COMM 100

(My first attempt at Slam Poetry.)

I
Am an awkward person.

My brain works on a different frequency than most
Normal people.
I find myself translating conversations in my head
And most of the time
My translations
Are
Wrong

All the He said She said is just static to me.
Gossip cackles through the airwaves
Creating a high-pitched ringing in my ears that makes me feel
Uncomfortable
My train of thought chugs along the conversational railways
Like the express train to Penn
It doesn’t stop for people who say things they don’t mean or mean things they don’t say
It has no time for liars, deriders, or stereotype buyers.

Most of the time
“No pun intended”
Goes right over my head.

I came to school
To study the English language
But the handiest thing I’ve learned was
“Mind your Ps and Qs”
Originally referred
To brews.
What I learn in class
And what you speak in the Quad
Is as different as Yiddish
And Klingon.

Every so often though
I find myself standing in a spot where the signal comes in clear
And I’ll say,
“Can you hear me now?”
And someone will reply,
“Yes.”
It is then that I discover I am
An Engaging Conversationalist
A Cunning Linguist
And
I can find le mot juste every time.

But it’s rare.

So often am I wandering around on this whirlwind of words that
When strung together the way you do
Like
Totally
Fo’Sho’
Makes zero sense to me.
Forgive me for asking, but
What the hell are you on?
You so obvi lost me at the first deff and second totes.
Are you a moron?
Or is that a joke?

I feel like a foreigner that’s studying abroad
So the next time I say,
“I don’t understand you.”
Maybe you can just say,
“I feel that way too.”

And we can translate.

Muse

Muse

He drums to a beat in his head
On a drum that makes no sound
But still his hands move to the tune.
The noise in the room crowds the air around him
No expression fills his face
Alone in a room full of people
He looks it. Lonely.
Still he taps out rhythms
Whole orchestras in his mind.

Who am I to say he's lonely?
I called the music noise.
He looks uninterested, but interesting.
I look bored, and boring.
This does not surprise me.
His drumming attracts me like a tribal beat
Even in silence.
Does my pen attract him
Even though my words are a mystery?

I'm writing about you,
Silent Drummer across the aisle.
Are you writing that song for me,
The Writer?

Heaven

**This is a work in progress. I still have a lot I want to say here, but I'm taking my time. While I do that though, I was hoping to get some feedback. If you read this and you have anything to say, it would be appreciated.**

Dying

I pushed the last little white pill into my mouth, but it was unneccessary. I could already feel the pull of sleep at the corner of my eyes. I leaned over the sink and took a mouthful of water from the faucet. I left it running as I sank to the bathroom floor.
"Stop it!" he begged. "Throw it up! COME ON!"
"Pease," I said, mustering up some energy, "I'm tired." It was getting harder to speak. I rested my head against the tiled wall.
"You have to throw up!" the apparition continued. "Look, right here." He pointed at the toilet. "Come on sweetheart! Do it now!" But his efforts were fruitless. I could hardly move. I struggled to keep my eyes open, not wanting to let go of his perfect face below his rumpled brown hair.
"You don't...really...care. It's all in...my head," I breathed.
"You're wrong. I do care. Please stop this babe." His face was close to mine and I imagined I could feel his breath on my lips.
"You...would say...that."
"You never did understand, the part of me that's in your head is real. That's the part of me that will always care for you. I care for you." His soft voice broke, but he carried on, "Stop hurting yourself. I need to know that you exist. How can I live in a world where you don't?" His words crumpled the broken pieces of my heart to dust. I stared into his bright blue eyes, the color of the sky, and held them for as long as possible in my own. "Please," he tried once more. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
"Will you hold my hand...?" I felt a slight pressure in the palm of my hand. It didn't feel like flesh on flesh, but rather soul touching soul. I always imagined a soul was a small thing, residing mostly in your heart. But of course it could stretch all the way to my hand, it was big enough to carry all of my existance, wasn't it?
"I love you...." I told him, ".....Always." And with that I closed my eyes and fell asleep for the last time as he hummed softly in my ear.

