I really didn't live up to the whole Goth reputation. I thought of it as more of a fashion style than I way of life. I didn't cuss, I didn't fight, I wasn't suicidal. I was a pretty good kid. I tried to be at least. The only bad thing I ever did was run away. And boy, did I run away a lot.
At one point I was staying in the Neither World every night. Me and Beej would usually pass out at his place after some ridiculous adventure. Normally I was sure to be back in my bedroom before my alarm went off and I had to get ready for school, but sometimes Beej would nudge me awake with his boot, (for some reason I always fell asleep on the floor) and would say, "Don't you have school er some shit?" and then I'd get up, brush the cigarette ash from my shirt which had been on the floor where I had fallen asleep, and go home. This went on for months.
Tonight was a little different than usual. We didn't almost die. (for some of us, again) We just hung out at Beej's house all night watching old movies and eating junk food. Let me rephrase that. I was eating junk food. Beetlejuice was eating bugs.
"This place is almost like a parallel world," I said, "This is just like Psycho, but different."
Beetlejuice gave me his world famous do-you-even-hear-yourself-talk look, and said, "This is nothing like Psycho. Look," he leaned over the edge of the couch and pointed to the screen, "That shit ain't fake." He was talking about the blood flowing down the drain.
"Yeah, I'm sure it's not, but if you could split both scenes down the middle and put them together, you would probably never tell the difference."
He scooted back and crossed his legs, saying something under his breath, but I didn't catch what he said.
We said nothing for a long time. He was fairly interested in the movie, and I was scrutinizing it to death, trying to figure out how Beetlejuice couldn't see the similarities in the two films. He could be really stupid at times.
I was sitting in the floor at the time, occasionally working on a building of a pyramid made from cigarette butts when the movie got to the boring parts.
As I've said before, he smoked around me all the time, and every once in a while, he would pull two cigarettes from the box and offer me one. I turned him down every time except once, but that's a story for another time. Anyway, he'd shrug and poke the turned-down cigarette back into the box and light up. No, 'aw c'mon, don't be such a goodie two shoes.'
Same for drinking. Sometimes he would hand me some kind of Neither World brand of beer. I always turned it down though. It smelled worse than the cigarettes.
You must think that Beej was a bad influence. Well, he was. But he never encouraged me to do anything too bad. Or maybe he just didn't bother trying, because he knew I had too good an up bringing. Either way, I was set in my ways as much as he was his.
Beetlejuice uncrossed his legs and stood up, "I gotta take a leak," he said as he walked around the couch.
"Do you want me to pause the movie?" I called to him.
"I dun care." he called back.
Since he didn't care, I didn't waste the energy to pause the movie.
I leaned way over on my side and scooped up more butts. I must've had about four packs worth in front of me, and it made for a very large pyramid.
It could've been bigger, but I was too lazy to get the butts that were out of my reach, so I dropped the last one on top and left it as it was.
The sound of a can opening signaled Beeetlejuice's return.
"Before you sit down, kick those cigarette butts over here." I said, pointing to the ones that sat at the far corner of the couch.
For whatever reason, he didn't question me, he did as I asked.
Another long silence stretched on, and with out much talking going on, it left my mind to wonder.
What dose Beetlejuice do on his own time? I know he doesn't work, and I know that I'm the only friend he has that will spend more than fifteen minutes with him at a time. And surly he doesn't just sit at home. He's too ADHD for that.
Of course he did have a lot of lady friends he'd see every now and again. So I guess that could keep him entertained for awhile. But again, nobody will spend more than fifteen minutes at a time with him.
How dose the Ghost with the Most occupy himself?
Weirdly, It had never occurred to me that Beej had a life that didn't involve me.
"What do you do when I'm not around?"
He yanked the tab from the empty can of beer, cussing when it sliced open his red tipped finger, "What?"
"I said, what do you do when I'm not around?" I asked again.
He flicked the tab away the same way he would flick away a filter, "Same shit I do when you are around."
I didn't say anything more. I just gazed around his apartment, wondering if he would mind if I cleaned it, because I knew that some of the trash in the floor was mine. Like the grape soda can, the ice cream bar wrappers, and the half burned (he accidentally dropped his cigarette, still mad though) comic book. "Why?" he asked.
"Just wanted to know what I was missing."
He snorted, suddenly turning away from me, "You ain't missing a thing, Babes. Not a damn thing."
I woke up the next morning to Beetlejuice's hand on my shoulder, shaking me to wake up so I wouldn't be late for school.
And I thought it was funny.
Because this time when he woke me up, it didn't leave a bruise where he'd nudge me with his boot...