Stress fills my brain like a deposit of leftover backwater gathering in a reservoir. It settles really nicely around my cerebrum, letting me know of its indefinite stay. How long will the mosquitoes, algae, fishes, and snakes take root. Why not? My brain is a happening spot right now. Maybe fisherman will get their licenses and make a splash of the action. While they are doing that, maybe they can extract any of my transgressions, my regrets, my shame, my embarrassment.

Clear the memory banks and dig in on some bass with my repressed memories.

My wordplay is being great at this point. I was once called the Light Yagami of my era because "I didn't take no L's from anybody." I lie. I made that up. I thought it was cool to use a protagonist/anti-hero from a popular anime as a reference. So, it lets you know I still have some little form of humor in these brittle bones.

There was $450 I was able to get from the ATM. Enough to not alert my father from his cell phone app. I split the card in fours and discarded them in the trash can. I only need $80 for bus fare. I mean, this is going to be an one-way anyway.

I picked Colorado Springs. Star and I talked about it when we had some time to ourselves. We chilled in her room. We can be listening to trance; playing with the laser puppies; having misadventures….

I stop. I don't want to pull up too many memories. The seeds I have pulled are immature enough. Tears are taking care of the rest. I left a plate of nachos and a list of the ingredients as a momento to remember me by. Once she gets back from fighting the forces of evil, she will need something tangible of me to remember. Clothes and pictures these days are not enough. She needs something that were made by my hands. That was also why I made a small tea cozy for her wand. I know, gay as hell, right? But every time she puts her wand up, she knows that Marco made it for her.

Every stitch of agonizing pain went into it. I look at my hands to know there was no regrets.

So, at least there was one thing I have no shame to display.

The bus doesn't leaves for an hour. I make my way to the bus depot. I know they should sell notebook for travelers to say that they visit the great, mighty Los Angeles. The city of angels may have a large population, but it is still small enough for two people to reside. The neighborhood of Echo Creek makes it worse. Staying in the same residence makes it a date made for hell.

I rub my long sleeve shirt to calm the itch. Also because it is over ninety degrees outside. Yes, even at night the dry heat succeeds. Don't worry, it makes do at the late night hour when the weather drops over thirty degrees.

I flinch when hitting one of my bruises, thanks to mother dearest.

I think it was from the other day when she got home from work. Dad wasn't there. Star was upstairs listening to music. She didn't hear the sound of grunts and strains between mother and son. She opened the door and marched right to me on the couch. Before I could utter a word, her hands made contact with my face. I cornered myself at the couch where she proceeded to hit me constantly.

Did I forget to water the plants?

Was the living room not clean enough?

Did I forget to put down the toilet seat?

Did the principal call about my drop in grades?

Was standing in the room was enough to piss you off?

Whatever the reason, she used it as an excuse to take out her rage on me. When she was finished, she storm into the kitchen where she goes to the cabinet above the refrigerator. You know, the one where all parents hide liquor and assumed that we don't know where they hide it.

Even I used it a couple of times when I was stressed. It went easy with the bruises.

I go to the depot and behold, they had what I needed. The small 6"X 9" notebook only had 40 pages. That was fine. It was going to be enough. Anymore would just be….

I leave the lady a few extra bucks. My eyes tell her that she needed more than I do. I left the station and wait for my bus to arrive.

I find a seat that was close to the gate that was going to take me to my final destination. And no, don't get cautious or worry. Sometimes, I like adding suspense to the pot. A creative spicy type of seasoning, if you will. However, everything is up in the air. And once again, I will leave it to your imagination.

I ask a woman sitting next to me if I could borrow her pen. She gave no audible response, but reach for it in her purse before resuming to her duties. She had the mindset of "here, take this pen and leave me the hell alone. Don't you have something else to do than to bother me?"

Don't worry. In a few hours nobody has to be bothered with me.

My cell phone. I need to get rid of it.

I take out the cell phone and I see that I have more than six missed calls by that woman. One of which she left a voicemail. I also see that Star called me as well. Surprised that I don't get any from Jackie Lynn or Alfonso or Ferguson.

I shrug it off as I make my way to the trash can. I pull the sim card from the back and keep it with me. I will discard it someplace else. I smash the phone on the wall before throwing it away. Don't need a phone where I am going.

I sit back on the chair with my notebook in hand. I take sharp breath on knowing what I am preparing to write. My head swells, but once I put it on paper, it will feel better. Won't make it easier, but I will feel better.

I check to see no one is looking. Don't know why it matters. These strangers are going to parts unknown. But, how many of them is escaping from someone? From their abuse? From their pain?

I open the notebook where it is going to be filled of my memories. Evidence of the life of Marco Diaz.