed the door behind him and lied flat on the floor with his ears aligned with the threshold. The boy could hear a wide range of slurs and familiar curse words. He smirked at the mentally vivid image of a truck driving pirate blowing his loud horn through the hallway. A few minutes passed before the man grew tired from waiting outside the boy's bedroom door. The man left the hallway huffing back to the kitchen to light a smoke. The man could burn through several packs a week leaving the ash trays spilling over the sides. He was a disgusting man with no respect to the home. The mother smoked outside to escape reality, relieve some stress, and carry on her busy schedule. The boy had no interest in smoking from being a second-hand smoker for his entire childhood. This was enough to realize the effects of smoking without lighting a single cancer stick. The kids at school were always playfully teasing him by bumming for cigarettes. A few teachers questioned the smelly clothes while others assumed it was a parental burden hindering the freedom to enjoy a cleaner home. A clean home not only provides comfort and happiness, but a sense of direction and well-being. The man had a different direction in mind for the boy without the consent of his own mother.
"That kid is going to be booked on the next flight to a boarding school! I am done with this bullshit!"
The house filters with unsettling silence. The teen sat on the floor against the door as tears trickled across his face while he pulled the pocket knife out of his back pocket. The blade glistened from the moon's reflection passing through the window. The sharp blade across the surface of his wrist was cold and the anticipation grew with fear and regret. A flash of images with family, friends, unfinished aspirations and future obligations sparked in front of him as his eyes were shut. The boy's defiance quickly subsided. The blade suddenly rose above his skin as his eyes opened.
"I can't do it." The teen hesitated to press further into his skin. "That prick isn't even worth a second of my life. A stranger is not worthy of my blood, unless it is the only thing left to offer. What am I doing?"
The teen threw the pocket knife across his bedroom floor. The boy did not want to waste another minute with the man occupying his life. The final decision was made. The teen grabbed his backpack from the floor to fill it with necessities from his bedroom. This was barely enough to last him for a week, but he had a box of snacks stashed under his bed for midnight cravings and sudden apocalyptic emergencies. The teen dangled his feet over the sill shortly after he opened the window. He glanced back at his room with regret knowing he was going to leave his mother behind.
He wiped the last tear across his cheek. "I am sorry, mom, but I'll be back. I love you."
The boy descended out of the window falling into a bush below his feet. The bush scratched the side of his leg causing a small trail of blood. He ran a finger along the side of his leg and the bleeding stopped.
In a desperate attempt to run away from his family, the teenager approached the bus shelter a block away from his home with his fingers digging into his jean pockets. He pulled out a few quarters, dimes, and nickels. Pennies annoyed him. The face value will always remain below the production cost. He had a jar full of pennies left in his room on the top shelf of his closet. He had no reason to take them to a coin collecting machine at the store. After counting the change, he knew there was no turning back even if he wanted another transit ticket. He made the final decision as the bus came to a complete stop.
The doors opened with a friendly smile on the driver's face. The teen dug inside his pocket and placed his hands over the farebox hearing the coins clink against the metal sides. The teen commuted on the last evening bus to the city. The street lights from the suburban neighborhoods welcomed his spontaneous drive for freedom as they guided his way toward his unexpected fate. The city was a beautiful place at night during the winter holidays. The streets were decorated with festive lights in the shapes of white snowflakes, yellow holiday bells, and red ribbon bows. The nearby highways were skies on the ground with shooting stars flying in sync with each other. The traffic extended around the corner in multiple lanes which prolonged the peaceful ride into the downtown area. The bus was calm, the driver was too relaxed, and the lights from small businesses dim for the night. When the city bus came to a complete stop, the driver looked back with a sigh on his face. He shouted to the back of the bus.
"Ay, ay kid! Sleeping Beauty! Wake up!"
No response, not even a flinch. A deep sleep was in the way of his undivided attention. The driver rose from his seat and walked through the aisle. The bus driver's sudden tap on the boy's shoulder provoked sudden movement.
"Wake up, kid."
The driver watched a set of frequent twitches and stretched out fingers as the teen awakened. A set of dark brown eyes suddenly stared back at the driver. The startled teen quickly lifted his head from the seat. An awkward silence between the driver and the teen passed as soon as the driver explained the situation. The boy rose from his seat. The man quickly walked over to the wheel to complete his shift. He was shaking his head with pity as he opened the bus door right beside him.
"Kids these days."
Quickly rushing out of the bus, the teen made his first step into independence at a bus shelter near a poorly lit streetlight. A nearby pub turned off their lights for the night as the last customer stumbled against the lamp post. The bus passed by the boy with the lights turned off. The rush of being miles away from home quickly escalated to fear. The alert teen cautiously looked around for anyone walking the streets like a reality game of Apocalyptic Ambush. He passed by a bakery on the corner with bums sitting by the curb eating the daily leftovers from the dumpster. Bums. The boy would cringe at that word and suggest something more politically correct. They were urban dwellers, or people who reside in the city. The teen was disgusted by the local bakery. He wanted the owner of the shop to spare a few pastries to the lurking shadows. The teen's stomach rumbled. A man in a trench coat politely walked to the boy illuminating under the streetlight. The teen hesitated to engage in a conversation until the man genuinely tipped his hat to acknowledge his presence.
