Road Kill

Road Kill

The smile on your face is calm and flirtatious. Every time your hand brushes hers over the popcorn bowl she giggles and you grin; I feel myself bristle a little more inside. Before we met I never knew how much my chest could hurt. It’s not like I brought you home for her to steal away. You’re mine, so why doesn’t it feel that way anymore?

            She has little shame when you visit. I regret you ever came. By the way she simpers on I can almost believe you’re like that muggle Prince Charming or something. I wish she didn’t. The constant prattle about your hair, your voice, your manners is just too much. There are only so many ways to say perfect when I know you’re not.

Cinderella continues to play on the telly. It’s obnoxious and boring and you can’t seem to take your eyes away. She dotes on you, serving treats and cuddling against your side on the couch. It drives me mad. I want to tear you both apart. Instead I curl against my armchair, second rate and maybe third. Instead I scrape my fingers down the suede until I’ve spelled out your name. Instead I smother it with a pillow like I want to smother you.

            After you leave for the night I corner her in the kitchen. She smiles like she knows what I want to say. When I open my mouth and nothing comes out, her eyes glitter with triumph.

            “Nature versus nurture, Al,” she says, “Get over it.”

Then she shrugs indifferently and saunters down the hall, flipping her long red hair back over her shoulder. I am left spent and speechless, broken by my own blood. When did she punch the air from my lungs? I feel like the road kill you see lining the road, all smushed and unrecognizable. I’m definitely not myself right now. My back slides down the counter, legs buckling. Seems I’ve fallen farther than I ever could have imagined. I don’t know if I can spend my whole life like this, just waiting for you – the old you. Maybe that’s asking the impossible.

So much for sixteen. I’m stuck on the cusp between adolescence and maturity. You’re leaving me behind. If only life was different. Maybe then that could have been me on the couch beside you watching stupid movies, maybe it could have been our hands brushing over the popcorn bowl. Maybe.

Instead it was you and my sister.

Fourteen days have passed since you’ve last come by. I don’t know whether to be thankful or not. We’re all in the dinning room, waiting for mum to finish breakfast. The smell of bacon leaves my stomach growling hunger. I pour myself a glass of milk and guzzle it half down in one gulp. Then I notice the letter on the table. The envelope is bright white, the lettering on the front neat and flowing. It’s from you, but it’s in front of my sister and not me. Her face is glowing when she tells our mum that she’s received more than just the one. My face falls when I realize I haven’t gotten anything. Nothing. None. Food doesn’t sound so appealing anymore.

            I excuse myself from the table, but not before I learn that you’re coming over for dinner. I’m angry that you’ve made me hear this second hand. Am I really so insignificant? Don’t I matter to you anymore? We’ve been friends for so long. Years and years. I guess that falls short to a summer romance.

            I need to get away. I’m itching to escape from you and your unwanted memories. But all the places I think to go are places I’ve only been with you. What would be the point? So I just step outside, waiting to be able to breathe. I stare up at the sky. It’s blue and pure with fluffy white clouds. I tell myself that it’s the sun making my eyes leak. There’s no way I could be crying. Not over this. Never over you.

            The summer breeze leaves me shivering in my pajamas. I swipe at my face and step off our porch, arms crossed over my chest. Before I know it I’m walking down the drive and along the road. I remind myself that there’s a difference between running away and going away. I’m sure I’ll figure it out later. I need some time to think.

            Maybe I’m hoping that you’ll miraculously appear. Prince Charming, remember? Maybe I’m hoping that you’ll take me home and promise to never talk to her again. Maybe I’ve just gone a little bit spare.

            I hate maybes.

            Gravel is stuck between my toes. I stop to dig it out. I should have put on a pair of shoes before I left. Too late now. I move off the road to the grass alongside it, careful not to step on any sticker weeds. I lose track of time the longer I walk and before I know it the sun is high in the sky. It’s probably long past time for me to head back. Except I have no idea where I am. There are endless fields of golden grass around me. A herd of horses neigh pleasant greetings. My smile is brittle as I step to the fence. One of the young colts trots forward, but before he reaches the fence he startles and lopes awkwardly away. Sighing, I start walking back the way I came. If only the rest of my life could be this simple.

            I am accosted immediately upon my return. Questions and accusations smother me the moment I step inside the house. I appease them all by saying I’m all right, but I’m really not because you’re standing right there and you’re holding my sister’s hand. She’s snug against your side, face wet with tears and wan with worry. And even though I’ve been missing for hours, been missing all day, you only have eyes for her. I have half a mind to go missing forever. The smarter half decides just to go upstairs.

            How can you not see her for what she really is? You’ve known her almost as long as me. She’s just the same as she always was. You even disliked her once. I still remember the countless times we conspired to leave her behind. Now it’s her over me, not us together. Now it’s me hating you.

            Long before we ever met I told myself that I would never hide who I am. Yet here I am, holed up in my room. You’ve made me this way. Everything has gone so wrong this summer. It’s unbelievable; undeniably real. We’ve both got our secrets, I know, though yours is rather obvious. I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just told me that you like her. There was no reason to go behind my back. I would have understood eventually. Now I don’t think I ever can.

            Mum calls me down for dinner. It’s a quiet affair since nobody has much to say. You’re sitting next to her at the end of the table and I’m stuck next to our older brother. He scrapes all of his peas onto my plate when nobody’s looking. Then he asks for more and does it again. I smack him under the table for it. He doesn’t even flinch.

            After dessert I worm my way out of dish duty. I escape back upstairs so I don’t have to face reality anymore. No one looks twice. I rustle through my sock drawer and pull out a packet of cigarettes. I nicked them from a relative at mom and dad’s anniversary party months ago. I’ve only ever smoked two. Now seems as good a time as any to smoke another. My bedroom window is already open and I crawl through it to the roof. The shingles are rough and scrape against my hands, but the pain is good. It means I’m not nearly as numb as I think I am.

            I reach the top and rest my back against the chimney. Fishing through my pockets for a light, I realize that I’ve forgotten to bring one. My jaw clenches and I stare furiously up at the sky. I’m too upset for star gazing. I can’t appreciate the vastness. I don’t want to feel small anymore. So I just stare, long and hard enough that my eyes begin to sting with the effort. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself before the tears start spilling. They’re hot against cold skin and salty-bitter against my tongue. I wish I’d just stop crying already. This is getting to be ridiculous. So I scream nonsensical defiance, throwing the packet of cigarettes blindly into the darkness. My satisfaction is short lived. The packet lands with a faint rustle thump, disturbing a bush bellow. I collapse against the chimney, chest heaving up and down. My hands rise up to smother my face, palms against eye sockets and nails against cheeks. I want you out of my head. I want you gone. I want you so fucking much it hurts.  

            I’m stiff and mute by the time you decide to leave. You lead my sister outside, hands still tangled together when you wave goodbye to our parents. The shadows make you one when you lean down to kiss her. I close my eyes, but that can’t drown out your promises of tomorrow. I wish I warranted one, too. But I’m only second rate, maybe third.