Heaven

When I opened my eyes I felt as though I'd slept for days. I was no longer tired. Every part of me buzzed with energy. I waited for the despair and discomfort to set in, but I felt perfectly content. Someone had laid me in a bed, the biggest, most comfortable bed I'd ever encountered. I sat up and looked around. The room around me was entirely white, as was the bed covers and the furniture- two dressers and an armchair. The ceiling above me was two stories high. That was all I noticed, however, because the main attraction of the room was the wall I now faced. It was hardly a wall at all, but rather a huge window where a wall should have been. From one side of the room to the other, from floor to ceiling, one large pane of glass stretched crystal clear before me.
Outside the window there was a vast lawn that rolled gently down for what seemed like miles. The grass was a color green I'd never seen before: brighter, richer than i was used to, as if my eyes had been looking through a fog before today. It was early morning and the dew clung to the tips of the blades. This too was different. Instead of water, the droplets shone like little gems. They threw a million tiny rainbows across the room, bathing all the white surfaces in rays of color. It was beautiful.
I sat taking in the amazing sight, straining to see what lay beyond the lawn, but as far as I could tell it just kept going. Then I heard the laughter: a sound I would soon become very familiar with.
"Hello?" I called. The sound of my voice shocked me. Somewhere in the back of my head I realized that I expected to sound hoarse. Truth be told, I thought that I would be waking up in a hospital after throwing up or having my stomach pumped. I was glad to see that this was not the case. This was so much better.
I gave a start as five little heads popped up at the foot of the bed. A girl with black hair and black eyes, another with yellow culrs and green eyes, a boy with light brown hair and blue eyes, and two dark brown haired boys with identical pairs of brown eyes. I could not see their mouths, but I could tell that each one of them were smiling. "Hello," I said again, this time with a smile of my own. They all giggled. "What are your names?" I asked. They seemed to take this as an invitation, and all scampered up onto the bed with me.
"You mean you don't know?" The blue-eyed boy asked as he climbed up beside me. He was older than the others, eight or nine, and clearly the leader. His body was longer, more angular. I looked at the two little girls. The black haired girl was asian, her hair was thick and glossy, and her skin was pale white. She looked about four years old. She held the hand of the other little girl with the shoulder length blonde curls. She was smaller, maybe three. Her green eyes were wide with wonder and seemed to be the exact same color as the grass outside. The boys with the identical eyes were in fact identical twins. Their skin was darker, Indian, I guessed. Their hair was short while the blue-eyed boy's was kind of scruffy. He kneeled at my right side and was looking expectedly at me now. I was at a loss for words.
The girl with the yellow hair nudged her tiny head under my arm. Her curls were warm, as if she'd been sitting in the sun. I thought I could smell sun screen...and pineapple. "Umm," I started, "I'm sorry. Am I supposed to?"
"Well, you invited us here. We've been waiting for you. You slept for a while." A smile played at his lips like we shared some secret that I'd obviously forgotten.
"Really? How long?" I had no recollection of inviting anyone anywhere of course, but the idea that I'd been sleeping for an indefinite amount of time scared me.
The boy just shrugged his shoulders as if to say it didn't matter now. The semi-circle of children were all staring at me patiently. I realized, as my heart- for lack of a better word- lurched with recognition. It was love on their faces, love for me. I expected this feeling to go away with death: the physical tightening in my chest that had nothing to do, apparently, with having a body to feel it with. I couldn't stop smiling.
"Where am I?" I asked curiously. One of the twins handed me a photograph.

"Biz seni bulmaya geldik," he said.

"I'm sorry I don't--" I was about to tell him that I didn't understand, but I think I did. "Wait, what did you say?"
"We came to find you," he said in the foreign language, "'The place where the unloved will find love' they said."

I looked at the picture. It was of me. My favorite picture of myself, taken on a pier in Maine. I was spinning around and laughing. The strapless white eyelet dress I wore in the photo was the same one I wore now. I looked at the five faces, the rainbows dancing on their skin. The place where the unloved will find love. That made sense to me. In life, my greatest pleasure came from caring for those who were neglected, especially when it came to children. So this was my heaven.
I gathered all the kids up in my arms and squeezed. Delighted, they squeezed back.
"If this is truly my home, then of course you're all welcome." Their smiles grew wider than I would have thought possible. "I really don't know your names though..." They laughed and clambered out of the bed.
"Come on! You have to meet the others. They've been waiting too!" And they all ran from the room out a door to the right. I was slow to climb down from the cozy bed, but the blue-eyed boy waited for me. He took my hand in a tight grasp and headed for the door.
"There are others?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," he said, "There are lots."
As we walked down the hallway (white with ceilings three stories high, balconies from the upper floors visible from this one) I couldn't help thinking that the little boy beside me reminded me of someone else with blue eyes and light brown hair, and I was disappointed to learn that that part of me hadn't died as well... The part that hoped.