The man smiled at the teen. "You're running away from something."
"No, I ... uh, got off the wrong bus stop. I'm trying to find my way back to the suburbs."
The man laughed hysterically at the boy's white lie. "I can sense your fear, young lad. The neighborhood rats have more confidence than you do. Tell me. Where would you wish to be right now?"
The boy stuttered looking up at the tall man. "Anywhere?"
The man looked around him presenting the city like a real estate agent selling property."Yes, anywhere you want."
"I wish to be anywhere but home."
"How does the city sound?
The boy paused for a minute. He embraced the new environment surrounding him with vulnerability and hope. The sight of brightly lit strip clubs, late night restaurants, and a few pedestrians walking by provided a good vibe of a new beginning. A smile appeared on the teen's face as his mind raced with new ideas. The boy wanted to live in a high-rise apartment building overlooking the entire city, almost as enthralling as the sight overlooking France's historical monument. The night was fascinating to him since the time his parents flew over to Florida for a summer vacation. The airplane window seat was always priority seating on night trips. A maintenance-free lawn in the city lured him closer. The ease of living life without the hassle of outdoor chores and responsibilities filtered through his mind. An instantaneous response to the man's question rose to the conversation. The city sounded like a drama free home welcoming his arrival. It was an unexpected offering to lift the weight off his shoulders. The boy responded with his head facing the streetlights.
"Listen, it's absolute bliss."
Despite the experience of living the boy's naive dream, the man chuckled at the sound of speeding cars, car alarms, and city dwellers rustling in the dumpsters for more food. The alarming sirens from the police cars and ambulances were more exciting to the teen than loud neighbors shouting in their backyard during family picnics and loud parties.
"Well, I can live with those changes. I wish to live here. Far away from home. Far, far away from him."
"Who?"
"Nobody. He's nothing special."
The man grinned with his eyes shut tight as he lifted his hands above his head. A mixture of Latin, English, and gibberish created a ritual of chants with a gust of wind swirling around their feet. The foreign words astonished the teen as they escaped across the man's tongue. A stack of papers from nearby dumpsters swirled around in a circle creating a surreal experience found in movies.
"Ahhhshumbella! Ahhhshumbella! Barba tenus sapientes! Carpe noctem! Ahhhshumbella! Ahhhshumbella! Ex nihilo nihil fit! Cui bono? Cui bono! Take your panem et circenses apart from lust and sin. Feel your heart beating within! Close your eyes and count to three. Your beard shall grow as your pain sets you free!"
The wind subsided as the newspapers descended back to the ground like autumn leaves. The man walked away into the dark alley laughing hysterically. He turned back around to smile at the boy.
"What are you waiting for, kid? This is your home. No down payments. No contracts. No paperwork. I am not even carrying a pen on me anyway! Find yourself a crate near the restaurant back door and make yourself at home. Sit back and relax. I suggest you take a few crates with you." The man pointed at a stack of crates beside the teen. The boy squeamishly stepped back as the rats scurried around for food. "What? Wait, here? This place is disgusting!"
"Fix it. If you are not necessarily keen about here, there are a few other alleys to check out. Young lad, please remember one thing, you cannot go back to where you once lived. Your family will not recognize you. Follow me. Take a look for yourself." The man's stern appearance disappeared as he walked through a streetlight.
The man slowly walked toward the jewelry store without looking back. He stopped to point at the reflection of the glass window. The boy approached the man as he admired himself through the glass display. The boy noticed an ugly bearded man looking back at him, mimicking the moves he made. The boy reacted in disbelief when he saw his new makeover.
"What happened to my face? That's not me at all! I'm hideous! I'm dirty! I'm ..."
The man interrupted as soon as he saw the boy move his hands closer to his eyes. "You're homeless. I advanced your growth. Be a man. It's the price you pay for your wish. "
"No! No, I wanted to live anywhere but home. You promised! You promised you would take me anywhere I wanted."
"Relax. You got your wish, kid. You agreed to live here in the city. Run along!" The man did not waste any more time. "I do not accept refunds."
A stream of tears passed through his brand new unkempt beard and along his blistering chapped lips. Running away from family and friends was temporary, but the change was inevitable. The family and friends back home questioned his disappearance and it was only a matter of time to forfeit all the effort acquired for a search. The disappearance of a soul is death to an impatient mind. Only the heart is willing to search for answers and reassurance.
"But my family, they will look for me. They will be worried. They will never find me."
