Fuck. I should lay off the vicodin...
Such were my early morning thoughts before school...and during school...and after school. It was a terrible habit to admit to, but, hey, if that shit was willing to help me function during the forced tradition of attending school every day. Day in and day out, all I could think of was how I just couldn't wait to get out of there, couldn't wait to be on my own and start life anew.
If there was something I truly hated, it was monotomy.
I learned some years ago that the theme song of my generation was Relient K's song Maintain Consciousness, and I stick by it.
Anyway, back to school. Back to simplicity.
I could not have been more thankful to hear the voice of really the only person who still talked to me in that God-forsaken shithole: Natalie Goodman.
She had this almost Disney princess quality to her voice, and the second I heard it, I didn't feel alone anymore, so I bee-lined for her as she stood against her locker.
"Hey," she said when I approached her, and I didn't reflect her terminology. It was too damn early and I was too damn uninterested in returning her usual banter. "You look edgy - are you - "
"I only took one this morning," I admitted, and that, for once, was the truth. Normally I'd take two...or more if I just wished to forget a day. "We still on for tonight?"
Natalie nodded. "Still having trouble?"
"I'm terrible with numbers, Nat. You know that better than anyone."
Natalie gave me a sad kind of half-smile that kind of made me want to crawl into a corner and never come back out. "I'll get you caught up - don't worry." She reached out and awkwardly patted my shoulder, and I gave her hand a squeeze.
Natalie's mother had just left them a couple of days prior and I knew she was suffering in a way that she would never admit to anyone, even if it was literally burning her from the inside out. Welcome to my life, Nat. It sucks.
Natalie and I only shared a few classes - the ones we didn't were her extra music studies classes, wherein she'd have the entire practice room and a piano to herself. She was so gifted and with her early admission to Yale, I couldn't have been more jealous. I still had yet to think of a major, but I definitely wanted to get the hell out of dodge, get as far away from there as possible.
School was terrible that day. For most of the day, the vicodin kept me from focusing on a class entirely and I couldn't tell you afterward about the square roots of the human skeleton, about the force of mass being equal to undercooked pinkish green hot dogs for lunch...or whatever happened that day.
About the time the last bell rang, I could feel the effects of my drug wearing off. It was an almost ominously horrifying feeling, like when you're walking up the stairs and miscount, thinking that there's one more stair and there's this terrible feeling of falling and then...there's nothing. No sound. No feeling. No emotion. Just...me.
I couldn't wait to book my backside out of that school and walk all the way over to the Goodmans' home. I wasn't used to walking such great distances - ten blocks, but really - but anything and everything was drawing me to their home.
I had never before physically visited their home before, but even the idea of it was enough to give me a feeling that even vicodin couldn't compare to. Any time Natalie even mentioned their home, it was all I could do to keep her talking about it. Looking back on it, I would be greatly surprised by the reasons for my being drawn to their home...but we'll get to that later.
I rang the doorbell and Natalie answered - she had been home for God knew how long. She always took the bus home and I had walked there, so, naturally, she beat me to it.
"We've got food," were the first words out of her mouth, and good thing, too, because I had skipped breakfast - as always - and then almost vomited at the sight of the awful things the school cooks passed off as "hot dogs".
"I'm more thirsty," I commented as I followed her into the door. "Got any pop?"
"There are Cokes in the fridge." I followed her into the kitchen, watching as she placed her backpack onto the table.
"I wouldn't count on it - I live here, too, you know," a voice said from the corner and I felt an uneasy chill sweep across my flesh. I hadn't seen the person in the corner until a voice came from that direction.
My eyes shifted over to the corner and I felt my stomach leap into my throat. There stood a young man - tall, lean, built, and who had a dashingly brilliant smile, features so handsome they struck me to the bone, and the best haircut I had ever seen. In short, the boy in the corner was drop-dead gorgeous.
I smiled at his words softly, tucking my hair behind my ears. "You drink all the Coke?" I asked him, being a bit more sociable than I had intended as I opened the fridge and grabbed a can.
"I don't like pop," Natalie said with a roll of her eyes, and I jumped at her voice. I hadn't expected her to speak - I had been speaking to the boy in the corner.
"Rude, Nattie," the boy said with a 'tsk' of his tongue and a light shake of his head. "You're not setting a good example for your guest. By the way, who is this guest?"
I forced myself to tear my eyes away from the boy - I wasn't even sure if he had even seen that I was staring at him, all tightly stuffed into a form-fitting blue t-shirt... who is this boy?
Natalie had already begun pouring herself over her homework, and I admired her work ethic. She was such an educational inspiration and I could feel the veins in my head pounding as I opened the Coke, took a swig, and sat down at the table with her.
"Nattie, you're not answering my question..." The boy's voice was taunting, haunting, and almost seemed to coo. I had never heard such a voice.
"What do you want to work on first?" Natalie asked, apparently ignoring the boy I wanted to get to know better.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" I asked.
"To who? My dad?"
I shook my head, looking into the corner - the boy was gone. Looking around the kitchen, I could see him sitting on the edge of the counter staring at us or, more specifically, at me. "No, the boy you've been ignoring since I walked in the door."
Natalie sat there in her chair, a stunned silence filling the space between us as her eyes bugged and her spine straightened. I glanced over at the boy on the counter, whose face was also reflecting a shock that induced an awkward, palpable silence.
"The boy...?" she said after a moment, and her voice was small. "You're...you can see him?"
"You can...see me?" the boy said, and the two were sounding like they were singing the rounds we sang in choir in the fifth grade.
I smiled, trying to laugh and shrug off the shudders my spine was experiencing for reasons still unknown to me. "Come off it, Natalie."
"You're telling me you can see him?" Natalie repeated in a stronger more firm tone.
"Why is it such a big deal?"
"It's my brother."
"Your brother...the one that died?"
"Some introduction," the boy said from right behind me, and I shifted uneasily in my chair.
Natalie nodded, her eyes fixated on my face.
"You're telling me you don't see him and he's your own brother?"
Natalie shook her head, her eyes finally dislocating from my gaze. "I've...I've only ever felt his presence - never seen him." Natalie grew silent and I said nothing more as she poured herself quickly over her homework, her fingers working overtime to try and erase what just happened.
