To wake up everyday to a girl not in your bed, no eggs in the fridge, and no clean socks is kind of a bother to anyone, relatable or not. Especially for a man who wakes up every morning with five people staring at him, telling and fighting over what to eat for breakfast, and which sock smells cleaner. The smell of a pair of socks wouldn’t really matter to him much less than the smell of a shirt, but the smell of a sock matters most to one of the five people whose eyes are entranced upon this man’s body every waking moment of the day.
It’s been like this for years, far too long to remember, but Myles O’Connor distinctly remembers back when he was in seventh grade when one of these five people messed up a relationship for him. A warm summers day on the blacktop; kids playing basketball in hoops without nets, teachers chewing on Bazooka Joe bubble bubblegum. It was nice, and Amanda Fride was sitting on the curb with a comic book in her hands and braids in her blonde hair.
Myles, a skinny little ginger with green eyes and a freckled nose, was walking right towards her with his friends sitting on the swings, watching anxiously. Myles’ shirt was a bit too big on him, the South Dakota Coyotes logo faded and torn a bit from the over usage by his older sister’s play time. And then, in that bliss of sweaty hands and racing heart beats, Myles watched in horror as Lust, in all of her model glory, sat down right next to the reading Amanda Fride, twirling her long fingers in her curled brown hair of silk and hairspray.
Wearing a little black shirt and a pink poofy skirt to match, Lust glared at Myles and he watched as the corner of her lip was tugged up into a grin, bearing those white teeth of marble. She was devious, and now was not the time for the little twelve year old. She hadn’t bothered him at all up until now. And what perfect timing she had.
“You know,” she said with a twang to her tone and a little raise of her chin, “she’s not wearing underwear.” She winked at Myles and laughed a sultry, deep laugh, making Myles’ face brighten.
From the swingset, Myles’ best friends, the Holtman twins, watched carefully. Eli, the younger by two minutes and glasses perched upon his little button nose, started to get a bit worried. He looked to his brother and made a face. Eli and Jacob still look just as dark chocolate, but in the sun that day, they looked a glistening caramel color.
“Jacob,” Eli’s crackling voice peered over the edge of silence, “he’s dead meat.”
“I know, dude, but he’s got to make it or else we’re the only group of kids in this hell-hole to not have girlfriends.”
Seventh grade is the year where boys and girls alike drive themselves past barriers to get in someone’s pants. Be it new Nintendo cartridges traded at lunch with little notes taped to them, or special edition Superman comic books and SNL jokes. Most boys just went up with a flower, but Myles was going in blind with light-framed glasses sliding down the sweat on his skinny nose.
“Myles, admit it,” Lust cooed, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips. They popped as she opened her mouth once more and laughed. “You want to see that: Amanda without panties.”
It took every last fiber of Myles’ being to not spit at Lust then and there, but something in him broke. “She is wearing panties, I know it.”Aloud. In the schoolyard of Peaks Middle.
Amanda looked up in shock, her hazel eyes wide and her face red with both anger and embarrassment. She shut her Batman comic book and stood abruptly, smacking Myles clear across his cherry-colored face. The everlasting burning feeling crawled deep into his freckles and made his cheek start to bleed.
He was so taken aback by it, he stood there while Eli and Jacob ran up to him, trying to make sure she didn’t bitch-slap the subconscious mind out of him. Fifteen years later and Myles was still being asked if his face still hurt. It never occurred to him it was only because Eli and Jacob were the only two black guys working across the street of Pendleton Street, Widow’s Peak that actually cared to put up with him.
Pendleton Street was one of the seldom business streets, and this one was mostly taken over by hipsters, fashionistas, and teenage girls with too much money. Myles would see these people walk in every day, say the same thing to him, sit in the same seats out on the deck, have the same friends, etc. It was a never-ending life cycle of boring. Every once in a while he’d see little Amanda Fride walk down the street to her own job, but that was every other Wednesday. She worked at the Natural Whole Foods store a couple buildings down. A few years into high school and she had decided to become a vegetarian, which wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was still a bit strange to Myles.
He’d always been a meat eater, but one of the five people was always trying to scare him into thinking meat was slowly killing him. And that one was a constant bother at family meals. Sitting at their little dining table back in Manchester, his mother and father enjoying the silence for once in a while. The one time where the two kids actually weren’t yelling at each other, or at themselves.