To Be Continued...

Fire in Winter

Karalyn walked beside me taking slow, deliberate steps. Her cautiousness was making me uneasy. Three years ago the sidewalk would not have been wide enough for her bouncing, dance-like motions. We were circling the pond at Berkshire Park. It was late afternoon but the sun was still high in the sky, a beautiful summer day. Karalyn wore a heavy black sweatshirt. I eyed it sadly. I tried to catch a glimpse of her face but her hair covered it like a veil, shielding her from the outside world. She was looking at the ground as she walked. I kept pace with her, taking a half step for every one of hers.
I was not used to this. I thought it would be…not the same, but similar. This was entirely new. I did not know the girl beside me. But I loved her. Yes, I definitely loved her. There was a time when I could admit this to her and she’d turn those warm brown eyes on me and say, “Well, of course you do! Where would we be if you didn’t?” And she’d press her lips to mine and the fire would spread through my veins, making me as warm as she. I don’t know why, or how, I ever let that Karalyn go. I’d spent the last three years regretting that decision, loving her from a distance as I watched other guys realize my mistake. One of them especially scared me, keeping his arm around her for over a year, making her happier than I ever did. Then he let her go; without regretting it, it seemed. That’s when she started to change.
I didn’t notice at first. I was too consumed with my first feeble attempt to win her back. She pushed me away, of course. So I took a seat again, watching the game from the bench. I watched longingly as some guys struck out and some hit home runs.
It’d been so long since I was actually with Karalyn. I now considered how real my feelings for her could be. I loved her, but to what extent? How could I love a Karalyn that no longer acted like Karalyn? Was it a person’s actions that you fell in love with, or their heart? Their mind? Their soul? Do you love a person’s smile, or how often they show it?
As if reading my mind, Karalyn looked up. Her worried eyes swam through the air until they found mine. Her lips curved upward, exposing her teeth. It was a smile, but it wasn’t right. It was…apologetic?
“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” she asked. “Avoiding the lines on the sidewalk.” She shook her head back and forth as she looked back down.
“Is that what you’re doing?” I tried to make my voice sound light, joking, but it came out all wrong.
“Mmm,” was all she said in response.
I scanned the horizon quickly, looking for something of interest. Then I spotted it.
“Look!” I said, pointing to a crane diving on the other side of the pond. Her head snapped up reflexively. She walked fearfully, like someone who was blind-folded walking dangerously close to a cliff. I placed my hand carefully on her left shoulder to guide her. I tried not to let myself get too worked up over the fact that I was actually touching her again. I resisted the urge to reach down and grab her hand, touch her skin. I didn’t want her to think she’d given me the wrong idea by accepting my invitation to this rendezvous. As she became entranced by the beauty of the bird her gait developed into a more natural stride. Evidence, I thought. Proof that my Karalyn was still in there. She could always appreciate beauty.
The crane was gone all too soon, but she didn’t put her head down right away. We strolled along for a few more minutes before she went back to watching the lines in the sidewalk. She stepped carefully over each one, and around all the cracks as well.
“Do you want to sit?” I asked as we passed an empty bench.
“Okay,” she said with the faintest tone of relief.
“So,” I said in an attempt to make conversation, “Are you happy to be home for the summer?”
“Kind of,” she answered glumly, which made me think she really meant “no.”
I waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t I asked, “Home isn’t your favorite place, is it?” She looked at me, her expression blank. Behind her eyes I could see her asking herself whether or not she wanted to tell me the truth. She looked straight ahead again and took a deep breath.
