Reinventing the Heartbeat

Gage ;;

My sore, tired, white converse covered feet continued to carry me down the pathetic streets they'd been walking for the past God knows how many hours, taking in the poor excuses of scenery and getting me familiar with where places were here - seeing as how, for as long as we'd been here, I still hadn't gone out much. Not that there were many places I'd managed to stumble upon.

At least I knew where the 7-11 was, had I ever needed to get a slushy or some gas for the car I didn't own or something. And I found the best places to express yourself through the art of graffiti on the public bathrooms and basketball courts over by the park - those seemed to be pretty popular here.

For the first time since I left the house nearly four hours ago, I felt the phone in my back pocket vibrating, the familiar theme song to my favorite movie, Wayne's World, leaking out of the small speakers on it. I pulled it out and looked at the ID.

"Hey, dad," I answered in a calm voice, crossing an empty street to a Mexican food restaurant.

"Gage? Where are you? You've been out for quite a long time. Did you get lost?" he asked in one rushed, worried breath.

It seemed that's all he'd been doing the past few months; worrying, worrying, worrying. But that was my fault. Naturally, I hadn't been acting like myself lately, which would definitely make a father worry about his only son. It took everything I had in me just to finish a whole bowl of cereal. Then even more to keep it down. He knew first hand how hard this was for me, and what affects it was having on me, but that didn't lessen his worry over me. Maybe caused him to worry more.

"No, dad, I'm not lost," I attempted to chuckle, though it came out rather dry and airy, as a result of going so long without saying anything. "I'm on my way back right now. Calm down," I told him, even though I knew he wouldn't. Like I said, he was a worrier.

"Alright. I'll see you in a bit then, okay?"

I sighed into the phone as my response, then proceeded to snap it shut and slide it back into my pocket without another word.

This walk had given me quite a lot of time to think and clear my head, and I'd come to the conclusion that I didn't like having quite a lot of time to think and clear my head. All it did was put stupid and unreasonable thoughts in there. Either that or it just reminded me of the past, which would upset me more. Everyone was telling me I had to let go and move on, but that’s something easier said than done. These people just didn't understand what they were saying. They didn't know what I was going through. