Wax

Inspired by Her

  Partially Inspired by Harrison Li

  Based on Real Events

  WAX

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One: Merci (3)

  Chapter Two: Her (30)

  Chapter Three: Music (50)

  Chapter Four: Eryk (65)

  Chapter Five: Dean (90)

  Chapter Six: Wax (116)

  Chapter Seven: Broken (153)

  Chapter Eight: Truth (161)

  Chapter Nine: Mercedes (193)

  Epilogue (215)

  Chapter 1

  It was the day after the Paris bombings, or at least, I think it was. I wouldn’t remember much of it anyway; I was so disillusioned by the fact that I just got a B on my Honors Pre-Calc test that I didn’t give a damn about anything else. It was January, no February, I don’t know actually. I just remembered that I thought my life was falling apart all around me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  I mean, come on, why would I care about Paris when it was a couple thousand miles and an entire ocean away from me? But my grades though, my grades were everything. College was right around the goddamn corner, and I was scared almost out of my mind. Failing that stupid test meant that I had to get a 93.7 on the next one in order to keep my A, and if I kept my A I could have a 4.83 GPA, and if I got my 4.83 GPA I could go to a decent enough college like UCLA or Princeton. I wasn’t good enough for Stanford or Harvard, because that was what my grades told me, and so I guess Princeton would have to do.

  It was rainy. Cold, and absolutely miserable and dreary. The sky was split asunder by dark gray clouds and gloomy drafts of cold bitter air. It looked like the grungy act of a 1960s movie, or something bizarre like that.

  And I secretly liked it.

  The school bell rang like the screeching of a demon from hell, and it was one of the most agonizing noises I’ve ever heard. I swear, the only other time I get even this closed to kicking something is in the morning, when the alarm clock wakes me up for school.

  And school, oh man school. School was so freaking stupid, but I had to like it because it was my only way into college which was also my only way into a good career and random stuff like that. I dunno man; I guess it was just something everyone likes.

  I was in Pre-Calc at the time, and Mr. Guesk, the teacher, was a friendly ole chap. He was real nice for a man of his age, and was probably what you usually think of when the word ‘teacher’ comes to mind, all friendly and all. The receding hairline, along with the polo shirt, and the slacks and nice dress shoes only added to his image.

  His room was even worse, I think. Beige everywhere. I hated beige. It was as if some idiot decided to mix white and caramel and got an ugly color, but instead of discarding it, I guess they wanted to own something and decided to name the freaking thing an actual color.

  Beige.

  I even hated the goddamn name.

  Anyways, the chap called me into his class, sat me down in front of him with a sort of odd expression on his face and talked. There was an odd twinkle in his eyes, which kinda drove me crazy ‘cause sometimes I just wanted him to be a regular teacher but other times, I loved the way he articulated things and had little talks about life and all.

  “So Merci, I see that you got a B on your last test?”

  His voice was low, deeply tuned like the cello in an underground symphonic orchestra.

  “Mhm,” I replied, thinking about the stupid grades and stupid school and the stupid math class. Honestly, I didn’t even like math, I just liked the class because Mr. Guesk made the damn thing sorta fun.

  I guess he realized that I wasn’t paying much attention to him or whatever, because he said my full name.

  “Mercedes, please. I understand that you’ve never gotten a B on a test in your entire high school career? I just wanted to tell you that it’s ok to fall sometimes.”

  That got me angry, and I didn’t even know why. Heat pooled in my stomach as my throat churned with red.

  “No it’s not!” I snapped at him, mouth contorting dangerously. “If I don’t have a 4.83 GPA I won’t get into a good college, and that’s the end of my life.”

  It might’ve been a trick of the light, but Mr. Guesk looked awfully sad right then and there. His expressions curled back like a kicked puppy, but it was almost as if he felt sorry for me.

  That made me angrier, and I suddenly didn’t know why I even liked him as a teacher.

  “Look, can I go now?” Frost crept through the cracks of my lips as I glared at the ground or rather, nowhere in particular. I can’t explain it, I just felt so freaking mad. It was like he was telling me that all my life would amount to nothing.

  That’s not true, I told myself.

  That’s not true at all. He’s just an old fart who got stuck as a teacher, making a salary of only $50,000 dollars a year. That won’t be me, I vowed.

  My name would be known across the world, and I’ll be rich and famous through school and studies and get to a good college because…

  I dunno actually, but I just knew that I had to become rich and famous because everyone wanted to be rich and famous I guess.

  I stalked out of his room with his sad, old eyes entranced on my back. I pulled the tight strings of my gray sweater in tighter, and pulled on a pair of knitted fingerless gloves.

  It was a cold day, I thought to myself as I stepped out of the K building, where all math related classes were held. The blue gate in the math building loomed above me as I stepped under it, and out into the school yard.

  Woodbridge High School.

  I think the first impression that I ever had of this place since I moved here a year ago, was that it looked like something out of a school poster boy magazine. It was obnoxiously bright red and gold, and everyone wore bright red and gold and all the buildings were bright red and gold.

  I hated bright red and gold, even though I think I was supposed to like it or something, as everyone here wore it.

  And enter Nick.

  Yeah.

  And he also wore red and gold.

  “Hey dude, how’d do you on that math test?”

  He knew exactly how I did on my math test.

  Nick Patel was this Indian bloke who I would call my friend, I guess. He stuck to the same dress code over and over again, as if his body just couldn’t wear anything other than a bright red polo shirt with a number on the sleeve, nice khakis that sorta resembled a pale gold, and crimson running shoes.

  Sometimes, when he decides to get really wild with his clothes, he puts on a suit over the polo, and wears that to school nonchalantly, but you know he’s trying to show it off because his usual dialogue is something along the lines of:

  “Oh this? Yeah I wear this everyday like casually and stuff.”

  Anyways.

  “I got a B.”

  “Oh that sucks dude.” A sort of empathy entered his voice. “You know if you get any more B’s you’re gonna be fucked right?”

  I grumbled and nodded.

  “Yeah whatever, let’s just go meet up with the others and grab some food or something.”

  It was a Friday afternoon, and even though Friday’s were supposed to be sunny, it really wasn’t. Gray clouds filled the sky like cigarette flavored cotton candy, and the occasional rumble of thunder serenaded the day quite perfectly, in my opinion. Blankets of rain fell slowly around us as we made our way through the almost empty schoolyard, and to his lockers, which was our usual meeting spot.