“It’s…It’s not my least favorite place. I like being with my family and seeing my old friends. But there are too many…memories here, ya know?” I nodded. This was the most she’d said all day. “Not bad memories,” she continued, "Well, some bad, but the good ones are worse. They haunt this place. They haunt me.” Her voice broke on the last word. I realized with growing horror that she was scared. She slowed down her breathing, blinked twice, and looked at me. I think she wanted me to tell her she’s not crazy. Maybe she was just waiting for me to get up and walk away without a backward glance. Who knows?
“I can understand that,” I said thoughtfully. Whatever it was that she wanted to hear, this seemed to satisfy her. She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. I watched her as she watched the pond. Something about her posture made me think she was anticipating another question.
This is how our online conversations often went these last few weeks. I started talking to her while she was still up at school. I would ask her general questions, to which she would offer one-word replies. I would keep asking anything I could think of until she gave in and gave me a real conversation. Even after that though, she would only speak in response to something I said.
Online, I tried to hold out until the awkwardness would force her to say something, but I never could hold out long enough- I thirsted to hear more of what she had to say. But now I had her, really here, sitting and breathing beside me. I wanted to hear her voice, of course, but this would be enough for now. I reclined slightly, stretching my legs out in front of me, and put my right arm on the back of the bench. If Karalyn leaned back it would look like my arm was around her. She looked so hopeless. Karalyn wasn’t supposed to look like this. Hope was something she always had an excess of. Hope, and faith, and love. Happy suited her better than sad.
It was different for me. Depression fit my bitter being like a coat in winter. I was naturally negative and skeptical. It took a while for people to notice the difference, and by the time they did I’d already resented them for not seeing it sooner. I pushed them away. I pushed her away. Karalyn’s sadness was so much more obvious. Depression engulfed her like…like a heavy black sweatshirt on a bright summer day.
She looked back at me suddenly, as if remembering I was there.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I zone out a lot. I’m not good at….conversation….these days.” It hurt me to see how hard she was trying, how careful her words were.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind silence.” It was true; I hated it when most people spoke. I found it annoying. Her voice, however, I could listen to forever. She looked relieved again. She nodded a few times and leaned back against the bench. I curled my arm to better fit the slump of her shoulders. I thought I saw her eyes tighten a bit when I did this, but I didn’t move my arm, and she didn’t move away.
We stared out at the pond again. The sun had finally started its descent. We squinted into the golden rays as people passed us by, blocking the sun at uneven intervals. With the cars out on the street and the birds and the people in the park, I was surprised that I heard what she said next.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“What for?”
“I don’t know exactly,” she said slowly. I thought back to one of our online conversations when she’d told me she felt “uninteresting” and I wondered if she thought of that now too.
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m not expecting anything from being with you Karalyn. I just know that I want to be. Here. With you.” I saw the first glimmer of hope in her eyes. It encouraged me to go on. “Or anywhere with you, really. As long as you’re there, it’s where I want to be. So don’t apologize.”
“Thank you for that.” She wasn’t smiling, but her features were happy, warm. She pushed the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to her elbows. I reached my left hand across my body and grabbed hers. The fire danced up my arm. Warmth spread throughout my body. At last, it didn’t feel like winter anymore.

