All day Sunday I had run the thought through my head of whether or not I should bother to go to school. If I went, it would only mean seeing Janet and having more than a few awkward silences and hasty exits. My final decision had been to stay home and write until my hands ached, my head pounding, my eyes burning from forcing myself stay awake without any sleep since having left Janet's house. Too much was in my head that I knew it could only lead to bad dreams.
I was thankful that my mother seemed to like remaining in the darkness of her room because I'd not seen her or smelled any liquor since having seen her slumped on the bedroom floor asleep. As far as I was concerned, my hours that involved writing were only meant for me and if she were to stumble down those stairs I would be forced to ignore her or bodily throw her from the room. If I wanted to fight against any urge that would result in me becoming like my mother or father it would mean me focusing purely on my art instead of burning liquids or overpowering rage. Janet had been right -- I didn't have to be like them.
I had left the alcohol on the fridge precisely in the same spot. It would be untouched for now. It wasn't so much that I wanted it there as a just in case things got bad I could drown my sorrows in it. It was there as a reminder that I was always making a choice. After twenty-four hours my choices so far had been good.
I am listening to Madame Butterfly again and I know I should probably switch it over to a more cheerful part, but the death of Butterfly always spoke to me in a way not a lot of operas has. In four words: Puccini is a genius.
I'd always wanted my death to be like the inscription on her father's blade. Dying with honor was the farthest thing from what would have actually happened if I had died in the car that night with David. It had been a quick choice, a cowardly escape for both us, and the more I thought about him the darker my writing became.
However many hours later I finally had to stop writing because there were blisters on my hands and I went over to turn off the CD player that had begun playing the opera over again. I'd come back after a moment of rest and play another Puccini piece -- most likely La bohème no matter how depressing it was. I wasn't in the mood for anything that altered Puccini's work to make it more upbeat, so RENT was out of the question.
Going up the stairs and heading for the kitchen I got distracted by someone pounding on the front door and Sasha's barking from the side yard. Sasha was pretty good about not barking at strangers and didn't sound distressed so it had to be someone we knew. I was hoping it'd be Janet but when I opened the door it was one of my mother's friends carrying a crate of, God forbid, more alcohol.
The blonde woman looked confused, blinking rapidly, shifting the box so that she wouldn't drop it and mumbling, "I didn't think you'd be home, Michael. Don't you have school today?"
"I'm sick." I replied, voice harsher than I'd meant it to be.
Forcing a smile, she held the box out to me like a peace offering. "I brought this for your mother. Cooking sherry and things."
As if I was really that stupid. Her smile faded as I reached into the box and withdrew a bottle of vodka, holding the label up to her face and growling, "This is cooking sherry?"
Ever the simpleton, faking a look of shock, she took a step back. "I must have grabbed the wrong box. I'm terribly sorry..."
"...do you always grab the wrong box?" I snapped, shoving the bottle back from where I'd gotten it. "Take your f*****g alcohol and get out of here. Do not come back ever. Is that understood?"
She staggered, trying to maintain her grip on the box, glancing up at me in shock. Apparently this woman had never seen me angry and even though she knew my name I couldn't for the life of me remember hers. She should count herself considerably lucky for that.
"Michael -- it was an honest mistake." she was trying and failing to fool me.
"Don't give me that f*****g bullshit. You know she's addicted. You know it's killing her. Instead of helping her you're supplying her with the means to do it!" I grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to turn and all but pushed her down the steps. "Go."
"This is harassment!" she screeched, but kept moving so I wouldn't shove her down the steps.
I laughed bitterly, watching her go from the topmost step. "Report me, then. I'm not eighteen yet, I won't go to prison."
For the first time there was anger in her eyes as she turned around again at the bottom of the steps to face me, her hands shaking from the effort of supporting the box and her suppressed rage. "I'm thirty f*****g years old, Michael. I'm not going to take orders from some punk kid."
I tried not to smile at the look of fear I received when I raced down the steps to meet her challenge, standing in front of her and leaning forward to get in her face with the box between us. "If you won't listen to me, I'm sure I can find someone else who will." I meant the cops and she knew it, turning away from me without so much as muttering under her breath and heading for her car. As she drove away I memorized the license plate number and would have made my way back into the house except that Janet was standing on the sidewalk watching.
"There's an hour of school left. What are you doing here?" I asked, hoping that my anger didn't carry on in my voice. It wasn't directed at her, I was still thinking of the woman who had just left.
Janet hung her head, shrugging her shoulders by way of response.