Mr. O’Connor never understood the whole “others” thing, not even when he watched his son freak out over the simplest things. There was a night where Mrs. O’Connor had made meat loaf and he watched while Myles bickered about, eyes staring at his plate. He mumbled one thing, then said another, and then would suddenly be pushed forward and snap back to whoever he saw behind him. To his parents, he was crazy. To himself and his sister he was an actual person with feelings.
They just never were able to see who he was bickering back at. Shaky, the one who loved to make Myles panic, was busy with trying to convince him that the meatloaf was poison and that all meats were poison. Pulling at his beanie and wiping at his nose, he looked like a crackhead and surely acted like one. He’d poke and prod at the meatloaf and shake his head, walk to the other side and rinse and repeat. It made Myles nervous until he’s snap at him and look to his father who had the disappointing look fathers would give to schizophrenic sons: the very disappointed look.
He was so used to it by the time he moved out of the house and into his own place. But the look didn’t stop there, oh no. He got the look from his boss all the time. That stuck up little fat girl with dyed red hair and piercings in every orifice she could possibly pierce. Her tanish-caucasian skin compared to his fair Irish skin had always made him feel like a ghost, but the way he towered over her made him feel a bit in power. Even though he was 5’10”, he was skinny enough to look six foot.
She, however, was 4’6” and very angry at everything. Tattoos peered out from under her sleeves and from around her black collar. The green of the aprons made her brown eyes look black. Missy Sullentrup, the bitch of the block.
-
“O’Connor!” Missy yelled from the back of the dimming café, “get to work!” Myles jolted awake from his seat on the floor and heard laughter around him. One hushed them and he let out a disgruntled sigh. He slid his fingers under his glasses and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a long night before hand grabbing away three hours of well needed sleep.
“No one’s here!” Myles snapped back. He opened his eyes to see Divide mocking him. His dirty blond, swoopy hair fell over his bright blue eyes, deepened by reddened bags underneath. A 30 year old looking man with tattoos crawling across his skin that moved with his movements and stubble hugging his jaw that glistened in sunlight with a golden aurora, it was like someone had smeared honey across his face and sat him in a light.
From afar, Divide looked harmless, like a man who never quite grew out of his emo teenage years, but to know Divide was a whole ‘nother story. He was a happy person, a coffee-filled engine tank sliding down a salt lake. But then, a quick snap of the wrist, he’d become everybody's worst nightmare. He’d be the thing children fear at night, the one that made Myles’ skin crawl in agony to hear him scream as if he was trying to tear open his own throat.
The name was properly given in third grade when Myles had first started learning what dividing was. It was like someone took a calculator and divided his good and bad in half and converted the fraction into a decimal, creating the entity that had a cute nose and a wicked stare. Seeing Divide glare down upon the other was scary enough, but seeing him face to face was freeze-worthy. Myles tensed for a second, but before he could fully collapse into peril, Bass kicked Divide lightly in the butt to get him to stop.
“Better not so no one’ll have to see you and those stupid acts!” Missy called. Bass and Shaky looked to the back and then to Myles who was hurt by the comment, still a bit scared from Divide’s rude awakening.
Bass watched Divide stand and swing his head to fix his hair. He raised a hand and his vest sleeve fell down his other shoulder, showing the many tattoos along his ribcage as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked to Bass. Divide never wore shirts, only vests open wide to show his ribs and hip bones.
“No need to listen to her, Myles,” Bass said. His voice, deep like a cello's hum, always made Myles relax. He was a calming fellow and was usually the one trying to calm the other more than Myles would. Even as a shorter man, he’d stand taller than the others, morally. He was especially good at getting Myles to sit down and not talk to the others while he went and tried fixing things himself, like a real dad who wasn’t able to do that when he was a kid.
Myles looked back up to the man with soft curls in his long, brown hair, and nodded quickly. “She’s always like that. Never bothered me, so it shouldn’t bother you.”
“It should bother you, dude,” Shaky spat. Whenever Shaky speaks, which is seldom, actually, he sounds like he’s nervous, always jumping at every sound, and most likely to scream in a movie before anything actually happens. Yes, that includes chick-flicks. “She start spittin’, I start trippin’, man. She’s always pissed off at Myles and I think it ‘cause of one of us!”
