Cut Wide Open
Page 1
Part One
Prologue-Gunner
Sometimes, after I’d park my bike at whatever shitty motel I was staying at, in whatever shit hole town I stopped in, I’d walk searching for her. Another crowded street with nameless faces. None of their names mattered, because none of them were her. Each day that passed without my Mouse was another day where I lost more of myself. Sure, I knew those fucking Hades bastards were after me, but I’d be ready for them. I’d be ready for anything, as long as I knew she was out there somewhere.
Another street, another day. I thought I saw her once. A flash of dark hair moved as a woman rounded a corner. I was on my bike. I gripped my bars and pulled back on the throttle. I needed to go faster. I needed to see if it was her. It wasn’t.
I was losing hope.
I was in a bar drinking until the dark liquid made me numb. I pictured her walking through the door and even pictured the woman who dropped to her knees outside of the bar in the dirty, dark alleyway as her. I hated myself for giving in to the liquor and the women. The guilt ate away at me. My life was in a constant state of fighting, fucking and getting wasted. I preferred getting wasted. It made it easier. She was out there somewhere, but maybe I’d never find her. Maybe this road, I was meant to walk alone.
8 years old Charlie
I see you through the dark dirty glass. You’re kicking a ball laughing with an older man. I wonder if he’s your grandpa. You smile at him. I think that’s what love looks like. You have sandy hair. You look like you’re my age, maybe a little older. I wonder if we can be friends. I laugh at myself. It’s not really funny. No one would want to be friends with me. I’m invisible.
I watch you until another man opens the door to the little white house and calls you inside. You wave to the old man as he gets into his car, and run without a care in the world into your home.
Home.
I wonder what that’s like.
I am here as a paycheck. I eat alone. I sit in my room. Alone. I walk to school. Alone. I barely talk. I am alone in my thoughts. I am alone in life. I have no one.
I see your mom through the window. Her blonde hair blows in the wind. She gets in her car. She’s smiling and even from the distance, I can see how beautiful her face is when she smiles. If I had to choose a word to describe her, it would be alive. Everything about her screams, “I’m alive.”
Your daddy bends into the window and kisses her. You run from the house with your backpack slung over your shoulder and hop into the backseat. Your daddy ruffles your hair before closing the door.
I see you at school, but only for a few seconds. I am in line on my way to the library. You’re wearing gym shorts heading towards the gym. I recognize the boys you're with. I think you're in the fourth grade.
You don’t see me.
I read a book in the library and get lost in it for thirty minutes. I’m reading Harry Potter. I love the fictional world.
No one sits by me.
It’s okay. They might want to talk, and I don't want to talk.
I hope to see you in the hall, but I don’t.
I watch for you every day through my thick, stained glass. I watch you grab a basketball, get on your BMX and head toward the park. I see your friends knock on your door, and you come outside and sit on the stairs.
You don't see me, but I watch you. I wonder what it’s like to be happy.
“Take out the trash,” Mitchell yells. Claire is sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette with a can of beer in her hand.
I do as he says and quickly grab the red ties and pull the garbage out, and go outside to the can. You’re outside. I keep my head down. I wonder if you’ll notice me. The metal trash can lid falls to curb and clatters. I jump. Loud noises make me nervous.
I look up and see you staring.
Right.
At.
Me.
I run inside to my room.
Alone.
9 years old
Muted red and blue lights flash across my room. I was sleeping, but the noise and the light woke me. I hear your momma wailing, and I know it’s bad. I watch through my dark stained glass as she cradles you in her arms. I don't see your dad. Two days pass. You wear a black suit, holding your momma up as a black stretch limo pulls up in front of your house. I see you later in the day. People enter your house. You sit on the side of the house with your head hung low. You're alone.
You’re alone.
10 years old
You’re not at the same school this year. You’re getting older. I don’t see you playing basketball or riding your bike anymore. You don’t laugh like you used too. I’m walking home from school. You’re in your mom’s car.
I see you and I think for the first time, you see me.
I make it home and you’re sitting on your front steps. You’re wearing a light blue t-shirt and shorts. I can feel you staring at me.
“Hey!” you shout, but I’m afraid. I don’t know what to say, so I run inside to the window. I watch you through the dirt stained glass, and for the first time ever, you’re looking at the house. I swear, I think you can see through the hazy glass and look directly at me.
11 years old
I’m home from school today. I don't feel well. I hear a loud rumble and stare out to see what the noise is. A shiny, black motorcycle pulls into your drive. Your mom’s changed. She no longer has the same smile. She is still pretty, but she’s different. She’s no longer life. She’s existing. She’s like me.
She grabs the man’s hand and walks him inside. He is there for hours, but is gone before you get home.
You don't know this man visits your mom, at least I don’t think you do, because he’s never there when you are.
You’re outside and another boy says something to you. You don't like it. You punch the boy. Your mom comes out of the house and yells. The boy grabs his face and rides away. I don't know what he says to you. I want to ask. I’ve been watching you for so long, I feel like I know you. You’re angry and storm off down the street.
I don't know why, but I slip my shoes on and walk to the park. I hope that you're there. I want to see you, but I don’t want you to see me. I hide in the shadows along the edge of the park and watch. I see a few kids I recognize from school on the swings. There is an old pavilion, part of the roof is caving in.
