Date: Fri, 11 Dec 2009 21:28:09 -0600
From: indiemcemopants <ativan.wont.kill@gmail.com>
Subject: This Loneliness That You Call Freedom chapter two

This is fiction, still. You can email me at ativan.wont.kill@gmail.com. I
reply to all messages. If you flame me, you'll get a response, so keep that
in mind. If you read this and still send me a rude message, I can only
assume you want an email from a gay guy.

I really appreciate the responses I've received so far.
------

Chapter Two


So, yeah.

I managed to sleep til late afternoon.

Once you stay up for so long, you end up so exhausted that you pass out. I
managed to pass out for a really long time. It was nice, really. The rain
steadily beating against my window helped. There wasn't much thunder and
lightning, just peaceful, relaxing rain.

I didn't have anything planned for the next day, thankfully, except maybe
checking out the city. My place is closer to the city than my parents'
house. I guess that's one benefit of moving out... or getting kicked
out. Whichever. I love the city. Being able to walk everywhere is great,
especially if you're dealing with a shitty car. Or no car, as the case may
be. And seeing everyone else doing the same together, it's very
communal. Or something. Unlike the country, where houses are a half mile
from each other and you get stuck on dirt roads forever.

And the inbreds.

Kidding.

I decide that I need coffee, so I slide out of my sheets and head to the
kitchen.

Half an hour later, I'm still sitting around sipping my delicious and
ridiculously strong coffee when my phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi son, where the hell have you been lately?"

Sighing and wondering why God hates me, I mumble, "Busy, why?"

A pause.

"Are you okay? Are you happy out at your new place?"

"Yes." No.

"You're wordy."

"Mooooom! I'm okay, really, I promise. Just... tired." And you're a
smartass, mother.

"Okay, well, you haven't burned down anything, right?"

Oh, here it goes. It's easy to see where this conversation is headed and I
need an exit, fast. It starts like this everytime, any second now, a
barrage of questions will follow, all of them implying I'm incapable of
living on my own and functioning in society.

Despite being forced into this situation. But who's paying attention,
really?

"...are you paying attention?"

"Um, oh yeah, mom. I heard."

"I asked if you've checked your bank account lately. You can't ever be too
careful. And are you gonna pay your uncle back? You know you owe him for
the car. And are you gonna have enough money for groceries? You really need
to get a job soon. You're not helpless. Do you know what people would think
if you got evicted?"

That's called prescience.

Or predictability.

I smile to myself.

"Yes, yes mom. I'm irresponsible and need to get my act together. I'm a bad
kid. Got it."

"Why are you always so down on yourself?"

Eye rolling. "Because... hey, listen, I should go soon. I have to clean up
before the hooker and meth party later tonight."

"THAT'S NOT FUNNY."

"Talk to you later, mom!"

"Bye then."

I toss my phone onto the couch.

I didn't have a terrible family life, all things considered. My mom raised
my brother and me by herself, pretty much. My father, if you can call him
that, is away most of the time. Seems family life is not for him. Having
her first kid at eighteen didn't make things particularly easy, but we
survived. The thing is, she's just a little insane.

It's one thing to worry about me. The thing you need to know about her is
she's an extremist. With everything. She's the type of person you can't
talk to about your problems because she lacks the inability to cope. I love
her to death. Really.

--

Being friendless has its benefits. First, no one asks me for money. Before,
when I used to have friends, everyone needed something. Whether or was
money or food or they just wanted to borrow my shit, everyone was always in
need.

Everyone is always in need.

Secondly, there's the complaining. The vomit-inducing,
I-need-your-shoulder-for-my-tears, neverending complaints about
something. Anything. I get that people need to vent. Really, I do. I just
don't understand the necessity of going off on psychotic rants about every
subject you could imagine. I'm sorry some girl looked at your boyfriend and
I'm sorry about whatever else; mostly I'm sorry you decided these thoughts
were fit for someplace outside your own head.

More importantly though, and more pressing to me at the moment, there's the
drama. People in groups can't do anything without some sort of major
drama. One person hates another in the group and that person's allies stage
a war against the other person's allies. It's like World War two on a
smaller scale.

Currently, this is a bother to me as I watch the pseudo reality show play
out in line directly ahead of me.