Reluctant to bring her in the house because there was no telling when my mother would begin prowling about again, I motioned for her to follow me to the garage. She moved sluggishly, like she wasn't sure herself what she was doing there. Something told me that she probably hadn't slept since I'd left either.
I let her go in first, closing up the door again behind us and hoping that the blonde woman wouldn't return anytime soon. There was a new car now sitting in the spot where the one had been that ended David's life and almost took me with it. A few new additions had been made since then. A small couch in a corner of the room where a tool table used to be until it collapsed from termites, a lamp on a table since the light had burned out overhead and refused to allow the bulb to be removed, and I had built a shelf over the couch where I'd started putting a few books to read when I needed to get out of the house to relax away from the smell of liquor.
I had thought that upon seeing the couch she would head over to it and immediately sit down but she had stopped walking almost as soon as she'd entered. If I looked too closely she resembled a rag doll waiting for me to position her and I didn't want to even somewhat control her life.
"Janet..."
"I wanted to...apologize for whatever I said yesterday." she spoke over me, her voice frail as if she hadn't spoken in years.
I shook my head quickly walking over to her and forcing myself to remain stationary rather than reaching for her arm and guiding her to the couch. "You didn't do anything wrong. I don't know what came over me, I'm sorry." I didn't know what to say other than I was sorry for having acted like a prick, but even that didn't seem to be enough.
Janet looked up with tears in her eyes and it was then I noticed just how pale she was, more than just a lack of sleep -- perhaps crying so hard that she'd made herself sick, her eyes did look puffy and red even in this dim light.
"I just want to help and I can't do that unless I understand you and who you are...what made you this way..." she said. I opened my mouth to apologize again but she shook her head, covering my mouth with one hand and speaking quickly. "I understand it's hard for you to open up. I can get that, really I can. But you've got to understand my life's...well, bluntly put, pretty much perfect compared to yours. That's why it's hard for me to understand."
Unsure of what she expected me to say or even what to do I closed my eyes. Slowly, I felt her hand move away from my mouth. Her next words sent me reeling and I felt sick to my stomach, clutching a handle on the car for support.
"I know I haven't know you long, but I have feelings for you. I know you know it, too. But...I can't read you. You close yourself up so much I can't read you at all. You won't let me in and I --"
"You don't..." I broke off, averting my eyes and staring at my reflection in the glass. "It's not a good idea for me to tell you everything so soon. Like you said, your life is perfect. I don't want...to taint you, I guess is the word I'm looking for." That was probably the worst word I could have chosen but it was indeed accurate. I didn't want to taint her with my father's anger, my mother's addiction, David's sorrow, my own fear -- I didn't want to stain her in that way. I closed my eyes against the sad reflection of the boy in the glass.
Her voice was soft but bitter. "Don't tell me what I want. I know what I want, I want to be your friend. I'd love to have more, I really would, but I get that I shouldn't rush things. I mean, God --"
I felt a rush of air I hadn't expected and opened my eyes in time to see her waving her arms wildly and I smiled in spite of myself.
"--I've never even had my first kiss! I can't..."
"You what!?" I said, laughing even though I knew I shouldn't.
Janet stopped in mid-rant and blinked a few times in shock at my sudden outburst. "What what?"
Not responding, I released the door handle and made my way over to the couch, collapsing on it laughing. She followed me, hands on her hips, a look of agitation on her face and a touch of it in her voice as well, "You're laughing about me not having been kissed, aren't you?"
"No wonder you blushed so hard when I came into your room in a towel..." I gasped, peering up at her through my fingers.
It took several long seconds but finally she was laughing too and sat down on the couch at my feet, crossing her arms over her chest at trying to look indignant but failing.
When I had recovered from my shock I sat up, making sure not to hit her with my feet since I was occupying most of the couch and she was sitting beside them. "I'm more than shocked though. You're not lying?"
She shook her head, "Of course not. I've never even thought about..."
"Oh don't lie." I snickered, leaning forward and drawing my knees to my chest so that she'd have more room. "Everyone's thought about it, don't be so modest."
Janet's face turned scarlet and she turned her head away from me, hiding behind a veil of hair and mumbling to herself. I adjusted my position so that I was now kneeling on the couch, crawling over to her and pulling her to me in a hug.
"What the hell...why am I being randomly hugged after getting laughed at?" her voice sounded genuinely confused.
Chuckling, I shrugged my shoulders and let her go, settling back on my knees and watching her. "I'm just glad that you're not angry at me for having left. I haven't slept at all...been writing all day to keep myself busy."
I had gotten her attention, her eyes brighter with curiosity, "What did you write about?"
I furrowed my brow, running my hand over the back of my neck and clearing my throat as I told her, "Dying with honor."
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