Punk 57
Page 47
Dane stands below with a flashlight in his hand.
I watch him start climbing the beams up to where I sit about five cars off the ground, and let out a sigh. I’m working. For the first time in months, I’m writing. Just my luck.
“You and your cousin loved this place as kids,” he yells up. “I should’ve known you’d be hiding here.”
He crawls up, past the empty cars, and heaves himself over the beam where my car sits. The wheel creaks with the extra weight, but it doesn’t budge. Years of rain and moist sea air have taken care of that.
He takes a seat, and I notice he’s wearing our band’s black T-shirt. Our name, Cipher Core, with some artwork Dane designed, is on the left side of the chest. I have a few at home. Even Annie has some, which she used to sleep in.
I see Dane’s eyes fall to my notepad, and then he raises them to me, the wheels in his head probably turning.
“You got something there for me?” he prods, meaning lyrics.
I laugh to myself, tossing him the book. What the hell? Let him tell me it sucks, so I can give up, and we can go to Sticks and get drunk instead.
He barely looks at the pad, though. He eyes me hesitantly, as if he’s searching for words.
“Your dad isn’t looking too good, man,” he says, keeping his tone even. “The stores are closed, and no one sees him anymore. He misses you.”
“He misses Annie.”
“He still went to work after Annie,” he points out. “It was when you left that he retreated.”
I prop my arm up on the back of the seat and rub my forehead. He’s not going to the shops? To open up or anything?
Dane’s right. My father was in pain after Annie’s death, but he didn’t abandon his responsibilities. Other than me, of course. No, he gave me all the space I told him I wanted.
But he still took care of the house, ran the shops, did the paperwork, and went on his morning runs.
He hasn’t called me, though.
If he’s hurting—if he needs me—would he tell me?
I stopped being able to talk to you. I stopped looking for a way to talk to you.
Guilt chips away at some of my anger. Annie loved him. She wouldn’t want him alone.
I look over at Dane and see him holding up the flashlight and reading the lyrics I wrote. His eyes move intently but slowly over the paper, and I can tell he’s reading every word.
He looks up and meets my eyes, nodding. “We’re ready to get back to work. You coming home?”
I don’t know. There were reasons I left, but now I worry that I have reasons to stay. And they’re not the reasons I came for. That’s the problem.
I should never have gotten this close to Ryen. It’s complicated now. Either leave and keep my friend or stay and lose her forever.
“I still need to get one more thing,” I tell him. “And then I’ll be home.”
Coming up on the house, I slow to a stop and check the clock on my dash. It’s after midnight, and the street is silent, all of the houses dark.
Except one.
I gaze out at the two-story brick home, a single light coming from the den and a figure moving inside. All the cars are in the driveway, Trey’s Camaro sitting in the middle.
What I need is in that house.
Something of mine—something of my family’s—and I’m getting it back. Fuckface has a baseball game Friday night, and the whole family will be there. I can do it then, and then I can get out of here.
The shadow passes in front of the large den window again, and I follow it with my eyes, the warm light from inside so inviting, making my chest ache. How nice to think your children are safe under your roof, warm and sleeping peacefully, surrounded with love in their perfect world.
That’s about to change.
I put the truck in gear and speed off, heading around the corner toward the school. Ryen’s house is on the way, and I want to see her all of a sudden.
I’ve wanted to talk to her for the past two days, but yeah… I’d just dig myself into a bigger hole, because that’s all I know how to do it seems. I want to crawl in through her window and just touch her and talk to her and see if she can make me see the end of this. Make me figure out how to rewind and start over, before I abandoned her all those months ago when I should’ve clung to her and let her know how much I need her.
But if I could go back—to before I met her in person—would I really want to?
No. I wouldn’t trade those minutes in the lab for anything. Or the ones in the back of my truck.
Eventually we all have to weigh what we want more: wanting back what we had or wanting what could be. To stay or to risk everything to move forward.
I pass her house. She has a temper, and I’m tired tonight.
Besides, I need a shower before I try to crawl into bed with her.
Parking on the other side of the street, in front of the school, I grab my duffel with a change of clean clothes and jog across the road, keeping an eye out for passersby. Not that it’s not dead as doornails at this hour, but you never know.
I run across the school parking lot, not seeing any cars, but I look around just in case. I heard they were going to start hiring security to do sweeps every so often, trying to catch the little vandal who’s decorating the walls, but I don’t see any security vehicles. And they’re still in the process of getting the cameras working, so for now, it’s safe.
Jumping the fence to the practice field, I hike up onto some old football equipment and lift up the loose screen leading into the men’s locker room. Raising the window, I hop up and plant my ass on the sill and swing my legs over. I throw my duffel on the floor and jump down, turning around to close the window again.