  As we got closer to the little canopy that sheltered the row of lockers, I could see the rest of the people I hung out with.

  Thor.

  Andrew.

  Claudia.

  Aileen.

  Dick.

  Mason.

  I guess you could call them my friends. We were consider
ed the overachievers of the school, but who doesn’t want to get into a good college for engineering? I mean, art’s so useless anyways.

  “Sup bruvs,” I muttered as I stepped into the little circle of humans. Body heat encircled the air, and I relaxed a little.

  “Still wearing black and gray?”

  That was Thor.

  “Yeah.”

  “You know someday you’re gonna get stopped by the principal right? I mean, everyone wears red and gold. Why don’t you just freaking do it?”

  “I dunno. Don’t feel like it.”

  I already felt worse for wear.

  “Listen guys, let’s just get some food yeah? We should stop picking on him.”

  That was Aileen. She was the only one I was kinda close to in the group, and she was pretty cute I guess. She had a nice chest, and long skinny legs that matched her torso. Basically, she was a pretty fit bird. Obviously, you weren’t supposed to care about personality, because no one did, so it’s all about physical appearance.

  Anyways, I think everyone in the group has had a little crush on her sometime.

  But because it was “bros before hoes”, no one really made a move. Either that or we were all scared to. But I think we knew that we had to make the move, because according to the movies, all the guys had to make the first move.

  In my heart, I thought it was a really stupid rule, but I just went along with it because I had nothing better to do.

  “Thanks Aileen.”

  Frosty breaths of steam escaped my parched lips as we climbed under the bridge at the south entrance to the school. We were heading to Wing Stop, which was our usual spot, as it was next to LA Fitness.

  We had this routine where all the guys went to LA Fitness after we ate, because it was apparently fun to go to the gym, and all the girls would come to watch.

  I guess I liked it, because according to Nick and my parents as well all boys had to work out and build muscle. I dunno, I was never really a fanatic about it like Nick or Mason or Dick, but I forced myself to think it’s cool.

  Wing Stop was located on this little alley way in the middle of a large mall, and it served hot wings and fries and stuff. It was kinda good, I guess, and I usually got their little 11 wing combo or whatever.

  The shop itself was colored beige, which I hated, and it had a couple of tables outside where all the artists and songwriters sat. Our group didn’t really associate with them, because we knew that they were stupid and unrealistic and probably not going to a good college.

  I lifted my gaze to the outside tables for a brief second, and my gaze lingered on them for a brief second.

  There were a couple people there, like 2 to be exact. The first was dressed in black from head to toe, with a hood up, and he looked vaguely familiar. The other was a girl, who looked like she had a face straight out of a magazine, and she was dressed like a girl out of time. It was like she was still stuck in the 1950’s, with a skirt and high socks and converse. A light pink color, almost a shade of periwinkle, adorned her torso.

  “Hey. It’s your turn to order.” Aileen again, her voice snapped me out of my entranced gaze.

  “Oh. Oh sorry.” I muttered as I stepped up to the counter to get my food.

  I literally got the same thing every time I got here, I realized with a start after I finished ordering, and so did everyone else. It was always 11 wings with fries and a drink and a side dip of ranch.

  We sat down in the middle of the little wing shack, and settled down noisily. The cacophony of backpacks hitting the ground, and zippers zipping and unzipping was kinda unbearable. I shoved my hands deeper into my light gray sweater, and blinked a couple of times to clear the dust inside my eyes.

  “What do you guys wanna do after this?” That was Dick.

  Dick was an odd bloke from Vietnam, I think, and he was tall as hell. He practically rose above the rest of the group like the Eiffel tower in Paris, and he always had this smug or cocky smile. I had never told him this, but I’ve always wanted to wipe it off.

  I shrugged in response to the question, as I knew someone would respond sooner or later.

  “The gym of course. I need to keep working on my biceps.” That was Nick.

  “I need to work on my abs, almost got that 6 pack.”

  Mason.

  “I need to work on my back, and my abs.”

  Andrew.

  “Arms.”

  Thor.

  I guess it was my turn or something, because they all looked expectantly at me. I felt kinda depressed again, for some reason.

  “Ask Aileen or Claudia.”

  Nick looked at me like I was crazy, which I might’ve been.

  “They’re girls.”

  He stressed the word girls as if it was a curse word or something.

  “They don’t work out.”

  Mason added, and then continued with a sort of concerned expression on his face.

  “You okay?”

  A punch was thrown at him.

  “Ha! Gaaaaaay! If you care about him as much as that you might as well marry him!”

  I got even more depressed, but I pretended to laugh along with the group.

  When their stupid laughing bout was over, they once again turned to me expectantly. Only this time, I realized that Aileen and Claudia looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  “I’ll work on cardio.” I muttered under my breath as I shoved a piece of lukewarm chicken inside my mouth with a fork, and chewed as quietly as I can.

  Nick grumbled and shook his head.

  “I swear I’ll never understand you Mercedes. You know going to the gym is your chance to get swoll and get pussy later on right? I mean, what girl likes a 130 pound skinny sack of skin and bones?”

  I knew I probably should’ve gotten angry, but I was just so tired of everything.

  “Whatever man.”

  “No! I’m serious! Are you a guy or not?!”

  “Hm.”

  “Then act like it! Fucking work out and get laid already! You’re not turning into those retarded song writers and artsy people are you? You know those people are good for nothing in the end don’t you?!”

  I clenched my fist under the table as I continued to listen to him rant.

  It was true; I was about 130 pounds and 5’11, which meant I was skinny as a stick. I guess maybe I do need to work out or something, I thought to myself.

  “Got it cap.”

  “Jesus! Finally! I was scared you were gonna become useless for a second there.”

  “Yeah.”

  I finally looked up from my food, hoping to see something, anything on the other’s expressions.

  I guess I shouldn’t have been more disappointed than I was, because I should’ve known they all agreed with Nick. Everyone agreed with Nick, and by everyone I don’t mean just our little group. I meant the world, television, magazines, TV shows, all of them.

  “All right man, whatever. Let’s go work out then!” I injected a bit of energy and enthusiasm into my voice, to try to feel better about myself.

  Mason nodded approvingly.

  “There’s the spirit!”

  We grabbed our stuff, and headed over to the big hulking building that was the gym, almost as if it was trying to compensate for something.

  I did the little running machines, and everyone else split off into their little groups, with the girls giggling and pointing and the guys huffing and puffing.

  In the end, only Dick ended up next to me.

  In the past year that I’ve known him, I still dunno if Dick was his real name, or a nickname. I’ve always assumed that it was a nickname, but now I’m not even sure anymore.

  “Hey dude.”

  I grunted at him as I turned up the obnoxiously loud and horrific rapping of the only things on Spotify recently. I grimaced at the number of cuss words and unnecessary racial slurs into their songs, but could only bear it because that’s what I was expected to listen it.

  I guess I had to like it because every guy l
iked it. I mean, we couldn’t like music like Taylor Swift because that was only for girls.

  I guess.

  “How many bitches did you score in the last month?”

  The group had a little game, where the guys would see how many girls they could try to get in bed with every month or so, because it was the cool and popular thing to do. I never really joined them in on it, and I didn’t think I would ever because their stupid game made me kinda angry as well.

  “Hm?”

  “I said,” Dick panted next to me as he took off his shirt to show off his 4 pack to a couple of girls who were standing in the corner. “How many bitches did you sleep with in the past month?”

  I groaned internally, as my attempt at a change of subject didn’t work. I also didn’t want to see his man nipples shine in all their “masculine” glory.

  “None.”

  Dick laughed, “That’s pathetic man. You at least should get one! I mean, no homo or anything because I’m not like those gays, but I think you could get some hot chicks if you really tried.”

  I patted my ears, and tried to make the horrifying music go away as I ran in place.

  I hated how he used the words “no homo”, as if giving a compliment to a friend suddenly turned into a game of sexuality preferences and crude sarcasm.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  I tried to run by myself in peace, but then Dick opened his mouth again.

  “You wanna know how many I fucked?”

  I almost groaned out loud this time.

  “Sure Dick.”

  I decided to humor him by silently flipping him off secretly. You know? The thing where you pretend to push up your glasses with your middle finger.

  The guy didn’t even notice.

  “Ok, so last night, I took this sophomore chick to my beach house, and we had such a great time. She had all the things you’d look for in a girl you know? A nice vagina, nice legs, chest, all of that.”

  I glared silently at nothing in particular.

  That both pissed me off and depressed me to no end.

  “Nice.”

  Later that day, when the entire group split up to go home. I decided I would talk to Aileen, and ask her if she wanted to hang out. I secretly harbored a tiny crush on her for the past couple of months, and I thought it might be cool with the others if I asked her out on a little tiny date.

  She was special, you know?

  Like not special to me, as in those chick flick romance movies, but special as in she seemed different from the rest. I had hoped that she might’ve been like me. And that was something I admired greatly. And, the fact that she was also pretty cute wasn’t a bad factor either.

  “Hey,” I spoke up after it was just the two of us.

  The sky above us had turned as pitch black as a nightmare, as it was probably already 10 o clock. We had finished our usual dinner of Philly’s, because it was the only food we could get near there aside from Wing Stop. You couldn’t even see the stars that night, as rain still splashed across the sky like a gray tipped paint brush.

  It was a beautiful night, and the rain was my version of liquid courage.

  “Yeah?”

  She brushed her lovely hair behind her ears.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out next tomorrow?”

  My neck felt incredibly hot as I must’ve looked like a walking bottle of ketchup.

  Aileen looked up with a confused expression.

  “Merci, are you feeling all right? We always hang out on Saturdays after homework.”

  “No,” I stuttered out, “I-I-I mean, do you want to hang out just the two of us?”

  “Umm,” She fixed her eyes on me, the color of viridian sea foam. “All right I guess. Where?”

  “How about, Chipotle? So we can get chipot-laid?”

  Aileen laughed at the pickup line Mason told me to say on any girls I met.

  “Okay. Okay sure. Sounds good. Sounds great.”

  Wow, I thought to myself. I didn’t know that pickup lines actually worked. I knew that everybody used ‘em but I never actually asked anyone out on a date with one before, and it was the strangest experience.

  It felt wrong, but I mean it worked in a way so I didn’t question it.

  I gave her a half smile, when in the inside I was incredibly excited and nervous and every other possible combination of energetic emotion there was. I knew that guys weren’t supposed to show emotion or whatever, so I didn’t do anything crazy.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  I grabbed my bike, and pushed off into the night.

  I lived incredibly close to the school, and it was only a 7 minute bike if I went my fastest speed. I had a road bike, because it was cool and popular to have one so I begged my parents for one and they agreed on the account that I got all A’s in all my classes.

  But it was actually really pathetic that I still had a bike, because everybody else had cars. Everyone in the group had the newest version of the Toyota, or some other brands that I haven’t even heard of before. I think that’s really bad because apparently guys had to know all the coolest of sports cars and the fastest of all car models, and if you didn’t know one you were supposed to kill yourself or something stupid like that.

  Night drafts whipped past my face as I turned on Woodhollow drive, and onto my street, Primrose Drive. Within a few seconds, I could see the rough outline of my father’s Lexus RX 350. He made me memorize that to show it off to my friends, or something like that.

  It seemed like the normal Friday night, with the exception of the sound of the pitter patter of rain as it kissed the rough cement ground. Most people liked sunny weather, or nice and cloudless. But for some reason, I was always obsessed with the rain and thunder. Suddenly, I heard the sound of hard wood slap against concrete.

  My head whipped around as soon as I saw a pair of feet touch the ground. I could see the outline of a person walking under a street light. And as I looked closer, I could make out she held a skateboard in her arms.

  It was a skater chick.

  The skater chick stopped, stared at me in a confused manner, before starting on her way right towards me.

  I watched, entranced, as her hair fluttered in the wind like silken drapes. The girl flipped the board, and twisted her body. It was like a dance, as the board moved with perfect harmony with the girl. It was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.

  I didn’t realize that she came to the house a couple away from mine, which had been empty for almost a month now, until the she called out to me.

  “Hey dude!”

  My head snapped up from my entranced state.

  “Uh, hey. Hi. How’s it going?” I knew I was supposed to be polite.

  The girl laughed, her voice sounded like twinkling drops of crystals.