Just When I Thought You Were The Last Person Who Could Surprise Me…

Just When I Thought You Were The Last Person Who Could Surprise Me...

You put your hand on my leg
In the back of your friend’s car.
I looked at you,
You were looking at me,
And from what I saw
You never stopped
The whole night long.

We played pool
In your basement.
I lost,
Like you said I would,
Because some things never change.
But a lot changes
In a year and a half.

Your hair is shorter now
As I lay beside you on the couch.
My hair isn’t blonde anymore.
Do you think I look smarter?
I was smarter then.
I broke up with you, didn’t I?
Why didn’t you invite me to that party?

You may be a fucking idiot
Now,
But I wouldn’t really know.
It’s been a long time.
Are we still the same,
Or are we doing this for a reason
This time around?

You’re holding me close
Upstairs in your bedroom.
You never did that before.
And I’m being fair to you.
It’s like we’re in a parallel universe
Where
We get it right this time.

I wouldn’t call this nothing
This thing that we’re doing that
We can’t stop smiling about.
Maybe just for one night
I can be happy
And you can care.
This is for real, isn’t it?

Your heart is beating
Inside of me.
I want to share this
With you.
I need you to feel
One of the most beautiful things
In my world.

Your arms are wrapped
Around me.
My hands seem to have found yours.
There is no mess
Of covers.
Hold on,
I only want to lock the door.

I’m shivering,
But I’m not cold.
I like that
You pulled the blanket up
Because
You thought I was lying.
I wasn’t, but it helped.

You feel at peace
Beside me.
I feel it too.
I guess your necklace
And my earrings
Don’t tell lies
This time.

I keep waiting
For this to not feel right.
You’re playing me.
Usually I’d be smart enough to see,
But I can’t find anything
Fake
Behind your eyes.

You want to know
What’s going through my head?
I couldn’t even tell you.
I have to go now.
I’m sorry to make you sleep alone.
Please put on your clothes;
You have to take me home.

If you say
“Good night”
Will the rest of the hours
Measure up?
If I say
“See you later”
Will I?

More 38 Carson Avenue

I came downstairs one day to find Max smoking with an unhealthy looking kid with poorly bleached dreadlocks. They sat on the living room floor in front of the couch. The whole downstairs smelt strongly of weed and the front door was wide open.
“Max! What the hell,” I shouted and shut the door.
“I wouldn’t do that…” Dreadlocks said slowly.
“Shhh, it’ll give him something to do,” Max said to him. Dreadlocks sniggered.
“What,” I asked them. They smiled up at me.
“Come Tekeylay,” Max said patting the floorboards beside him, “you worry too much.”
“I do not,” I said weakly, sitting down. “I worry the normal amount. You’re just…”
“Enlightened?” Dreadlocks offered through a breath of smoke. I shook my head. Max still smiled. He grabbed my arm and pulled me closer, throwing his own around my shoulders when I complied. He held the joint in his hand up to my lips. What the hell, I thought, and took a slow even drag.
“Yeahhh mannnn,” Dreadlocks sang.
Four minutes, and two hits later, the smoke alarm started going off. It took me a second to realize what it was, and then I looked to Max and Dreads. They both had their pointer fingers to their noses and big goofy grins on their faces. Oh, the front door. I get it now.
I stood up, waited for the vertigo, appreciated the vertigo, and got a bar stool from the kitchen. Max and his friend chuckled excitedly as I teetered dangerously on the stool top and reached for the alarm. I laughed too. Suddenly, me not being tall enough to reach was the funniest thing in the world. Until I fell over. Then that was the funniest thing.
I was very aware of the pain in my back, but I just didn’t care enough to feel it. Max and Dreads were hoarse with laughter.
“Did you see that?! Oh my God, that was the…ahhhh.” Dreads sighed, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Te-Keyyy-Layyy!” Max was yelling over the smoke alarm. I was still laughing when Tom walked in the front door.
“Kyle?” Was that concern I heard in his voice? He stood over me just long enough to see that I was laughing. “Jesus Kyle,” he said. He picked up the fallen stool and climbed up on it. He pulled the battery out effortlessly, which made us all laugh even harder.
“Kyle…” Tom said shaking his head.
“Why me? It was Max who-”
“You know better. Fuck, I sound like my father.” Tom walked over to the couch and leaned over to open the windows. “Put that out,” he told Max. Max carefully snubbed out the joint and put it back in the Ziploc bag he had.
“Alright Maximilian, I’m out,” Dreadlocks said, standing up.
“Catch ya later Trav,” Max said, engaging in a half high-five/half handshake with Dreads.
“Later Kyle. Keep it real,” Dreadlocks said to me and walked out the door.
Max was smiling at me. “Shut up,” I told him. I closed my eyes, still lying on the floor. When I opened them Max was standing over me.
“You have a very low tolerance Tekeylay.”
“I know.” He offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet.
“I’m hungry. You hungry?”
“Yeah.” I thought he would just start cooking, but he went to the coat rack by the front door and threw me my coat.
“Where are we going?”
Max smiled and walked out the door.

