September Rain

17

  -Avery

  People are fake. And who needs that bullshit?

  Not me.

  For a long time, though, I thought I did.

  I was just one of the many lonesome people that walked among the Normals, pretending to be one of them, even though all I really was was transparent.

  But there was more to it than that. When that empty part inside me opened up, it was like the second a door shut, the moment I was by myself, that black feeling would stretch over me and I became emptiness personified. A black hole. My skin, the casing that was stretching. I felt the hollow growing, pressing into me, threatening to turn me inside out or obliterate me completely. I couldn't stand it. It hurts to be stretched that way.

  All I wanted was relief, and the easiest way to make it go away was to fill it. Fillers were always temporary, though. There was nothing that could ever truly make it stop. Drinking helped, sometimes. But I couldn't always get alcohol. Then, I'd have to grab onto the next best something. Or someone. To anchor me in place, to feel them beside me so I'd know I was still alive, because I couldn't really be evaporating if I felt something besides the emptiness.

  +++

  The first time I made the mistake of letting Troy-Shithead-Bleecher get near me was at a party. It was one of those nights that I snuck out, alone, seeking something more from life. I didn't know it was Troy's house. To me the party house was just another brown stucco-a suburban-type place-filled with people I didn't care to know. I just needed to get out of my head and feel something.

  That night, Angel had come down with a migraine and withdrew the way she always did. There was nothing I could do for her, so I decided that I needed to party.

  Strolling in the front door, the house was jam-packed.

  I wasn't there even a full minute before some drunk dude-he was at least ten years older than me-staggered over and gave a creepy eye-rape that turned my stomach. I acted like he wasn't there, like I didn't hear him ask my name. I refused to notice him. As he reached for my shoulder I broke right and walked towards a large fish tank.

  There were people everywhere. Mostly kids from Eager High. The large living area was otherwise empty-no furniture except for one lamp and the giant fish tank that bordered the living and dining rooms. In the dining area, on the opposing side the fish tank, were four jocks standing over a keg. One was holding a stack of red cups, another was holding a bag. Music played from unseen speakers as I recognized Jimmy Maroney and Curt Brody. People were walking up to them, placing dollar bills into the bag Jimmy was holding, then Curt would pass a cup to each person. A third guy I didn't recognize would pump the keg while a fourth would do the pouring. Jocks turned everything into a team effort.

  The older drunk that greeted me at the door followed me over to the fish tank. Someone passing by addressed him as "Uncle Smiley." He stood a few feet away with a hand on the tanks' glass, seeming to watch the water bubbles gurgling from the filter.

  I focused on the music. It was a new song, one I'd never heard before, but I liked the sound. It wasn't grunge, but it was definitely good.

  Uncle Smiley made a dumb comment about my jeans: how tight they were and how he wondered why I bothered to put them on when he'd heard it was so easy to get them off.

  I stared at him, my embarrassment plain to anyone who took the time to notice. I wasn't pissed like I should have been, mostly because it was true and nothing new to me. People always talked to me that way. At that time, I was just coming out of my slut phase-slowly growing careful about whom I allowed to take advantage of me. But that guy looked old enough to be my dad and I thought, judging by his weaving, that he was about to pass out. And the whole scenario just seemed too pathetic.

  I turned away from him once again, wondering why I even bothered to try. Those high school affairs weren't invitation only-they went by reputation. By that standard, I was not invited. But I had heard some other kids talking about it and was bored. More than that, I wanted free beer.

  Smiley was suddenly at my side again, with his liquor-stink breath in my ear. "Why you do that girl? Huh?" And then, his red plastic cup tipped, sending a stream of beer all over the green silk top I'd snaked from my mom's closet because it matched my eyes.

  Free beer indeed.

  Uncle Ass-Smiley laughed through an apology, swearing that he'd find me a towel. Then, I noticed Troy Bleecher was posting at the keg. He walked over as I was wringing out the front of my shirt.

  "So much booze and not a drop to drink," he quipped. His hair was buzzed down at the time, for football. He whipped a red plastic cup from behind his back and offered it to me.

  I examined at the contents. It looked like beer but I was suspicious and gave a quick sniff. "Are you trying to roofie me?"

  Troy laughed and took a demonstrative sip before offering it up once more. When I didn't accept the proffered cup a second time, he tipped it up and drank until it was gone.

  "Come on, I'll get you a towel."

  I followed him through the packed living room and down the hallway to a closed bedroom door. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it, walked through, and flipped on a light. The first thing I saw was a giant bed and froze.

  "Wait here," Troy said, without seeming to notice my discomfort. He walked into an adjoining restroom and returned with a plush, cream and blue checkered towel.

  I dried myself as best I could and handed it back. "Is this your house?"

  "Yeah," he tapped his fingers along the front of his shirt. "You good?"

  I nodded and thanked him. I should have made up an excuse and went back to the party. But at that moment, all I was thinking about was avoiding Uncle Dickwad. I knew he was out there looking for me, waiting to ruin something else.

  "Hey, Troy, do you mind if I stay in here a minute?"

  "That's cool. Uncle Smiley is trashed and it's not even midnight." He grinned wide. "He's my chaperone." His hands made air quotes around the word chaperone and we both laughed.

  Then, awkward silence.

  "I could stay and talk with you. If you don't mind." Troy offered, and there was something sweet about the way he asked. Something that made me think that if I said no, he would leave me alone in his parent's bedroom. But I didn't want to be alone.

  I nodded. "Okay. But not for sex."

  Troy laughed into his closed fist. "Damn, girl, why do you assume? Can't I just talk to you?"

  "We can talk." I answered, and a sudden eagerness rose in my belly. Troy said he didn't want any more than my company and I liked it.

  He invited me to sit beside him at a padded bench at the end of his parents' bed. He examined the spill-stain down the front of my shirt. "Do you want something to wear that doesn't smell like beer?"

  "Sure."

  He disappeared once more and came back with a clean, white tank top and handed it over. It looked like one of his. I could tell that he was going to turn around to give me privacy or maybe to point me to the bathroom to change, but I lifted my shirt before he had the chance.

  Troy didn't say anything and he didn't turn away. He just stared.

  Suddenly, he was the nervous one and I liked that. I took his hand from his side and set it over my bra. He kept it there for a long moment, and then asked for a kiss.

  + + +