  She came into the streetlight light, and I finally saw her face for the first time. With a start, I realized she was one of the people sitting outside Wing Stop.

  But then, I realized, she must be one of the artist people.

  With a mumble of disappointment, I started to turn back towards my own house. My parents and the group have all indirectly told me that the artist people are bad because they don’t make any money in the future when they grow up. My parents especially, told me that singers and songwriters didn’t contribute to society because they were useless, so I stuck to computer programming and math and science.

  “Where you going?”

  “Inside.” I called out in disappointment.

  “Oh come on! It’s a good night! Do you wanna skate with me?”

  I stopped in my tracks as I realized what she had said.

  “But it’s raining?”

  “So? That’s what makes it fun!” She replied, a smile spilling into her voice.

  That made me kinda happy, for some unknown reason.

  I told myself that I pretty much had no homework whats
oever, and I’ve always wanted to see how these artist people operated, and that was the only reason why I bothered in the first place.

  Fuck it, I thought.

  “Yeah. Yeah okay. I’ll be right out.”

  I stashed my bike inside the brightly illuminated and extremely organized garage, where everything was so freaking color coded and neat.

  With an umbrella in my hand, I headed out.

  I met her, a complete stranger, under the dimly lit street light with a half grin on my face. I loved the pitter patter of rain against the protective shade of the umbrella, it was one of the most soothing sounds that ever existed, I thought to myself.

  Suddenly, my umbrella was yanked out of my hands by an unseen force.

  “Hey!” I cried out in protest, as the girl outta time took my umbrella and threw it behind some bushes. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Well now you can enjoy the rain, duh dummy!” She said with that twinkling laugh that was so maddening.

  I was about to protest again before I realized that she was totally right. I felt the army of rain tickle the back of my neck, and felt the lone soldiers of water slide down my temple.

  And it felt… really good.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Huh?” I was snapped out of my stupor once again.

  “What’s your name dude?” She asked again, laughing at my little moment.

  “Uh, it’s Merci.”

  “Oh wow! That’s really cool! My name’s Claire, Claire Dean! How’s it going?”

  “That’s… nice. How do you do?” I replied, still knowing that I was supposed to be polite.

  “So Merci, does that stand for something?” She rolled my name around in her mouth like a new type of lollipop, trying to get the hang of it.

  “Uh yeah. It’s short for Mercedes.” I cringed, and grimaced for her response.

  Whenever I tell anyone my full name, they just make fun of it. It’s probably because I was named after a car, or whatever, and I guess liking cars were cool, but having an irregular name wasn’t. Especially the group, they sometimes called me Mercedes to annoy me, all but Aileen.

  “Woah! That’s super cool!” Claire responded with enthusiasm.

  I was startled.

  “Super… cool?” I asked, no one had ever called my name cool before. It had always been weird or Benz.

  “Yeah! Like the villa in France right?”

  I was even more surprised now. I had no idea that my namesake was a villa in France, although, I’m glad there was a villa in France that was my namesake because I was always obsessed with Paris.

  “That’s… right.” I broke through 2 layers that night.

  “Anyways, come on, let’s skate!” Claire pulled me along and dragged me on top of the wooden plank of death.

  “All right. Let’s see what you got.”

  I looked at her questioningly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well you know, skate.”

  “Oh. OH.” I felt incredibly stupid and awkward for a second there, and I blushed.

  “Um, I don’t know how to.”

  Nick would’ve made fun of me, so would Dick. And Mason and Thor and Andrew and Claudia. I don’t think Aileen would’ve.

  “Well, let’s fix that.”

  Claire taught me how to Ollie that night. Basically, you stomp your back foot on the tail of the board and drag your front foot up to make it level up and jump. And then, your board basically comes up with you. I felt like I was a pioneer, or someone really important like that, and it both fascinated and scared the hell outta me.

  “So, what kinda music do you listen to?” Claire asked me as she guided me through the steps of a rolling Ollie.

  I grimaced at the question.

  “I like rap and hip hop.” I lied through my teeth. In reality, and this was something I didn’t even tell the group, I liked this really weird alternative band called The 1975 because they were really counterculture-esque. Sometimes, I dreamed about stuff, and The 1975 sang about the same stuff. They were just real about everything you know?

  They were real about life.

  They were real about love.

  They were real about the system, and maybe that’s why I like them so much.

  “Ew!” Claire laughed and crinkled her nose.

  “I mean good for you man, but I hate rap.” She chuckled.

  I nodded as I tried the rolling Ollie again.

  “So what type of music do you like?”

  “The 1975!” She exclaimed with a large grin on her face.

  I blanched, as I tried to keep my thoughts coherent. “You like The 1975?”

  I felt like the world had been pulled out under my feet. There was another.

  “Yeah! I really like their new song, This Must Be My Dream, it’s super real you know? Wait do you like them too?”

  I nodded wordlessly, and I guess she could see the shock just rolling around on my face.

  I was absolutely floored.

  “I thought all guys liked rap and all girls liked soft songs.” I stammered out in shock.

  “Excuse me?” Claire looked kinda pissed all of a sudden.

  I don’t think I understood the weight of my words or theirs at that particular moment. I think that I was just so disillusioned and shocked with the weight of my discoveries, that I didn’t even know what I was saying.

  “Nothing! I just meant! I mean… never mind. I think I have to go home now. I’ll see you some other time.”

  I turned and almost sprinted into my house. A skater chick, who was also an artist, and she liked The 1975 as well, the importance of the moment didn’t dawn upon me until much, much later.

  But for some reason, I couldn’t get the scent of roses out of my nose.

  Anyways, I knew skating which was seen as a sort of crime in the Woodbridge community because the skaters always waxed the curbs and made everything super slippery. Maybe this was why my parents told me to stay away from artists and songwriters, I told myself silently.

  As soon as I got inside the beige colored house, I suddenly heard the screeching of my brother’s and my parent’s voices.

  It was an argument, again.

  “How come you only have a 3.8 GPA? Why aren’t you more like your brother?!” That was my mother, and she sounded pissed.

  I crept inside silently, and opened the door to the living room as softly as I could to observe the absolutely tragic scene.

  My brother, Cyrus, was standing against a wall and boy did he look pissed as well.

  “So what? I don’t wanna be stuck in an office when I grow up and havta look at numbers all day!”

