Skies Do Fall

Tristan, my older brother, had already long vanished from the house to most likely make an appearance at one of his skater hangouts, arcade hangouts, chick-infested hangouts, etc. so there was no worry about giving him an explanation for my sudden urge to escape. Not until later, at the very least.

Once I was outside, I let the sun’s rays wash over me and fill me with relief until I started to feel the twinge of a sun burn creation uprising within my cheeks. Then, after my basking of warmth, I hopped into my brother’s shittier-than-shit car and pulled out of the driveway.

My brother, who enjoyed traveling by skateboard rather than car if he had the opportunity, always kept the best C.D’s fresh in his car’s stereo. So, with that being the case, I was immediately infatuated with the Alien Art Farm tunes blaring out of the shittier-than-shit speakers. I knew one of the songs and sang in sync with as much of the lyrics as I could draw out of my brain, but other than that, I mostly just sat and tapped my fingers against the shittier-than-shit steering wheel, enjoying the melody.

I cruised around for a while, searching for the nearest repair shop, until I finally spotted a very reliable block of repair stores, one of those businesses entitled Tony’s Window and Glass Repair Shop. Pulling into the nearly deserted parking lot, I switched off the shittier-than-shit engine; the rock song’s roars terminated as well, and then leaped out of the car.

The store was a small business, but it looked sufficient enough to suit my needs. There was no one standing at the dull gray front counter, so I rang the bell set out for customer’s use after hesitating for a few pointless seconds. In return, there were muffled, frustrated calls sounding off from behind the Staff Only doors.

The agitated calls grew louder until the grey door burst open, and there stood what appeared to be a very greasy and, not to mention, annoyed teenage boy. His arms were filthy with thick smears of oil that trailed all the way up to his elbows while his matted hair was pulled back into a ponytail, his bangs black with the same greasy substance on his arms. His eyebrows were pulled together in a scowl as he shuffled to stand in front of me.

When he finally looked up to meet my gaze, his face punctured with even more discontentment. In more of a hiss than anything, he greeted me, “Welcome. You need something?”

There was something odd about this boy, besides the rudeness he reeked of, but I shook it off seeing as I still needed to respond. In a meek voice, I shyly answered, “Hi, um…well I was wondering if maybe you could fix my…my.…”

“Let me guess…window?” the boy rolled his eyes, and, even though I frowned at his attitude, he didn’t give me a chance to respond but continued, “Right, well first you've got to fill out this paper.”

Out of nowhere, he pulled out what looked like a job application from underneath the counter. The irritated boy handed me the piece of paper, and then turned on his heel.

His hand was already on the door handle when I sarcastically shot out, “And will I just pull out my magical pen of Never-Never Land to fill this out, or do I just leave it blank?”

The boy smirked, undaunted by my remark, and continued to open the door. Just before the door sealed itself shut, I caught his reply.

“Check the counter of Never-Never Land right in front of you.”

My eyes fell back upon the dull gray counter, and there stood a tin cup stocked with twenty-or-so pens and pencils. Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “Nice one, Einstein,” and randomly plucked up one of the pens.

The ‘job application’ was really just some information like my whole glass issue, my address (so they could come and fix it, I was guessing), my phone number, etc. I had just finished and was starting to make spit bubbles in my mouth out of pure boredom, when the sassy boy returned.

He seemed in a slightly better mood, but his cocky smirk made another appearance at the sight of my spit bubble. He hopped onto the counter and asked, “So, how is kindergarten?”

I rolled my eyes irritably, stood up, and slammed the paper into his chest as I answered, “Well, at least my mother taught me well enough to not play in the dirt.”

The boy chuckled. “You rich girls can never tell the difference between dirt and a dirty job. This is work, for your information,” he pointed to the black smears on his arms. “But it’s just all filth to you richies, and you think everyone should just magically have the sunshine shining out of their asses.”

“I don’t think people should have sunshine shining out of their asses,” I shook my head in denial. “But it certainly would be a better place if people acted like it did. I think it must be asshole day, or something along those lines, because this is the second time I’ve met someone as arrogant as hell today.”

“Right. Arrogant. Ha ha ha,” the boy rolled his eyes at his own sarcasm and took that as the end of the discussion. Looking down at the paper, he changed topics. “So what did you do that demolished your bedroom window? Try to check your makeup against the reflection?”

“No. The whole story is actually how I met Asshole Number 1,” I indignantly spoke. “I guess it’s just a chain reaction of assholes, you know, one asshole leads to another. So that must mean you’re the next puzzle piece! Come forth and led me down the primrose pathway to Asshole Number 3.” I used my deep, intimidating voice to address the last sentence, holding out my hand in good humor.

The boy smirked at my challenge. “Why don’t you just look behind that poker sticking up your ass?”

Huffing as he chortled at his own joke, I crossed my arms and stated, “You know what? I think that the repair shop down the road would be a much better customer-friendly surrounding. So, if you’ll excuse me--“

“Hold your panties,” the boy sighed reluctantly. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? Just tell me what the problem is, make an appointment, I’ll come and fix it for you, and then we can go back to hating each other down to the last cellular membrane, deal?”

I thought for a moment and then nodded stiffly. “Whatever. Sure, deal.”

I explained to the boy how my entire window was desolated, and then we made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon seeing as it couldn’t hold off any longer unless I wanted that skinny, baseball jock to live on to see another sunrise. Then, it was time to leave, thank the Almighty Lord.

“Until next time,” I muttered, fishing my keys out of my pocket.

“I’ll count the seconds until then,” the boy remarked, already half-way through the Staff Only doors.

I exited the shop feeling slightly better, feeling more alive at the very least.

But, just when I had convinced myself that I was going to get over it, and I was going to be my old self, karma came around.

I was about halfway to my car when I spotted him.