38 Carson Avenue

Part One

There are a lot of people here. Even by party standards this house is crowded. I’m sweating my balls off squeezing through people. Where is that jackass, Jared? We’re going to get another citation. There is hardly even air in here to breathe. Music is pounding away, loud and unrecognizable. Someone turned the bass up and it's rattling the window frames of our old house. We may only be renters, but I've come to love this house in a way. For one thing, it's huge. I don't know how five college juniors were lucky enough to get this house in the first place, but the landlord liked us enough to lease it to us again senior year, and we were more than happy to keep our home. I'd seen no other house in this small town with five decent sized rooms, a large living room, a modern kitchen (complete with bar top,) and a full wraparound porch. At least, not one that any college kids inhabited.
I finally spot Tom about five feet away. He’s looking down at the ground, completely disgusted. Tom is one of my more ill-tempered roommates, but right now he'll have to do, as he's the only one I can find. I try to weave in and out of people and end up working my way over to him slowly.
Tom looks like he may have been in good shape at one time, but has since lost some of his physique. It goes well with his redneck persona though. I mean, Tom's the type of guy you expect to have a beer gut and still look good in a t-shirt and stained jeans; which he does. He also has the advantage of being a head taller than everyone else, which I do not.
I stood at my full height so he could hear me, finally realizing why he's so repulsed. There is someone throwing up at our feet. Great.
“Hey," I shouted over the music, "Have you seen Jared?”
“This is out of control Kyle," he shouted back, grabbing a fistful of his reddish brown hair just above his forehead. "I got home an hour ago. An hour ago! And I came home to this! This is ridiculous!” Tom is pissed. Of course he’s pissed. If I didn’t help plan this mess, I’d be pissed too.
“I gotta find Jared. We need to get these people outta here.”
“Yeah. When you find him, tell him I’m going to break his neck!”
I continue working my way through the crowd, keeping as much to the wall as I can. All the while I'm thinking that I might kill Jared before Tom can get a hand on him. When he suggested having a party the first weekend after school started I said it was stupid. However, like always, I agreed to it anyway. Tom was fine with whatever we did as long as it interrupted his life as little as possible, and my other two roommates were happy either way.
Jared ran the show. When things were going well, we all denied it. But when things got fucked up, we were chickenshit. When something felt out of our hands, Jared had a hold on it. Jared could get these people out without getting decked, and he could sweet talk the cops without getting a summons. So where was he now?
I spotted Max, another of my roommates, clear across the room. He’s a close second to Jared in a crisis. He’s calm, and smart, and he knows what’s up with everyone and everything. It’s just that he’s…well, you’ll see.
“Max!” I’m only a foot away from him now, after much maneuvering. “Max,” I tried again. He looked straight ahead with a bemused look on his face, completely oblivious to me. There’s a full cup of beer in his hand. “MAX!” Still no reaction. I step into his line of vision and wait while his grey eyes focus on me.
“Te-key-lay! Here, have a beer!” He thrusts his cup at me and pats me on the shoulder. He makes to go around me, but I stop him. His dirty-blond hair is sticking out in every direction, as are the bristly hairs on his face that never seem to make it to a full beard, but never disappear with a clean shave either. To Max, a mess is a beautiful thing, disorder is interesting, and panic is not a feeling, but something to be observed.
“How come you have a cold beer?” The temperature of the cup he’s just handed me is oddly low for being in a house that stopped serving alcohol two hours ago.
“Why don't you ask our dear friend and roommate, Paul Moore? Now, if you'll excuse me.”
It’s only then that I notice Paul “less is” Moore, my fourth and final roommate, standing over Max’s right shoulder. Paul is short, shorter than me. He looks kind of scrawny at first, but when you look closer you can see the lean body of a runner. His quiet disposition, fair skin, and thin ashy blond hair give him a weak appearance, but he can outrun us all, and probably anyone else who tried.
“Where did he get this? Why is it cold?” Paul shrugged. “Paul!”
“Some kids had their own beer," he said slowly, "Max bet them that they couldn’t solve his riddle.”
“And then what?”
“And then they couldn’t solve his riddle,” he said flatly, as if to say, Duh Kyle!
I chased after Max, determined to bring him back to Earth.
“Max,” I said, grabbing his shoulder, “where is Jared?” His eyes were locked on a small girl with brown hair and brown eyes to match. Physically, she was his opposite. She stared right back at him and I thought, well, that’s that. I turned to continue looking for Jared without help, but Max began to speak.
“Mr. McCall ascended the stairs on the arm of a lovely blonde who had just finished her ninth cup of brew.”
“Shit!”
Max turned to face me. “You shouldn’t worry so much Tekeylay.”
“No? I suppose I should just find some blonde bombshell, cart her off to my room, and fuck her while a hundred people are congregated in my house, breaking my shit!” Max’s brow furrowed. He leaned over to whisper something in the brunette’s ear and she nodded. He took her hand and they walked away.
There was no hope then. Just wait for the cops to come and work overtime next week to pay for the ticket, or citation, or whatever it was this time. I sat down in our big armchair and watched some drunken girls taking pictures. I could feel something wet soaking through my jeans. Five, six, seven pictures later the girls turned around and after a second they put down their cups and headed for the door. The music was lowered until I couldn't hear it anymore. All around people were shrugging into sweatshirts and chugging down the last of their drinks. I watched as, one by one, they filed out. Max caught my eye and winked. He was still hand and hand with the small girl. I shook my head.
When everyone had left, Max walked out after them with that same girl. Paul started cleaning up, but I told him we’d do it tomorrow. There were cups and cans and bottles covering every flat surface. The wood floors were soaked in what could only be alcohol and...I grimaced...vomit. Tom climbed the stairs with a sigh, grumbling about something or other. It probably had to do with his room being right next to Jared’s. Paul followed him. I locked the back door and checked every room in the house for stragglers. I hesitated before locking the front door, thinking about Max. While searching the rooms I had found his keys. I decided to lock it anyway. Max is kind of like a stray dog. Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all, and there isn’t always a girl to take him in. I wonder where he goes on those nights...