Prologue-Gunner
Sometimes, after I’d park my bike at whatever shitty motel I was staying at, in whatever shit hole town I stopped in, I’d walk searching for her. Another crowded street with nameless faces. None of their names mattered, because none of them were her. Each day that passed without my Mouse was another day where I lost more of myself. Sure, I knew those fucking Hades bastards were after me, but I’d be ready for them. I’d be ready for anything, as long as I knew she was out there somewhere.
Another street, another day. I thought I saw her once. A flash of dark hair moved as a woman rounded a corner. I was on my bike. I gripped my bars and pulled back on the throttle. I needed to go faster. I needed to see if it was her. It wasn’t.
I was losing hope.
I was in a bar drinking until the dark liquid made me numb. I pictured her walking through the door and even pictured the woman who dropped to her knees outside of the bar in the dirty, dark alleyway as her. I hated myself for giving in to the liquor and the women. The guilt ate away at me. My life was in a constant state of fighting, fucking and getting wasted. I preferred getting wasted. It made it easier. She was out there somewhere, but maybe I’d never find her. Maybe this road, I was meant to walk alone.
8 years old Charlie
I see you through the dark dirty glass. You’re kicking a ball laughing with an older man. I wonder if he’s your grandpa. You smile at him. I think that’s what love looks like. You have sandy hair. You look like you’re my age, maybe a little older. I wonder if we can be friends. I laugh at myself. It’s not really funny. No one would want to be friends with me. I’m invisible.
I watch you until another man opens the door to the little white house and calls you inside. You wave to the old man as he gets into his car, and run without a care in the world into your home.
Home.
I wonder what that’s like.
I am here as a paycheck. I eat alone. I sit in my room. Alone. I walk to school. Alone. I barely talk. I am alone in my thoughts. I am alone in life. I have no one.
I see your mom through the window. Her blonde hair blows in the wind. She gets in her car. She’s smiling and even from the distance, I can see how beautiful her face is when she smiles. If I had to choose a word to describe her, it would be alive. Everything about her screams, “I’m alive.”
Your daddy bends into the window and kisses her. You run from the house with your backpack slung over your shoulder and hop into the backseat. Your daddy ruffles your hair before closing the door.
I see you at school, but only for a few seconds. I am in line on my way to the library. You’re wearing gym shorts heading towards the gym. I recognize the boys you're with. I think you're in the fourth grade.
You don’t see me.
I read a book in the library and get lost in it for thirty minutes. I’m reading Harry Potter. I love the fictional world.
No one sits by me.
It’s okay. They might want to talk, and I don't want to talk.
I hope to see you in the hall, but I don’t.
I watch for you every day through my thick, stained glass. I watch you grab a basketball, get on your BMX and head toward the park. I see your friends knock on your door, and you come outside and sit on the stairs.
You don't see me, but I watch you. I wonder what it’s like to be happy.
“Take out the trash,” Mitchell yells. Claire is sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette with a can of beer in her hand.
I do as he says and quickly grab the red ties and pull the garbage out, and go outside to the can. You’re outside. I keep my head down. I wonder if you’ll notice me. The metal trash can lid falls to curb and clatters. I jump. Loud noises make me nervous.
I look up and see you staring.
Right.
At.
Me.
I run inside to my room.
Alone.
9 years old
Muted red and blue lights flash across my room. I was sleeping, but the noise and the light woke me. I hear your momma wailing, and I know it’s bad. I watch through my dark stained glass as she cradles you in her arms. I don't see your dad. Two days pass. You wear a black suit, holding your momma up as a black stretch limo pulls up in front of your house. I see you later in the day. People enter your house. You sit on the side of the house with your head hung low. You're alone.
You’re alone.
10 years old
You’re not at the same school this year. You’re getting older. I don’t see you playing basketball or riding your bike anymore. You don’t laugh like you used too. I’m walking home from school. You’re in your mom’s car.
I see you and I think for the first time, you see me.
I make it home and you’re sitting on your front steps. You’re wearing a light blue t-shirt and shorts. I can feel you staring at me.
“Hey!” you shout, but I’m afraid. I don’t know what to say, so I run inside to the window. I watch you through the dirt stained glass, and for the first time ever, you’re looking at the house. I swear, I think you can see through the hazy glass and look directly at me.
11 years old
I’m home from school today. I don't feel well. I hear a loud rumble and stare out to see what the noise is. A shiny, black motorcycle pulls into your drive. Your mom’s changed. She no longer has the same smile. She is still pretty, but she’s different. She’s no longer life. She’s existing. She’s like me.
She grabs the man’s hand and walks him inside. He is there for hours, but is gone before you get home.
You don't know this man visits your mom, at least I don’t think you do, because he’s never there when you are.
You’re outside and another boy says something to you. You don't like it. You punch the boy. Your mom comes out of the house and yells. The boy grabs his face and rides away. I don't know what he says to you. I want to ask. I’ve been watching you for so long, I feel like I know you. You’re angry and storm off down the street.
I don't know why, but I slip my shoes on and walk to the park. I hope that you're there. I want to see you, but I don’t want you to see me. I hide in the shadows along the edge of the park and watch. I see a few kids I recognize from school on the swings. There is an old pavilion, part of the roof is caving in.