  “Are you saying you want to become an artist? Are you saying you want to be poor and useless to society?” My father this time, and his voice had gained a deadly steel.

  “Maybe I do! Maybe I don’t fucking care anymore!”

  “Watch your mouth!”

  “I’m going to my room!”

  The 14 year old stormed off, yanking himself out of my mother’s grip.

  I felt bad for the kid, I mean, he had never been the diamond in the rough my parents expected, and whereas I was always the valedictorian or the highest achiever, my brother cared more about his games than anything.

  We were almost the exact opposites of each other, and so I wasn’t really close to him, or at least I haven’t been for 3 years. We didn’t fight a lot, we just never really talked.

  But today, I decided it would probably be good to talk to him.

  “Cyrus. “ I whispered as I crept upstairs and into his room. “Are you okay?”

  The kid already had a League of Legends tab open, and was queuing up for a game.

  “What do you care?” He responded with a grunt. “Go study or something.”

  “Come on Cyrus, talk to me.”

  He paused his queue.

  “Why do you care all of a sudden?” He asked
with a raised eyebrow.

  I didn’t know the answer to the question. I actually wondered that myself, but I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I told him that I just wanted to talk and watch him play. It had been a while, maybe a couple years, since we had last played together, actually.

  I had been too preoccupied with school work and extracurricular activities to give a damn about his childish games, but that day I decided to humor him.

  “Okay…” He said hesitantly, and logged into a game.

  “So what rank are you anyway?”

  Cyrus scoffed, “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  I knew a bit about League to make a reference.

  “Why, you Bronze?” I teased.

  In League, there were ranks and it went from Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Diamond, Master, and Challenger, with Bronze being the lowest and Challenger being the highest.

  The kid scoffed again, “Please, don’t compare me with those scrubs. I’m challenger rank 51.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Excuse me?!” I thundered. Being challenger 51 meant he was ranked #51 out of 2 million players in North America. I had no idea my little 14 year old brother was good enough to go pro.

  “Shaddap!” The kid whispered back impatiently, “I’m supposed to be sulking right now. Plus it’s not like you care anyways, you have your oh so very important school career to worry about.”

  I grimaced at that.

  “Come on Cyrus, don’t be like that.”

  Boy did he get pissed.

  “Don’t be like what? You don’t even fucking know me and I’m your own brother. All you ever wanted was to be good at school, and great fucking job you did it! Does it feel good? Huh? Huh?!”

  I didn’t reply.

  It was true, ever since I was younger I was always the one my parents paid more attention to, because I was the one with the good grades. I was the one who they favored because the letter A defined me more than my brother, who was characterized by a B+. When I was little, I would insult the kid and call him a B+ adopted kid, because he wasn’t good enough to fit into our family, or as I thought so back then.

  Over time though, the letter grades and the school, I mean, what do they even mean man? The letter A doesn’t even stand for anything, like it doesn’t even stand for a single word. It’s just a freaking letter. And it wasn’t like there was a difference between an A or a B either.

  It was as if numbers defined as in this damned world, where 3.8 and 4.33 were the scum of the earth, and 4.5 and above were the people who were role models. It wasn’t like they had personalities, or actual souls- no, they were just numbers- I was just a number.

  And that made me really fucking depressed.

  Jesus, now I probably sound like one of those old hippies who want nothing but world peace and free love. I’ve more important things to worry about anyway, I told myself convincingly, like good grades and college and all that jazz. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake that incredible feeling of guilt and something else- something that made me feel all wrong.

  Whatever, I needed to focus on the date with Aileen tomorrow anyways.

  Chapter 2

  The next day was super sunny and hot, and it was really weird. El Nino or whatever it’s called was happening this year, so the weather was super bipolar and stuff. My usual Saturdays usually went a little something like this.

  Brush teeth, shower, eat, homework, eat, homework, rest, homework, hang out with the group.

  However, that Saturday wasn’t the usual Saturday because I realized that later that day, I had a date.

  It would be my first date, but it was a date nonetheless.

  I practically breezed through my homework, as my excitement gave me the jitters and I couldn’t concentrate on anything for long durations of time. The thing with dates is that it’s supposed to be a rite of passage for a guy, or at least that’s what Nick and Dick told me. Because apparently, if you didn’t pay and hold hands and put your arm around the girl, you’re not a real man.

  I guess I wasn’t a real man, or something, because I had no idea what any of those meant, or had any clue on how to do them at all. But the way I figured, since she was special and wasn’t like the rest, we would get along just fine.

  Night came quick, and it was quicker than expected.

  It wasn’t raining anymore, and the weather still seemed extremely bipolar. The sky blazed with an iridescent shade of orange, and I hated orange. The color was so obnoxious, and it was just so…

  Orange.

  I hate orange the color and I hated the fruit as well, which is apparently extremely weird and abnormal because everyone who lived down in Irvine liked oranges. I mean, we lived in a county called Orange County, where everybody was cheerful and safe and had a bright future ahead of them, excluding the artists.

  Anyway, I messed up my brother’s hair fondly as I walked out the door, causing him to give me a strange look as he played League. I recognized some of the people that he played with, and they were all big time pros or big time streamers/ Youtubers. And that fact alone, the fact that my brother might be an artist, both scared and excited me.

  Ever since I was young, I’ve always liked dreaming.

  I dreamt of possibilities, of fractured universes and different lives. And many of my dreams were filled with either different worlds or realities in which I was an artist myself. And I kept these secret, away from everyone.

  I secretly wondered if she did too.

  We were supposed to meet up at Chipotle, because everyone always met up at Chipotle.

  I was excited, but I tried not to show it, you know? Because you weren’t supposed to show emotion as a guy, which I thought was really stupid, but I did it anyways because I didn’t want to mess this date up. Aileen was special, partly because she was different from the rest like me, and partly because I dreamed that she might be an artist.

  It was a powerful dream.

  The night sky contrasted the brightly lit lights of the Chipotle store, as I stood under the brilliant white sign. I shivered, I remember vividly, as a large gust of wind blew past me and ruffled my hair. I swept my hands through the messy helmet hair that covered my head. People in Woodbridge, guys in particular, all had the exact same haircut, and I hated it.

  They all had that weird hair cut where you spike it up and gel in to the side, you know?