I watch him start climbing the beams up to where I sit about five cars off the ground, and let out a sigh. I’m working. For the first time in months, I’m writing. Just my luck.
“You and your cousin loved this place as kids,” he yells up. “I should’ve known you’d be hiding here.”
He crawls up, past the empty cars, and heaves himself over the beam where my car sits. The wheel creaks with the extra weight, but it doesn’t budge. Years of rain and moist sea air have taken care of that.
He takes a seat, and I notice he’s wearing our band’s black T-shirt. Our name, Cipher Core, with some artwork Dane designed, is on the left side of the chest. I have a few at home. Even Annie has some, which she used to sleep in.
I see Dane’s eyes fall to my notepad, and then he raises them to me, the wheels in his head probably turning.
“You got something there for me?” he prods, meaning lyrics.
I laugh to myself, tossing him the book. What the hell? Let him tell me it sucks, so I can give up, and we can go to Sticks and get drunk instead.
He barely looks at the pad, though. He eyes me hesitantly, as if he’s searching for words.
“Your dad isn’t looking too good, man,” he says, keeping his tone even. “The stores are closed, and no one sees him anymore. He misses you.”
“He misses Annie.”
“He still went to work after Annie,” he points out. “It was when you left that he retreated.”
I prop my arm up on the back of the seat and rub my forehead. He’s not going to the shops? To open up or anything?
Dane’s right. My father was in pain after Annie’s death, but he didn’t abandon his responsibilities. Other than me, of course. No, he gave me all the space I told him I wanted.
But he still took care of the house, ran the shops, did the paperwork, and went on his morning runs.
He hasn’t called me, though.
If he’s hurting—if he needs me—would he tell me?
I stopped being able to talk to you. I stopped looking for a way to talk to you.
Guilt chips away at some of my anger. Annie loved him. She wouldn’t want him alone.
I look over at Dane and see him holding up the flashlight and reading the lyrics I wrote. His eyes move intently but slowly over the paper, and I can tell he’s reading every word.
He looks up and meets my eyes, nodding. “We’re ready to get back to work. You coming home?”
I don’t know. There were reasons I left, but now I worry that I have reasons to stay. And they’re not the reasons I came for. That’s the problem.
I should never have gotten this close to Ryen. It’s complicated now. Either leave and keep my friend or stay and lose her forever.
“I still need to get one more thing,” I tell him. “And then I’ll be home.”
Coming up on the house, I slow to a stop and check the clock on my dash. It’s after midnight, and the street is silent, all of the houses dark.
Except one.
I gaze out at the two-story brick home, a single light coming from the den and a figure moving inside. All the cars are in the driveway, Trey’s Camaro sitting in the middle.
What I need is in that house.
Something of mine—something of my family’s—and I’m getting it back. Fuckface has a baseball game Friday night, and the whole family will be there. I can do it then, and then I can get out of here.
The shadow passes in front of the large den window again, and I follow it with my eyes, the warm light from inside so inviting, making my chest ache. How nice to think your children are safe under your roof, warm and sleeping peacefully, surrounded with love in their perfect world.
That’s about to change.
I put the truck in gear and speed off, heading around the corner toward the school. Ryen’s house is on the way, and I want to see her all of a sudden.
I’ve wanted to talk to her for the past two days, but yeah… I’d just dig myself into a bigger hole, because that’s all I know how to do it seems. I want to crawl in through her window and just touch her and talk to her and see if she can make me see the end of this. Make me figure out how to rewind and start over, before I abandoned her all those months ago when I should’ve clung to her and let her know how much I need her.
But if I could go back—to before I met her in person—would I really want to?
No. I wouldn’t trade those minutes in the lab for anything. Or the ones in the back of my truck.
Eventually we all have to weigh what we want more: wanting back what we had or wanting what could be. To stay or to risk everything to move forward.
I pass her house. She has a temper, and I’m tired tonight.
Besides, I need a shower before I try to crawl into bed with her.
Parking on the other side of the street, in front of the school, I grab my duffel with a change of clean clothes and jog across the road, keeping an eye out for passersby. Not that it’s not dead as doornails at this hour, but you never know.
I run across the school parking lot, not seeing any cars, but I look around just in case. I heard they were going to start hiring security to do sweeps every so often, trying to catch the little vandal who’s decorating the walls, but I don’t see any security vehicles. And they’re still in the process of getting the cameras working, so for now, it’s safe.
Jumping the fence to the practice field, I hike up onto some old football equipment and lift up the loose screen leading into the men’s locker room. Raising the window, I hop up and plant my ass on the sill and swing my legs over. I throw my duffel on the floor and jump down, turning around to close the window again.
