The Boy Who Never Was
My younger adolescent years were spent on the shoulder of a stranger, whose shadow I fell upon when things grew dark; a strange infatuation that grew like a vine in my mind from the first sight. It took till the end of my years to figure out why this infatuation had grown the way it did.
Some roads are gray, some roads are brown, this one was black. A black that ran bitter when the sun slept so snug. I was accompanied by a love who had previously forced many gulps of alcohol down her throat, for this reason, my arm interlocked with hers, like stabilizers on a child's bicycle. It was in my previous hopes that we would kiss under the bridge by my house, and explore under the bridge by my house, but she fitted herself into a floppy mold that could barely stand in a fixed state, so I hurried the broken bird back to her nest. I also knew that I was out far too late- and that my parents would raise hell upon my arrival through the kitchen door.
Every step taken felt like a step not needed, I grew infuriated with each one. Of course, the thought of laying her down in a bush by the pavement had crossed my young mind, but then I imagined the bugs and rabid wolves that could bring harm and the awful things that could happen to her. I didn't want to be poised with the aftermaths that I conjured over and over in my imagination.
A two-storey bus was heading in our direction, lighting up the area with an unfamiliar brightness that ached my eyes. I imagined how this looked; a child carrying another that seemed lifeless. So I stopped and held her still, so if anyone peered away from their own business, she wouldn't look to have been dragged by a seemingly dark figure. As the bus jerked closer, I noticed a boy sitting in the back of the top storey, he captured my eyes with an alertness that seemed so strange. We both stared in each other's direction, one realm into another, but his was illuminating brighter and brighter, as he came closer towards me. The bus passed. It was as though I was just a passing thought, since his head never turned, cracked or cared.
Months passed and girls wandered by. I can recall Cameron being elected, and my parents grew mad about it. I'd begin to have sudden urges to leave the house and walk through the surrounding woods and town. I didn't know where the roots of the urges had been planted, because walking often seemed a bore, and nothing but a chore when we had to look after my auntie's dogs. I had thought about the boy on that bus a few times, but the invisible weight first hit me when I was lying on the carpet, staring at the television, which played a story on the news of a man who was wanted for sexually luring teens into his grasp before murdering them. This segment on the news was the first time I understood that not all horrors were found in films, and parts of the 'James Killings' stuck with me. Whilst my brain took notes on how to avoid this man, sausages and bacon were slapped flat onto the frying pan, as my Mother bathed them in the morning oil, sizzling and emptying my mind of all its thoughts. Then I pictured it, that moment... him from the bus... the flickering static of him had trespassed into my mind, and faced no objection, I allowed it - just like how I had allowed God into my life as soon as it started. I dug into my chewy breakfast, grinding down the salt on the bacon that felt like sand under my teeth, as I planned how I was going to spend the day, and who I was going to wear.
It was just short of another year till I saw the boy again. My concrete boots and tarpaulin coat were washed by the early spits of spring. I was still dragging myself out - a habit that seemed to have not died. For me, asylum sank deep in those streets, but only when I was with myself and with nobody else did it show. My head often hung low, in the chance that I'd awkwardly encounter someone I knew, most likely a girl who knew a girl who I had dated for a short time, which was the only reason most people knew of my name - which wasn't an achievement I wore around my neck with pride. Footsteps feathered the concrete in front of me, and out of curiosity I raised my lousy face to shoot a fast glance, then my heart reverberated like a chiming bell, outside, through and all around my body, it was a moment where my brain collapsed - yet I still felt every second, and every millisecond that fell through the crevices of the time. It was the boy from the bus. I swore that a smile punctured his face, but I can only remember what took place before and after, where I kept walking but I was dazed with disbelief that I had encountered him again. After a few seconds, my legs locked, like a confinement door, upon sensing the intoned whisper from a winged dove that hinted for me to turn, so turn I did, and the dove raced and flew around my body, the boy turned his head, and shot a definite smile towards me in the way a junkie shoots an acceptance of failure in his veins, he fed me something I never knew I'd need.
After the heavenly encounter, he was etched further into my mind. Now however, I wanted to be just like him; the way he walked seemed as though he was doing so on water, and the way he smiled seemed as though a hundred girls could walk into his hands, and happily bare him whatever his heart desires. I had never seen him at school, but I had never looked, so I did and found nothing but clumps of air and meatbag frauds, who tried to steal his mannerisms and looks, but they encapsulated try-hards better, and empty space even more; their dirty hands could never fit around the pearl that was him. In this screaming fits, I'd be told I was unlovable, I always hated being boxed by four solitary walls. But unlovable? Why would it matter, especially if the estranged boy wouldn't believe that? And a few years later, I'd have no job, you tell me? The boy would give me the money, so then where's the worry? Even after five years, he still danced in the ballroom of my mind, humming and whistling tunes of serenity. Before buying clothes, I'd even question myself if the boy would like them, as he would gain traits and thoughts from me, as time distorted the fact I never really knew him at all.