  And as far as I know, I was the only freaking person that didn’t have that stupid cut. I dunno why everybody liked it, because it looked just weird, but everyone called me weird for not having it. I almost wanted to cut my hair just for that, but I held on tightly, and so I didn’t cut it.

  It was one of the things I was most proud of.

  I know that sounds weird and all, but when you’re being trapped by the system, you’d know the feeling as well.

  I remember this next part pretty vividly as well.

  Aileen, dressed in dark colors that matched mine rather well, and that wasn’t red or gold, showed up to Chipotle like a goddess descending from the heavens. I mean, she just looked so pretty, you know? I’m probably exaggerating it a little bit, now that I look back it from hindsight, but damn, she just seemingly looked so special.

  “Hi.” I said to her, trying not to seem too much of anything. I knew I was supposed to be confident, and whatever, but when I was with her I just didn’t give a damn anymore. My innocent and naïve teenage mind thought of something along the lines of marriage, and of soul mates.

  “Hello,” she replied, using the same tone as mine.

  It was as if we were in sync, I thought to myself, what a wonderful world.

  I invited her inside, and we got food. It was as if the entire world was a practiced serenade, and we were nothing but actors in the grand scheme of things. It was interesting, to say the least, because actors generally couldn’t choose their lives and which lives they lived out, but for me, for us- I thought that we were
actors in a free world.

  “So,” I began after we sat down, and had our food out, “What do you wanna be when you grow up?”

  I know it was an odd question to ask, but I dunno, I thought it was appropriate because everybody who’s ever lived in the world has been asked that. And it seemed like a good time because obviously, careers and salary defined a person’s life, and so asking for someone’s future career was like trying to know somebody.

  Right?

  She laughed- a light, twinkling laughter that reminded me of the chimes of a bell, a tinker bell to be exact, and covered her mouth with her fleece covered fingertips.

  “Really?” She asked through her giggles, “that’s the question you ask me when we’re hanging out?”

  I nodded, half confused and half in embarrassment.

  “Well,” she said, as the night grew older, “I never really thought about it actually. I just know that I havta get good grades to do well in the future, you know?”

  I leaned forward as excitement grew like a bubble inside of my stomach. She responded perfectly, in my own little dreamt up world, and it was wonderful. I had found another, I told myself.

  Another person like me.

  “Have you ever,” I stirred the straw in my drink as I locked eyes with her, chocolate met grey-green as electricity sparked in my dreams, “I dunno, thought about becoming, oh I dunno, an artist?”

  Time stopped.

  Well, at least for me. I knew that it was a date in my own dreams, but I also knew that it was a make or break moment for me. I needed someone else like me to keep my sanity, I didn’t want to fall into the system like everybody else, and I never wanted to walk to the cliff more. This was the one of the real reasons I wanted to go on a date with her, I think, because I wanted to confirm that I wasn’t the only one who thought weirdly in this fucked up system.

  And of course, it went horribly.

  She laughed, and it sounded like fire- fire from hell and fire from the system.

  “Of course not,” she replied through her cackles, “I’ve never even thought about it! Come on, Merci, you know this isn’t a joke right?”

  My heart dropped.

  “Right,” I replied, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. Meanwhile, inside my mind, my dream had been corrupted by that stupid bitter smell of the system, and it felt absolutely horrible.

  I wanted to cry, but I knew that was also against the rules of the system, and so I didn’t. Instead, I acted like the perfect opposite of the system’s ideal of a man, and ran. Not much better, but I think that was the only logical thing I could’ve done.

  I dunno man, I just ran after our date. I wanna say like a coward, but nah, it was more like I was running from reality.

  It reminded me of the time I went to a dance, in sophomore year. It was Winter Formal, the dance they had at the end of the 1st semester, right around February or so. I remember clearly, because it was like a roller coaster of emotions for me, or at least I thought so.

  It was the first time I really questioned everything.

  Don’t get me wrong, the dance was okay. It was what happened after that was just so fucked up. Winter Formal was a pretty big thing in Woodbridge, it was like a mini prom almost. I dunno, I guess I romanticized the idea too much or something, because I was really fucking sad.

  There was a tradition in Woodbridge that everybody who was anybody would go to an after-party after. It was like a sacred tradition, and I had hoped my parents would let me go. I knew that it would make me look like an artist, but I didn’t really care. My grades were okay, and everything seemed perfectly fine. The group, however, wasn’t going- because all of their parents wanted them to study for finals.

  I had hoped, that maybe, possibly, in any world in my dreams, that I would be able to experience life for one time for myself. But of course, because my parents were trapped within the stupid system, they didn’t let me go.

  I called them at 11, when the dance was first let out, and I was so excited for me. I was ready to just have fun, by myself, and to just enjoy myself for one night in my life. I was ready to be care free- for once.

  “Father,” I said into the phone, “can I stay for an after party and sleepover there? I’ll be back by morning. It’s just this one night.”

  There was a silence for a brief period of time, and my excitement was welling up inside of me like waves against a dam. But as all things eventually fall, so did I.

  “No. You’re nearing the end of your semester. Finish junior year and then maybe we will let you go next year.”

  And without a reply, without even an inquiry about my opinions or thoughts, there was a resolute click on the other side, and the line went dead.

  I dunno how to describe the exact emotions I felt at that certain time, because it was almost impossible to describe. It was like a sinking feeling in your chest, followed by an absolute calmness, like how people say you feel when you know for sure you’re about to die.

  Well maybe not you, or me, but you feel like something inside of you just died, and that may be the worst part actually. And nothing, not even music, could cheer you up. It wasn’t even the party at this point, it was something bigger, and way more impactful.

  I think that’s the time I gave in to the system.

  Anyways, I rode home in the dark after the botched up date with tears surfing behind me upon the pitch black breeze of night like invisible soldiers trying to survive the harsh reality of the world.

  Push.

  It was stupid, really, to think there was another person like me. I didn’t even know why I freaking bothered any more- in the end, no one really cared about it anyway.

  Push.

  Maybe it was right- maybe I should just go and be normal and hate on artists and go back to a life of liking cars and working out for no apparent reason just because it was socially acceptable.

  Push.

  I felt like the tiniest person in the world at that moment- it was as if the entire universe was crashing upon my shoulders, and I had to bear the weight alone. It was torturous, and it was horrifying, and it was her.