Some guy, face red, is screaming at his girlfriend. At least I assume it's
his girlfriend. Most guys wouldn't treat just anyone like this.

It's how you know it's love.

The poor girl, tears streaming down her face, just stands there looking
down at the floor. Everyone stared at this big hulking guy flailing his
arms around and screaming. This big meathead shoving his fat grubby fingers
in her face to illustrate his point.

I stand here thinking, thank you god for keeping me single.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

If this guy is doing this in public, I can't imagine what he does at home.

Finally, it looks like this guy is leaving, just as it's my turn in line.

When I finally make it outside, it's dark and cold. I walk toward my car
when I see the young girl sitting on the sidewalk shaking and crying.

Oh boy.

Everyone has migrated inside toward the warmth so she was left all alone
out here. Looking down at her, I see that she's not wearing a jacket. She
looks so small and wounded. I feel a pang of guilt hit me hard. I can't
leave her out here by herself. I can't walk past her without saying
anything at all.

Sigh.

I really shouldn't be getting involved.

"Hi..." Quietly.

She makes a sniffling noise and looks up at me.

I continue, "I saw what happened in there. That guy is a fucking douche,
sorry. He your boyfriend?"

"Yeah," she whispers tentatively. "Well, was."

"Good choice." I cringe inwardly. "Sorry, that was really insensitive. I'm
just glad you're not staying with that guy. He seemed a little hormonal."

Laughter.

She finally looks up at me. Her curly hair and beautiful eyes are framed
against a sweet looking face. Looking at her, I can't understand how anyone
would want to hurt her. She appears to be so gentle and open.

I tell her my name and she tells me hers.

We talk about how she just moved here with her brother. They live in a
place nearby. They'll be going to my school this year. They're both around
my age and she seems to have the same type of family situation as me.

Her mom calls twice during our short conversation, the second time,
probably to hound her about why she is crying.

"My mom's the same way," I say "She never lets me deal with my own
shit. And then when she hears about something I'm going through it's like
she feels this unceasing need to panic all day. It doesn't stop til I tell
her off."

"Haha, yeah! I've told her to leave me the fuck alone and fuck off but she
doesn't listen. I swear to god, she and dad both. You'd think after getting
in their fuckin' faces so much they'd mind their own business."

My eyes widen.

More laughter. She snorts loudly, and wipes her tears from her face.

"What? Didn't see that coming?"

"Uh... you... you're... so nice. And... small, no offense. I didn't
realize... you..."

"I'm a bitch?"

"Yeah, that." Okay, this girl is awesome. I kinda like her.

"You know, people like you make me reconsider the whole being gay thing."

She gapes at me. See, I can surprise people too.

"You don't seem gay. I never suspected it... though I shouldn't have
assumed anything. My brother's gay. No one would know about him if he'd
never tell. Honestly I sorta thought you might be hitting on me. Thought
you might be taking advantage of a vulnerable girl out in the cold."

"Haha, you wish," I grin.

"Well, you are handsome, in a way..."

"HEY!" I frown, jokingly.

"Haha, okay, okay. I should probably go home. Should tell the friends what
happened tonight before HE gets to them. Damage control, ya know."

"Got it. Hey, I don't normally do this but you're pretty awesome, so here's
my number, gimme a call sometime and we can hang out. Like I said I'm new
to this part of the city too, so we can go find shit to do, or wander
aimlessly and get lost for days. Whichever is most fun," I say, giving her
my cell phone number.

I feel weird about this. Perhaps I should've distanced myself from this
situation. It's always a bad idea to get involved with people's personal
lives. And making new friends isn't exactly the smartest idea.

For me, especially.

I know what happened before. I know what getting close to people can do for
you, better than anyone.

Still, she seems cool as shit. It's good to have allies.

We agree to meet again soon and head our separate ways.

Walking back to my place gave me time to think. About life. About my
newfound freedom. About the possibility of finding new friends. About how I
really should have worn a fucking jacket.

That was rather interesting. Hopefully she won't fuck me over like... I
shake my head. I really need to stop thinking about that. It happened. It's
over. I need to deal. Not to mention how fucking far ahead of myself I'm
getting. I just met this girl within the hour. Who knows if we'll even be
friends? We agreed to hang out at least once more.

It might not go anywhere.

This is what hope feels like.

I really don't like it.


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Thanks for reading, part three soon.