Date: Fri, 11 Dec 2009 21:28:09 -0600 From: indiemcemopants 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. --- Thanks for reading, part three soon.