  The same girl that I met on my street only the night before. What was her name again? I mused silently to myself, still entranced by her aura. She was standing under the lamp light again, under that holy aura of gold. I was almost entranced by her silhouette, it looked so strong, ya know?

  She just looked so strong.

  I hopped off the bike in a single fluid motion, and strode up next to her.

  I didn’t know what to say, and it wasn’t like the sky above me or the ground below me could help me out either. And I didn’t know what I was doing either, because nothing made sense. I didn’t even know what was happening, and I didn’t know why I even walked up next to her.

  Finally, Claire, the skater chick- noticed me.

  “Oh, hi again.”

  She sounded sorta mad, and pissed off, and suddenly her presence didn’t seem so holy anymore. And, I smelt that sweet scent from last night again.

  Roses.

  “Hello,” I said back softly, as I sat down on the curb under the lamp. I almost didn’t want to look at her, after all, my eyes were still bright red from crying. I couldn’t show her, because I was a guy and guys weren’t supposed to show emotions or whatever, and they were never, ever, ever allowed to cry.

  My bike crashed to the ground behind us with a resounding thud as the kickstand gave away to the weight.

  Claire frowned, “Are you okay?”

  I chuckled mirthlessly from the bottom of my throat, “You know, I don’t really know. I should be saying yes, I really should. I should always be all right, right? I mean, I can’t not be alright because I’m a fucking guy, right? But I’m not…”

  I almost sounded hysterical, and to her, I probably sounded totally off my rocker. I didn’t know why I was telling her this, but I suppose everybody needed someone sometime.

  She sat down be
side me, and suddenly the frown was gone, replaced by a caring expression.

  “You know, I’m not gonna ask what’s wrong- because that’s prying into your business or whatever. But if it helps, whenever I get bored, I usually just listen to music and sing.”

  I hiccupped.

  She awkwardly patted me on the back.

  Claire, being the angel that she was, pulled out her phone. Suddenly, soothing, and calm melody floated through the air. It wasn’t the awful raucous like cacophony of a stupid rap song, or one of those stupid things guys were supposed to like, no- it was Taylor Swift.

  And she started to sing- her voice meshed into the music like it was a piece of the puzzle, so perfectly and harmoniously, it was as if she was one with the song.

  “You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

  And I dunno why, at that moment, the dam broke right open.

  I started sobbing. Like wild, uncontrollable sobs. What used to be light whimpering and muttering turned into the Niagara Falls of crying, and Claire, a random stranger that I’ve only met once, stood like a rock, an anchor against the Falls.

  “You’re all right, hey you’re okay, you’re okay, you’reokayokayokayokay”

  After the hiccups stopped, and what felt like an eternity to me, I wiped my probably bloody red eyes, and turned to face her.

  There was silence as we stared into each other’s eyes for a brief second. It couldn’t have been more than a few milliseconds, but I dunno, I literally felt electricity pass through the air. I know it sounds cliché, but wow, it was like a thunderbolt in the shape of an arrow struck me in the heart.

  “Um, thanks.”

  She nodded, and cleared her throat. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

  “So um, you live here? I’ve never really seen you here before.”

  “Oh, oh yeah! Um,” she brushed her hair behind her ears with a single smooth motion of her intricate fingers, and it looked so effortlessly beautiful. “Yeah, I moved here literally a week ago.”

  I remember now. About a week ago, there was a whole bunch of commotion around her house, as it was previously unoccupied for a couple months as the previous owners moved out I guess. No one really paid attention to it, hell, I didn’t even notice when or where their family moved in.

  “Um,” I said.

  “Um,” she replied mockingly, teasingly.

  I didn’t really know what else to say, I just knew that I was feeling something that was totally foreign to me now. I got really depressed all of a sudden, even though I was in the company of a beautiful girl probably 10 times out of my league. Nothing really made sense to me anymore, I mean, what was the point of everything ya know?

  I had originally thought Aileen was like me, and that I wasn’t alone in this damn world wishing that I lived in another one, where the pressures of school and other stupid stuff just didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes, I read books not just because I wanted to enjoy a good story, or learn a life lesson or things of that nature, but because I wanted to imagine myself in the character’s shoes, where I could be in my own fantasy wonderland for a short while and escape the dementedness of reality.

  “So why were you mad earlier?” I asked, trying to spark conversation.

  She brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and chuckled mirthlessly. “Nothing. My parents just kinda got pissed at me because I didn’t do what they wanted me to do. But honestly, tennis isn’t for me. Writing is!”

  She turned towards me. “Can you understand that?”

  It was an oddly phrased question, and maybe in another life or in another moment in time, the question would’ve sounded insulting, but today, under the soft caress of the moonlight and the golden hue of the lamp, which created a sort of holy ground, it struck home.

  When I was younger, I always wanted to be an artist, a musician if you will, one who appreciated the beautiful things in the world for what they are and accepted them. Guitar, singing, dancing; I wanted to learn everything.

  And my parents said no. Being a little kid, it’s not like I could refuse the will of my parents, but as I got older, I felt myself getting more and more detached from the disposition of their dreams and hopes for me. I had my own passions, and I wanted more than anything to follow them. And I secretly did it, I mean, I’ve always been an okay singer, and I taught myself guitar with an old guitar I found off Craiglist for about $200, but I’ve never actually followed my passions.

  But Claire, even though I’ve only known her for about 10 minutes, I could tell she was 10 times stronger than me already.

  “Yeah, yeah I get you.” I whispered back, trying to convey my emotions through words alone.

  “What do you want to be?”

  Normally, the answer to everyone would be a computer programmer or a computer scientist. And as the practiced words were almost out of my mouth, I stopped and thought about it for a second.

  “A singer. You?”

  Claire paused for a second as well, “I wanna be an author.”

  I nodded, and it felt weird. I actually just spoke my real dream out loud.

  “So what’s the deal with tennis?”

  I didn’t know why I was even asking her stuff like this, I only knew this girl for about 10 minutes or so. But she just looked so cool.

  Claire brushed her hair behind her ears in one smooth motion and sighed. She shook her head. “I dunno why I’m telling you this. But, when I was younger, my parents really wanted me to play tennis. And so, they had trainers and coaches over since I was 9 years old. I’ve been playing tennis for 8 years, you know? And I hated every single year. It’s like a corset that they’ve fit over my body, and I can’t get out. Fuck!”

  Her tone changed to something familiar.

