Part One

A current work in progress...

SHE DOESN’T WAIT

 Until I’m awake-

She ushers me to the door,

Shuffling and bleary-eyed.

Pale yellow sunlight

Assaults my eyes;

I can barely make out

The silhouettes of Aiden and Bear

Against the doorframe.

I would not have taken either one

Of them to be a morning person,

However, I suppose that I have always been

Known for wishful thinking.

They had come to kidnap me-

My mother willing-

And hold me hostage in

Aiden’s basement.

Mom nodded her consent

As I silently wondered just exactly what

My captors had in mind.

WE LANGUIDLY PARADE

 Down the paved road,

Enveloped in a halo of light,

Every stray hair and

Fiber of clothing illuminated

For all the world to see.

The textured rubber embracing the

Toe of my right sneaker

Gently prods at dandelion-colored

Leaves with curling edges.

It feels so picturesque-

Like characters in a painting.

I imagine my limbs flowing

From the tips of a paintbrush,

Wondering what the artist is

Trying to depict with this scene;

A bright-eyed naïveté

Strolling with her shiny new

Beau and childhood best friend.

An urbanized take on

Idealistic 1950s Americana?

The adolescent cliché of

A wholesome, apple pie society?

I BEGIN TO PLAY

 A silent game of

“What’s Wrong with This Picture?”

In my mind as we wander along,

The boys debating the quality

Of various horror films-

Classic versus contemporary.

This game was certainly

Never my strong suit,

The pasty black and white line drawings

Of characters inevitably suffering

Third degree burns or impalement

When I would turn the

Newspaper-like pages of kiddie

Magazines on them,

Failing to notice that can

Of hairspray near open flame

Or the fateful pair of scissors

In the hands of a running child.

I carefully survey the situation

That surrounds me-

There is no impending explosion,

And unless you figure in my

Clumsiness, the chance of

Potential impalement or gaping wounds

Is slim to none.

Then why does something feel so wrong?

AIDEN’S HOUSE IS SURPRINGLY UNREMARKABLE

 For someone who rarely wears any other color than black, has an affinity for leather, and writes and draws as if death is going out of style. I could hardly pick out his house from any other on the block. There is a well-tended flower bed, even a few lawn ornaments. There is a little brother, father, two small dogs and a stepmother who manages to be a perky bottle blonde with the simultaneous air of absolute exhaustion and perhaps slight frustration, as well. I very quickly found myself wondering which was the act- the seemingly perfect little suburban slice of the American idealism, or his constant depression and reckless rebellion against abusive and careless family members. It seemed so unlikely for the two to coexist in the same house, yet both extremes seemed so real. Maybe there was a certain level where they both overlapped, where this perfect little family unit became dispirited and my rebellious, pessimistic boyfriend was just like every other kid in the neighborhood. Perhaps under this charade they are just scared little children running with scissors.

 

 

THE BASEMENT WAS BETTER THAN A RECORD STORE

 Every wall was plastered with autographs, posters, albums and Polaroid’s of almost every rock star that had ever made it big in the 1970s or ‘80s. Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Def Leppard, Billy Idol, Pink Floyd, Metallica, Led Zepplin, the list goes on and on.  Apparently his father used to follow around bands before he had met his first wife, so over the years he has amassed this gigantic collection of memorabilia that he houses in his basement. I see Bear practically drooling as he takes all of this in and for a second he is once again the hyperactive little kid that I became best friends with back in third grade, before everything changed. Before all of us had changed.

AFTER A WHILE

 Aiden abandons

Bear and I to play

Guitar Hero with his

Little brother.

I pick up one of Aiden’s

Guitars and cradle it in

My arms as if it is my child.

I gingerly begin strumming

The bottom three strings lightly

With my thumb,

Wincing if anything slightly

Louder than the sound of

Rain beating against the roof

Of my apartment was

Produced.

Bear teased me, laughing at my pathetic

Attempts to create

Something musical,

And my only quick

Counter-attack was

To stick out my tongue

Which promptly earned

More harassment and

Hysterical laughing.

It’s always been good-natured

Between the two of us,

And we are always giving

Each other crap for

Something or another.

Ever since we met,

We have been looking out

For each other.

He is so much different

When we’re alone together.

And I know what

You are thinking, but it is

Not like that.

We are like family-

We tell each other

Our deepest secrets

Without fear,

Without judgment.

This made it all

The more awkward when

He had to leave for his

Grandmother’s house.

We hugged our goodbyes

And he left to an

Uncomfortable void that

Was not quite silence

Thanks to the inane

Video game chatter of

Aiden and Jared.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

I know, I know- the formatting is a little strange. But bare with me here. I would really appreciate any feedback on this piece so far, especially any suggestions on how I could make it better.