Part Two

I got up relatively early the next morning to start the cleaning. I could smell bacon and a million other delicious things cooking downstairs. I got out of bed and looked out the window. Tom’s car was gone. He was probably picking up extra hours at work. He did that a lot. Tom isn’t happy unless he’s making money.
I walked over to the mirror on the back of my door. I stared directly into my dark brown eyes, thinking for many minutes. The guy who stared back at me had hair the exact same shade as my eyes. It was cut short enough these days that nothing could move it. I ran my fingers through it, watching every hair spring back into place. I sighed and grabbed a pair of sweatpants off the floor, pulling them up over my ridiculous Christmas-themed boxers. My sock drawer was empty so I grabbed a pair from the cuffs of a dirty pair of jeans. Better dirty socks than bare feet on the sticky living room floor. I'd have to add laundry to my list of things to do today. I stole another look in the mirror before heading downstairs.
Max was the one standing beside the stove. That didn’t surprise me. I sat down at the huge, wooden bar that separated the front door and the kitchen, swiping my arm along the surface to clear a space.
“Good morning, Mr. Romano,” Max said with a big, sunny smile. The gleam of his white teeth was almost too bright for my eyes to handle.
“Good morning, Mr. Schaefer.” I watched him jump around the kitchen for a few minutes from stove to counter, from counter to fridge, from fridge to stove. My head throbbed trying to keep up with him so I put it down on the bar. I listened to Max whistle away like a bird. A moment later he knocked on the bar top about an inch from my head. I looked up to find two small white pills and a glass of O.J. “Thanks,” I said.
We heard a creak on the stairs and I guessed it was Paul. It was Jared though, and the “lovely” blonde. She looked like she’d seen better days. Jared held the front door open for her. She looked insulted. Sometimes Jared can be a real asshole.
“Miss, would you like some breakfast?” Jared rolled his eyes at Max's offer. The girl smiled warmly at him though. She was rather pretty when she smiled.
“No,” she looked coldly at Jared, then back at Max, “thank you though. I really appreciate that.” And then she was gone.
“Morning boys,” Jared said, closing the door behind her, “I hope you all had as good a night as I did.” Max looked kind of troubled, but smiled at him. I nodded, sort of. He sat down at the bar and went on and on about his night. I tuned him out, knowing how much Jared liked his details. Then I remembered last night and how he disappeared.
“Hey, asshole! Way to leave us with a houseful of people! You totally broke the rules!” Jared looked taken back.
“Did not,” he said, “What rules?”
“The rule,” I explained, “that states that no man be left behind.”
“Max and Tom and Paul were there! Plus, you seemed to handle it alright. I don’t see any tickets around; no broken furniture either. Now that surprises me.” He laughed. I sighed. Whatever; no sense in being stressed out about it now. Max went back to his whistling. After a few minutes Jared left the bar and turned the T.V. on in the conjoined living room. I found myself hoping that the armchair was still wet.
Paul came downstairs just in time for breakfast, but said he wasn’t hungry. I watched in disbelief as he grabbed a powerbar and walked out the front door.
“There’s no way he just went out running,” I said, still astounded.
“Ah,” Max said, “young Paul is a mystery to us all.” You’re a mystery to us all, I thought. “Mr. McCall, will you be eating this morning?”
“Thanks, man. I’ll take it in here,” Jared called.
“Don’t,” I said to Max as he went to take it to him.
“Oh, I didn’t plan on it.” He smiled and placed the plate on the bar where Jared had been sitting. He took the dish towel from his shoulder and wiped his hands.
"So how was your night? You weren't locked out were you?"
"I had an extraordinary night," he replied, pausing dreamily with my plate in his hands, "And no, I didn't get locked out, thank you though." He placed the plate, overflowing with eggs, bacon, pancakes, and cut up cantaloupe in front of me.
"Geez, what’s the occasion?” Max just smiled. Jared shuffled in to grab his plate. He looked surprised as well, mumbled thanks, and went back to the armchair.
Max placed another plate next to me with slightly smaller portions.
“A slender girl, not very tall in height, with large, beautiful brown eyes and exquisite, golden brown hair will be walking in that door shortly," he said leaning across the bar and pointing at the front door. "When she does, I’d like you to offer her this food and be very nice to her. Do you understand?” No, not all.
“Yes, Mom.” Max gave one short nod and walked through the living room, out the back door. I looked over at Jared for an explanation. He looked just as clueless as me, but more retarded because he had a mouth full of food. He shrugged and went back to watching the T.V.
Sure enough, when I was halfway done with my breakfast, the small girl from the night before walked in. She just waltzed on in without knocking are even saying “hello” before stepping inside. She didn’t say anything when she was inside either. She just walked over to the coat rack and hung up a large sweatshirt I recognized as belonging to Max. She turned around quickly to walk out and I remembered my instructions.
“Hey, you want food?” She looked at me with zero expression on her round face. “This is for you,” I told her, indicating the plate next to me.
“Oh.” She danced over and climbed up on the bar stool. She ate slowly, chewing a lot between bites. I watched her for a minute, and then continued on my own meal. After a while I started to feel kind of awkward.