  I nodded in response to her story, and to my surprise, she nodded back, as if she understood me, which I guess, on a weird personal level she kind of did.

  “And you? What’s the deal with music?”

  I didn’t respond for a second. Truth to be told, I had no idea why I decided to pick music. Maybe it was from my desire to express emotions through an aesthetic medium, or maybe I just wanted to sing.

  “I want to express myself through something else.”

  “Yeah,” Claire muttered under her breath, “Don’t we all?”

  I nodded again.

  “Listen, Merci, that’s your name right?”

  I nodded once again.

  “I’m actually a pretty good singer; maybe we can have a duet sometimes?”

  I looked up at her, and grinned softly. “Thanks, I appreciate it. And um, I can help you with your book too.”

  It was her to turn to grin, and she looked so cool.

  “I’d like that.”

  When I got home last night, Cyrus was getting yelled at again. I hated coming home to this, but it’s been happening for about as long as I can remember. My parents, all knowing as they thought they were, always tried to dissuade my brother from following his dreams. They had a mindset akin to that of an Asian parent, in which if the son doesn’t do well in society, it would reflect badly on their teachings.

  Once, I read a book called the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and I guess it was a good book or whatever. But the underlying tone of the book, the way the mother treated the daughters like mere dogs to be ordered around and trained to be successful, well, that made me feel just so wrong. It was like trying to fit my heart shaped heart into a puzzle that only had one more hole in the shape of a square, it just wouldn’t work.

  Granted, there was a happy ending, and the children are very successful, and the book sold millions. But the way her children achieved success, it was aggravating to me. It hit too close to home for comfort.

  “I don’t care if you like gaming Cyrus! If you want to survive in this world you better conform or you’ll be a hobo on the streets begging people for money!” Good old pops yelled, and his voice sounded like a train wreck.

>   My brother just scoffed, I could tell he was neither willing to bend or break. “Whatever, I’m gonna do exactly what I want, and you can’t stop me.”

  My father’s face grew progressively redder. “Why can’t you understand?! Money is everything in this world. You get money, and you will be successful! I don’t want you to be getting a salary of less than 150 grand per year, you hear me?!”

  His meaningless words fell on deaf ears, as Cyrus scoffed once again. “Sure dad, whatever you say. I’m gonna do me, and you do you, how about that?”

  “Cyrus!” My father yelled. “I said listen to me! You will learn something good like your brother, and raise your damn studies!”

  My brother clicked his tongue, and went up to his room.

  And I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  For so long, my parents have been yelling at my brother for not being as good as me. But after what I just talked about with Claire, I didn’t want him to be like me, I wanted to be as strong as him. For as long as I could remember, Cyrus had never bent under my parent’s pressures, while I cracked like an egg on a rock on probably the first time.

  He was just like Claire, so independent, so cool.

  I quickly hurried up to his room, and knocked on the door.

  The hallways were dark already, as my parents departed to bed, probably satisfied with another verbal lashing that was supposed to knock some sense and conformity into Cyrus. Sometimes, I hated how they raised me on a pedestal as an exemplary example to my brother while I was disgusted with the very fact that I was “good” enough to be their example of a stellar child in the first place.

  Merci. The dutiful son. The straight A’s student. What did they all have in common?

  They were all syncopations of a person who wasn’t strong enough to actually stand up for himself.

  Cyrus. The rebellious child. The ungrateful brat with A’s and a couple B’s. What did they all have in common?

  They were all syncopations of a person who was willing to follow his own path and walk to the beat of his own drum, even while the entire freaking band played something different from him.

  I shook my head to clear my unwanted thoughts, and proceeded straight into Cyrus’s room after an affirmative to go in. His room was dark as well, as our parents didn’t really approve of his gaming habits, although I doubt they knew he was really good at League.

  “Cyrus,” I whispered softly while touching on the shoulder gently to acquire his attention. He had headsets on, great big ones that shone with an ethereal blue light. My brother turned around with a bored expression, the same one he always sported.

  “What do you want?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as I wilted under his gaze. I collected myself, and chose my next words carefully.

  “I heard what Mother and Father talked to you about-”

  My brother scoffed, and turned back to his game. He had entered queue, and didn’t seem interested in what I was going to tell him anymore.

  It was a struggle talking to him now, I realized with a heavy heart.

  It wasn’t always like this. Before freshmen year, we were the best of brothers, we helped each other, told secrets, and I felt like we had one of those bonds that could never be broken. But as soon as high school rolled around and my parents hammered their ideals into my head with an iron fist, my brother drew farther and farther away from me.

  I remember it so vividly; we were in his room, just like we were in at the present moment. And it was dark, and cold and very lonely.

  “I used to respect you.” He had said to me in a cold tone, “I don’t even know you anymore.”

  It sounds overdramatic, and like something out of a book or a movie. But it was the truth, and that was the breaking point in our brotherhood. I’ve never really tried to repair it, because I thought I was just that much better than him because I had a 4.83 and he had a mere 3.83. But now I realized how very, very stupid I was.

  “You don’t get to lecture me.” My brother shrugged my hand off his shoulder, as he began to concentrate on his match. From what I could tell, it was his promotion game to rank up to the top 10 spots in all of North America.

  I sighed.

  He turned around, because I’ve always acted so high and mighty around him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I just wanted to say, I agree with you.”

  “What?” He asked, shocked to his core I’d bet. I was preaching the exact opposite of what I tried to say to him a couple years, no, days earlier, which was all filled with pretentious lies and a need to feel grown up and complacent with my place in the world.

  “Are you okay dude? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “For once,” I smiled at him, a real, genuine smile. “Nothing.”

  There was a tacit click between us, and it was as if he knew exactly what I was thinking- it was as if we were 3 years younger, and just like before.

  My brother harrumphed. “Hmph. I guess you understand now then?”

  I pulled up a spare chair, the once deafening silence in the room suddenly felt much more bearable and comfortable even. I put a hand on his shoulder again.

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t remove my hand.

  “You know sometimes, I think you should’ve been the older brother.”

  We both started giggling like idiots then. Years and years of stupidity, of needless and pretentious superiority disappeared down the drain. I felt so damn happy you know, I just felt so damn happy.

  Holden, I’d make you proud right now, I thought in my head as I wiped away a lone tear marking a welcomed path down my cheek.