The teen looked back at his reflection on the glass window. A few nose hairs were already curling around his nostrils, a dirty mustache sat above his lips, and his teeth wore a thick layer of plaque. The reality set in as his fingers dragged away from the scruff on his face. The hysterical laughter from the man stopped. The man slowly placed his hand over the boy's shoulder from behind. The boy startled as his whole life shifted in a new direction.
"Let me tell you this, kid. If you can grant a wish to someone else, your soul will be set free from the curse I cast upon you. The person cannot be related, a friend, an enemy or a past love. You have to meet someone, any undergraduate at a university willing to take a challenge toward self-discovery. You will know when you see them. You will feel the connection right away. Good luck, my boy. Catch some sleep. The city is a big playground. Play, stay alert, and watch your back. Nobody ever plays nice around here, not even the rats. You should never trust a walking soul on the streets. You will lose everything else left on your shoulders. Oh, and one more thing I must give you." A business card appeared from his pocket. "Take this. Keep it safe."
The trench coat disappeared in the dark as the man descended into the alley. The last tear was shed from the homeless teen's dirty face as his fingers rubbed against the business card. The teen noticed the card was blank.
"Why am I keeping this safe? How is this useful?"
He placed the card into his pocket while walking through the street lights glaring at the group of people hurdling around a trash can blazing with bright orange flames. They looked back at him with eyes signaling territorial defense. They seemed unfriendly, unwelcoming and overly-protected. They have earned their spot near the blaze and gained each other's trust to be a part of their elite group. The crackling flames and smell of smoke were fed with nearby wooden pallets. The boy watched the fire burn through the wood supply while the urban dwellers huddled together. The boy, awakened by an urban dweller by the next morning, became a man.
I snort after I conclude my story. The ending was weak, the narration was too dramatic, and my stepfather owes an apology to my mother. "Bliss. Anywhere, but home." Why did I make such a careless decision? My mind was overwhelmed with emotions. I was emotionally unstable. I was intoxicated with a heavy dose of negative energy. The dysfunctional family I left behind five years ago was never given a chance to listen. I never provided them one. I left my own mother behind with an egotistical man. He was a dick of all trades. The relationship with my step-father never improved and the distance away from my mother weakened her heart. She died from a massive heart attack. I found her obituary in a local newspaper thrown in a trashcan. The severe depression never helped her either. My step-father made her believe she was unworthy of her existence. He was manipulative, controlled what she did, and every penny she earned. She had to explain herself for not answering his calls within a minute upon receiving them. I sense she was not willing to let go as soon as her heart did. She believed in finding me. She had her heart set on finding an answer to where I am now. I became an independent urban dweller with an apartment down the street from where it all started. The thick skin I grew everyday was hung in the closet after every battle.
"I was as naive as you, kid. If I could go back in time, I would in a heartbeat. I would rewind my life back to save my own mother's from flat lining. Now, honestly, please tell me. Please enlighten me. I have been waiting for this moment for years. What did you learn, Logan? What did you learn as a mute since we met in New York City? What did you learn when you had your chance for a wish to come true?"
The silence is killing me as I watch the next victim speechlessly struggle in the chair. "Oh, right, I am terribly sorry for my incompetent behavior. You will need these."
I slide a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper across the table. I wait for his response as his fists clench around the pen with frustration. The emotions from the look in his eyes were inspirational. His eyes bled a provoking story waiting for the moment to take the spotlight on stage. The pen moves across the paper as bottled feelings pour out into paragraphs. I close and reopen my eyes smiling with pride. I wrap my fingers around the warm coffee cup admiring the struggle I have created. My nostrils fill heavily with the surrounding environment. I smell the beginning of an untold story ready to change the way many younger generations will take control of their lives.
"Take your time, kid. I chose you for a reason."
"I was as naive as you, kid. If I could go back in time, I would in a heartbeat. I would rewind my life back to save my own mother's from flat lining. Now, honestly, please tell me. Please enlighten me. I have been waiting for this moment for years. What did you learn, Logan? What did you learn as a mute since we met in New York City? What did you learn when you had your chance for a wish to come true?"
The silence is killing me as I watch the next victim speechlessly struggle in the chair. "Oh, right, I am terribly sorry for my incompetent behavior. You will need these."
I slide a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper across the table. I wait for his response as his fists clench around the pen with frustration. The emotions from the look in his eyes were inspirational. His eyes bled a provoking story waiting for the moment to take the spotlight on stage. The pen moves across the paper as bottled feelings pour out into paragraphs. I close and reopen my eyes smiling with pride. I wrap my fingers around the warm coffee cup admiring the struggle I have created. My nostrils fill heavily with the surrounding environment. I smell the beginning of an untold story ready to change the way many younger generations will take control of their lives.
"Take your time, kid. I chose you for a reason."
Updated: 12/18/2015 +4K more words