“I’d suggest you stop before you worry him.” Shaky looked around the Starbucks before looking to Bass with a little bit less of posture to his already slouched attitude.
“He ain’t gotta be worried no more than we do,” he said, throwing his pale and bony fingers into the air. Yes, Shaky is white. Very white, actually. He looks like paper, and is just about as frail as a sheet, maybe less. The way he looked with a beanie over his bald head and a grey hoodie to cover that made him seem even more like a drug-dealer.
Divide lent a hand down to Myles. He reluctantly reached out for him, grabbing his warm hand and pulling himself to his feet. Divide looked to see Missy staring at Myles from the entrance of the back room, a bit confused. She sighed and shook her head, then just as she disappeared mumbled, “freak.”
“See?” Shaky yelled. “See that?! The way she treats us?!”
“Calm down man,” Divide said, putting a hand to Shaky’s shoulder. Shaky spun around quickly, his jeans all torn at the bottom dragging across the floor. Once he met blue eyes to blue eyes, Divide pushed him back into Bass and shouted angrily. Switch: On.
“Woah!” Myles exclaimed as he rushed towards Divide. He put a hand to his chest and one on his back, looking over to the stumbling mess that was Bass. Bass stood upright, popped the collar of his overcoat, then sniffled. His icy green glare over to Divide was enough to settle him down.
“Now, go,” Bass directed towards Shaky. “You’ve been bad and you need to go sit down and freak out on your own, not including Myles into that…” He took a second to motion to Shaky’s head, then finished his sentence with a soft mumble of “mess.”
“Goodbye Shaky; good, great, fair, bye,” Myles whispered. Shaky was suddenly no where in sight once Myles opened his eyes again. That was the only way to get rid of him for the time being. There were all sorts of ways to get rid of the others, but they all would go in different ways. Shaky had to be chanted away, Lust had to be yelled at, Divide had to be pushed away, Goldfish had to be told a joke, and Bass went and came as he pleased, which didn’t bother Myles a tad.
Goldfish, the depressing one, would try his damned hardest to not laugh at any of anybody’s jokes, be it Myles’ or someone else’s. He liked being around people, as morbid as he acted. He was the greatest thing to happen to Myles when he turned into the puberty years, where no one is a friend and everyone is a threat.
They’d sit on his bed, hoodies too big and eyes red with tears, and talk. Simply talk. Bass would listen in from time to time, but with no intent on stopping Goldfish from putting any thoughts into Myles’ head. He never talked about suicide, just about sad things. The dead squirrel he’d see on walks around the neighborhood, the way the leaves sounded like children’s laughter from years ago, and the thought about what it would be like if nobody smiled were the kinds of things things they talked about.
Sometimes, Jennifer would walk into the room and see Myles, sitting on the floor and facing the wall, talking about how a cat would act if it’s eyes were ripped out of their sockets. It was those kinds of things that deeply worried her. And yet, he still talked randomly that way with Goldfish, even as a grown man.
The name “Goldfish” came from the reasoning that he seemed too dark and needed a happier name than the others. At that time, Jennifer, Myles’ older sister by three years, had convinced him that maybe naming things would be better for his mental health, make the others feel not-so-important and go away. However, that only made them angry and stick to Myles more. Especially Divide, for he was the needy one back then.
It was obvious he wasn’t when he didn’t even look to Myles when he leaned against the coffee bar and grabbed the dish rag to wipe it down. The way the blue cloth felt in his hands made Divide shiver, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was also the only one able to understand anything Myles felt, from needle-pricks to… the unmentionable. Divide felt the way the counter pressed deep into Myles’ side and cringed, grabbing his collar and pulling him away.
Myles fell back and Bass put a calming hand to his chest, His hand pressed gently into the green apron with Myles’ name tag pinned lopsidedly. Divide felt it and sighed, clawing at his bare chest until Bass took his hand away.
“You should try to let Myles feel things,” Bass bellowed as he looked at Myles, not Divide. “There’ll come a day where you’ll end up feeling him die and not be able to do anything.”