During these years of deeper adolescence, however, I began to be stalked by a truthful hawk, one that stared and spoke from a distance. It had planted in my mind that the boy had moved far away from me (in an attempt to explain why he's only seen in my mind) but that destroyed every ounce of hope I had in my future, so I chose to place my hands over my ears in an 'accidental' manner. But the hawkes's presence only grew with time, and alongside their growing existence, I began suspecting some hollow ground beneath my feet whilst I grew, for something felt uneven, and when I heard friends speak of 'love', I felt as though we were opposite beings, from a separate race, feeling the same item - yet extracting a different texture. I questioned whether it was love no matter how it rested on the tongue, as they had a sweet strawberry, and I had a bitter cherry, yet both were still labeled as 'love'.
Time passed and the heat of the boy had cooled. It was the day of my eighteenth birthday, and for the first time in years, my family members sang "Happy Birthday" to me, even the hawks joined in since they had taken over the woods connected to my backyard. I was supposed to have been spending the day with a shy blonde girl, whom I'd sworn my life to, but I called it quits after I struggled to feel anything that wasn't her body; it lasted a year and a half, and the love for the girl was like any other love I've ever had, which felt like two magnets put together at the same poles. I began thinking that a break was needed for my relationships, not even friends stayed that long either.
The autumn day (which held my birthday) had begun to dim its lights, and the guests of my little celebration began to leave the house. A perfect time for a walk, I supposed in avoidance of the strangers that arose after being alone with a few drinks. I had grown to like the walking since I had no choice in the matter.
I strolled down my road, and joyless footsteps followed, for I remembered the dreams I used to bury myself within, even while my eyes were open - especially the one with the boy, I didn't dream anymore, I thought, as my eyes lubricated their lids... I don't dream anymore. I tried to save the tears for the woods so that maybe they could actually be used for good in filling the low lake. What use were they on my cheeks, if I couldn't even find a love who would wipe them away with her soft evening hands? I quickened my pace so as not to be seen by anyone at my weakest juncture.
Once I was in the woods, I hurried quickly to the ceremonial bench, which overlooked the liquid field. I had taken the girl, who I had previously just let go of, there a couple of months before, and another one before her had also been brought there by me.
My vision locked completely on a dove that danced like a skater over the lake, performing its own rendition of 'Swan Lake'. It took its time to get closer towards me, appearing as though it was warming up to my presence.
Doves seemed like a thing of the past, I hadn't seen one for a couple of years. But my pensive viewing halted by the dove, as it stole a single beat from my heart, sending it into a rapid worry, when it charged towards me but steered to miss me and the bench, shooting down the path, just missing a boy who walked on the path in the opposite direction. I couldn't see the boy's face, but I knew... oh Lord I knew the celestial being from a dozen miles away. So when I gathered a substantial amount of air in my lungs, I jumped to my feet and crept around the bushes that blocked my sight, and the boy was in what seemed a light jog, but he was going faster than he looked, with his arms only slightly bent. I saw no other option at that point in my life, but to chase it, chase the gleaming light that seemed to only live in delusions... I wanted it, I wanted to taste that slice of sweetness that always taunted me just out of my reach. I was fast, and the distance between us both thinned. I tried to compare him to what little I had left of the fading Polaroid picture in my mind, but that was to no avail since his face wasn't looking at mine like I strangely wished it to be, but my chances dimmed as when I got closer, his strides widened, which threw him further, snap and thud, snap and thud, snap and thud, went my heavy boots over the delicate forest floor. I had never been this deep inside the woods, or not to my recollection, but as I kept my steady pace, a kettle of hawks chased after us both and let out awful noises that sounded as though their hearts were being ripped from their chests, I felt as though they were screeching things to me, but I couldn't succumb to their mature and good-for-nothing commands. We came to an opening, and from what seemed like a cross-country race, turned into a sprint with boiling haste, blazing the floor, and injecting the Hawkes with a crazed madness, that caused one of them to stoop a little lower and drag their claw into the flesh of my cheekbone; I didn't notice the run-down house through the films of sweat that lined my eyes; still, there it was, stout and cryptic, webbed and unkept, with stairs that led to the door, which he graciously flew up as if aided by the doves that now surround him. I couldn't count their masses, but I took two steps at a time. I was the closest to him I've ever been, and I felt it clearer than ever... like the connection of two different magnetic poles. I was bleeding profusely for him, and the doves, which I followed into the house, and into a cold hallway that seemingly eradicated the doves into slim chicken bones that piled on floorboards. Slowing down my pace caused a heated friction between my shoes and the wood beneath them, resulting in a stumble that clumsily brought me into a room.
An odd looking man appeared in the shadowed room. A striking scent of bacon and sausages sizzling in a pool of oil hit my nostrils. A familiarity tightened my blood blue. Maxwell James stood before me with a wrinkled stare. There were no doves, only screeching hawkes surrounding the opening.
All ablutions were to know avail, so here I lay with nothing but my apologies, for you... Father.
