Can It Always Be This Way?

Will it always be this way? I think about my house, small and quaint, not very well insulated. Fitting many more people than it was built for, but I assume that’s most houses. The walls are covered with paint that wishes it could leave. In some places it has, like the corner of my room, dark and honestly scary. Maybe I should put a lamp there.

The curtains continue to open and close like a heartbeat. The swivel of my fan. It’s the middle of winter, and I still have a fan on. Humans are funny that way; we have our little quirks that make us unique. I like having a fan. It goes well with the constant noise in my head.

My hand reached to turn off the fan, then I grabbed my phone and pressed play. Karma Chameleon starts playing.

I hate this song…

I keep it on anyway. Someone has to listen to it, so why not have it be me. I like to stay in bed in the mornings. Once you get out of bed, the day really starts. I like the in-between zone. It’s like a continuation of the night before, or at least I like to think of it that way. I stay in bed for about an hour before I drag myself downstairs. My mom’s in the kitchen cooking and watching her show of the week, and my dad... Who knows. Maybe he’s still out from the night before, wasted at some whore’s house.

My mom will never admit that her marriage is broken, but it’s not exactly a mystery.

“This looks new, what are you watching now?” I asked.

“It’s about what happens after death, it’s really interesting.”

“Sounds bleak.”

“You sound bleak.”

“Hey, just because I’m tired doesn’t mean…” I stopped myself. I don’t know what I was going to say. “Depressed?” she says.

I laugh a little too hard for something not so funny.

“No, just. The show seems sad.”

“Well, it is. But it’s just something we have to come to terms with.”

We’re not a religious family. My grandparents are, but that didn’t get passed down to us. I think religion is stupid. Why should we have to adjust everything we do to a god that might exist? It seems really dumb to me—something a toddler would say, then get told he has a great imagination.

“Are you scared of death?”

My mom sort of freezes, then goes back to stirring the eggs.

“I think everyone’s a little bit scared, even religious folk.”

I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it. My mom doesn’t want to talk about a lot of things. Her dad was in a war, specifically The Korean War. He died before I was born. She never talks about him. I don’t have many questions I guess. I wonder if we would have gotten along, if he would have liked me.

“I’m gonna go to the record store today.”

She keeps stirring her eggs. My mom is usually pretty quiet, she doesn’t respond unless she needs to. Neither does my dad, I wonder why they got married sometimes, now that he’s less of a husband and more of an alcoholic. Maybe he was a stud, I’ve seen pictures and videos of him when he was younger, he’s well over 50 now. He’s lost all his hair and has wrinkles everywhere, probably from smoking so much. I don’t really see him as my dad anymore. He’s more just a guy who comes around once in a while.

I started to walk to the front door when my mom put her hand on my shoulder. She’s much shorter than me.

“Be safe.” It almost sounded like she was pleading this. It gave me a pit in my stomach, like she knew something I didn’t.

“I will, bye, love you.”

She never says “I love you”.

There aren’t really many things to do in Lewiston, I actually kind of hate living here. There’s only one record store unless you cross the river, and there’s a toll to do that, so we stay on our side. One thing I do like about living here is that you know what you’re going to get. If you go into an old house made thrift store, you’re going to have a nice old lady give you free stuff. The old lady I know is Gretchen; we talk a lot, I like her store- or house... I’m not really sure. I think she likes me, she said she reminds me of her son when he was my age. She talked about him with me once, it’s a really sad story. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia and killed himself shortly after. I’m not sure what I would do if someone close to me killed themselves. If my mom- I shouldn’t think like that. I left the thrift store without saying goodbye, I was too in my own head to speak.

When I arrive at the record store, I feel a wave of relief wash over me, I feel safe here. It’s like my second home, I come here most days. The workers all know me, the person at the register today is Jorge, he’s a skinny Hispanic guy who goes to my school. I think he’s in the same grade as me, maybe one lower. He’s not very popular, I guess that’s something we have in common.

“What’s the move today? Are you actually gonna buy something this time?” We both chuckled.

I’m surprised how much I laugh with Jorge, maybe I should hang out with him sometime.

“Anything new?” I asked.

Like a magician, Jorge pulls out a record from thin air.

“You got it!” I said.

“In Rainbows, the best Radiohead album.” We laugh again. I wish I lived at the record store sometimes. I would never have any responsibilities, just be able to listen to records as I please.

“How much?”

Jorge flips the record over and peers at the price tag.

“$24.99.”

Shit.

“I only have $20, I can come back tomorrow. Can you just hold onto it?” Jorge laughs. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’ll cover your $5.” Jorge says, then pulls out his wallet and puts $5 into the register. “On the house for such a loyal customer.”

Why did Jorge do that? I mean, we’re not strangers, but I wouldn’t give him $5. Maybe he was thanking me for talking to him; that’s mean, but also kind of true. He’s really only friends with a few kids from school.

“Thank you! Are you sure? You really don’t have too.”

He gestures to hand me the record.

“Really, it’s all good.”

I grab the record and hand him my $20. On my way out, he shouts at me. “Same time tomorrow?”.

I don’t say anything and leave.