“I wish for that day every last second I have to put up with you,” the other spat back. Myles returned to wiping down the counter in hopes of ignoring them, but they were so loud in the deadly quiet coffee shoppe.
“Him being dead is you being dead,” Bass started.
“But that also means I don’t have to put up with you,” Divide replied, raising his fist to clock down on Bass. Myles quickly turned around once the fire in Divide’s voice met his ears. He dropped the rag and slid to Divide and Bass, the others about to go at each other. Myles grabbed Divide’s wrist and pushed his back up against Bass so he wouldn’t even think about swinging.
This was an everyday by this point. One of the others trying to kill another and Myles was the only one able to stop them all, other than Bass, but he was too peaceful to ever hurt someone. Worst part was that no one could see who Myles was yelling at to stop biting or holding someone’s wrist.
Divide shivered and growled at Myles, his eyes looking white. He bared his teeth up at him. The sound of the door opening made Myles look around Divide to see someone- no, two someones- walk in and sit down. Myles turned his attention back to the snarling and now snapping teethed Divide. Myles erupted in strength and pushed him to the floor, combing his own soft red and orange hair with his trembling fingers.
“Divide?” one of the two asked. Myles looked over to see Eli and Jacob sitting at a table, watching him. Myles nodded, a bit out of breath, and walked over to them. Eli, wearing only the finest mint green tank top and black jacket with black cargo pants to go along, smiled and moved his phone from his pocket to the table once Myles took a struggled seat.
“Can’t let him get to you,” Jacob said. “I mean, he’s been getting worse!” Myles nodded. It was true. His switching has become more vigorous in the past year, however, he’s been able to realize his own switching and try and balance himself out.
“He was going to hurt Bass,” Myles sighed.
“No need to protect me,” Bass said, sitting in the chair beside Myles and Jacob. “I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.”
“Yeah, but you never look like you want to fight, so I fight for you,” Myles replied. He looked to Bass, Jacob and Eli seeing him look to the other table, assuming someone was there in Myles’ head.
“Gotta let him fight for himself, man,” Jacob said. “All of them are capable of it.”
“Thank you, Jacob!” Bass said, smiling at him.
“I just don’t like seeing it, alright?” Myles sagged. Missy snapped her fingers to catch their attention.
“If you’re going to laze about, I’ll have to fire you!” That wasn’t the first threat that week, and it made him even angrier to think of her saying it again.
“He already wiped down the counter,” Eli protested. Missy rolled her eyes and ducked back into the back, not really interested in fighting with more people for the day. Earlier someone was requesting a different barista and no one else was on deck, leaving just Myles to tend to the bar. The customer demanded the manager and there Missy was, face-to-face with a Christian, hell-spitting old lady in dire need of a vanilla bean latte.
Divide was having no fun with that old lady, too, making Myles nervous for the solid hour she was there trying to get Missy to make her a drink instead of the guy who was “talking to demons”. Another customer thankfully intervene and Missy dragged herself behind the bar to make the old lady a latte, then made her abruptly leave. Well, she said a few verses of the Bible before listening, so yeah; Missy was not in the mood for a fight with anybody.
Jacob messed with his black button-up and light blue suspenders until someone said something. They were just sitting there by that point, enjoying each other’s awkward presence, childhood friends sitting in a Starbucks at 7 PM with rain drizzling down onto the fallen leaves of Pendleton Street.
“Myles,” Bass said finally, grabbing only his sleepy attention, “We have to leave in about twenty minutes. Get your things together and I’ll get everyone to the car.”
Myles nodded, standing. Jacob and Eli looked up to him like automatonic clones, seeing how both in-sync and identical they were.
“I’ve got to get ready to leave, Bass says,” he said. Jacob looked to the seat beside him that was empty to him and sighed.
“Man, you never let Myles have any fun,” Eli said with a toss of his arm in what direction he thought Bass would be. For not being able to see them, Eli and Jacob were pretty good and making up where they were. Usually they were on spot, or even a tad off, but seldom were they far away or completely wrong.
“I let him have plenty of fun, as long as the others don’t come knocking everything over, Mr. Holtman,” Bass said with a raise of his chin. Myles smiled.
“He says he does, just safely. See you guys tomorrow,” Myles yawne