Sid heard the door open behind him. He turned around and watched a tall, dark haired girl carefully ease her way down the steps. Her face was pale as death. Her hands clamoured at the railing while each high-heel clad foot took the stairs one step at a time. Long, curling tresses hid her face as she shuddered and leaned over the railing. Shoulder blades poked out of the back of her dress when she heaved.
"She's fucked up," one of Sid's companions said, and laughed, which set off raucous laughter from the rest of the people gathered out by the back porch.
The girl straightened up and wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. Sid got a good look at her face for the first time, and a shock ran through him. There was no mistaking those fine features, those wide dark eyes, that gently swooping nose, that slender neck; it was Rhonda Lloyd.
Sid shook his head and crumpled up the tin foil in his hands, throwing it to the ground. "You okay?" he called out.
"Don't talk to me... scum," she spat, finally off the steps. "I just need a cigarette. A Goddamn cigarette, and I'll be good."
Sid watched Rhonda take a few unsteady steps away from the porch. All the people who were outside were still laughing and jeering at him, falsely guessing his intentions. Sid just wondered what she was doing here, on this side of town, at a party like this. Shouldn't she have some débutante ball to go to? She looked woefully out of place. Sid bet that those were real diamonds sparkling on her ears. She was going to get mugged, or worse.
Rhonda threw everyone else a patronizing look, then fumbled around in the small purse slung over her shoulder. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stuck one in her mouth. Sid saw the stains her lipstick left on the filter. Rhonda's hand felt its way around the purse until she exclaimed, "Goddammit!"
"Need a light?" Sid held up his own lighter and flicked it. The flame was warm and bright, compared to the cool light that the porch light was giving off.
"I hate that pick up line," Rhonda said, but she came over anyway.
Sid glanced over at his buddies, but decided it was best to ignore the faces that they were making at him. Rhonda held out her hand for the lighter, then tried to prise it out of his hand.
"I'll light it for you," Sid took her wrist and moved her hand back down by her side.
Rhonda glared at him, but let him light her cigarette. She leaned her head back as she took a deep drag.
"Do I know you? You look familiar," she said, letting a cloud of smoke billow out from her matte, red lips.
"You don't remember me and my fuckin' dick nose? It's me, Sid Gifaldi," Sid said.
"Sid Gifaldi... Gifaldi," Rhonda mused, taking several more deep drags.
"From middle school? PS 118?" Sid kept trying to jog her memory.
"Yeah, yeah, you know, this would be easier if I wasn't so drunk," Rhonda shook her head, then bowed it, looking like she was going to throw up again. "Oh, yeah, I remember you now. You were a fuckin'... fucking freak, holy shit, what happened? You're hot now."
Sid blinked. She must have been really drunk if she thought he was hot. He was still short, still thin, nothing special. His hair was buzzed on the sides and spiked up in a mohawk, while he had rimmed his eyes with black liner. He had a tattoo on his arm, a switch-blade in his pocket, and 3 ounces of coke pinned inside his boxers.
"What are you even doing over here?" Sid put his arm around Rhonda and led her away from the porch, toward the outer edge of the backyard. He ignored the hoots and hollers from the group.
"What does it look like? I'm here to get messed," Rhonda shook her head and pulled out another cigarette.
Sid lit it for her, "You're on the wrong side of town. You're gonna get raped walkin' around at this time, lookin' like that. You're crazy, forgeddaboutit, let me walk you home."
"I'm still filthy rich... I can call my limo and take that home, you looser. You're not getting in my pants," Rhonda half snorted and giggled.
"I don't want to," Sid said, but he would be lying if he said that at one point, he hadn't wanted to get in them.
"Whatever. You know what's great about these kinds of parties? People go here to get drunk, and to get messed up. If you get sloshed at a party like I go to, people look down their nose at you. And you know? I got sick of that, I got really, really sick. That's why I like to go to these parties. You common people are allowed to feel emotion, y'know? You can fuck and drink and smoke and have fun. I can't do that. I hate it, I fucking hate it!" A tear slipped out of her eye.
"You need to go home," Sid said, "you need to go home, home, yeah?" She didn't know what she was talking about. "These things aren't great. People go here to get messed, so they can forget all the shit that they have to deal with in real life, an' it consumes them. I'm here so I can smoke away how I'm gonna be out of a home in a month if my old man doesn't pay the rent," Sid said. He hadn't meant to say that, but his high was starting to hit. He tended to loose control of his mouth.
"Whatever, you're allowed to feel. I can't. I've gotta be perfect Rhonda, beautiful Rhonda, socially acceptable Rhonda, I'm sick of playing that part. I'm going back in," Rhonda shrugged off Sid's arm.
Sid let his eyes follow her. She tripped a few times walking back through the slick grass. Her heels sunk into the mud. Sid wondered how much those had cost. He bet if he stole those shoes and sold them, he could pay the rent. He didn't know why she really wanted to be here, why she though that drinking until she was sick would fix things. She was a good girl. She had a lot going for her. He didn't.
Rhonda stopped at the top step and with her hand on the doorknob, looking back at Sid. Her lips pursed and she seemed like she was contemplating saying something.
"You were a good kid, Sid. I always thought you were a good kid. You had things going for you," she whispered before slipping inside, before disappearing in the sea of bodies.
"Christ, man, what the fuck? Brah, I can't believe a girl that fucked would turn you down," one of his friends said when Sid rejoined the circle.
"Whatever, dude, I knew her in elementary school. I couldn't fuck that. All the time I'd be thinkin' about 9 year old her, and that'd be sick," Sid brushed it off. "Hand me the fuckin' pipe."
You were a good kid, Sid. I always thought you were a good kid.
Sid exhaled a cloud of smoke and watched it drift into the night sky. He drifted with it, and he was a million miles away, undulating with the smoke, floating away from a broken person and her broken ideas. He was far away from his own shattered life.
–
Do I suck at writing happy things or what?
Rated M to be safe.
Anyway, it's always odd for me to meet someone who I used to know, especially like a church kid or something, and they're smoking, drinking, or I find out they do drugs. It's like, what happened. Where did you go wrong? And then I think of myself, and it's like, where did I go wrong? Why am I doing the same things as you? What happened to us?
I guess that was sort of my inspiration for this.
I need to write some fluff or something. And then finish Summer of Sid. Derp.