“So, uhh, I’m Kyle,” I said to her.
“Kyle,” she repeated, “That’s a nice name.”
“Umm...thanks?” More silence. “And your name is…?”
“Ordinary, like yours.” Thirty-seven chews later she said, “Better to call me by my last name, Devaney. Everybody else does.”
“Devaney… that’s…nice.” After that I gave up.
When I was done eating I took my plate to the sink and cleaned it off. Max had already cleaned up the cooking mess. There was still a whole lot of party mess that needed to be sorted out. When I turned back to the bar the small girl, Devaney, was gone. I never even heard the door close.
“Pretty weird girl, huh,” I asked Jared.
“Was she?” His empty plate sat on top of a layer of beer cans. He was watching some kind of game show.
“Didn’t you hear anything she said?”
“No, not really.”
I grabbed the tall garbage can from the corner of the room and changed the bag. It took four bag changes before all of the empty cans were cleared from the downstairs. Paul came back and started helping. Jared got up eventually and helped also. Between the three of us it went faster than I had originally thought. I went to the back door to take out the recycling and grab the mop and bucket. There was a barrier of T.V.s, amps, guitars, lamps, and all of our other valuables in the way. We always locked these things in Max’s room, (the only bedroom downstairs,) during parties. Max emerged from there now pushing the largest amp we had.
“Hey, help me with this, will you?” I helped him arrange all of our stuff in the living room. This was a pretty habitual process by now and took less than three minutes.
“I’m going to mop,” I told Max, who was carrying our rolled up living room rug. He offered to do it instead, having missed the initial clean-up, but I told him not to worry about it. After all, he made breakfast; not to mention almost all of our other meals.
By the time the house was cleaned, (every carpet unrolled, every surface washed, and every foul smell deodorized,) my hangover was gone. I settled down to enjoy a peaceful Sunday full of football, laundry, and last minute homework.

…To Be Continued…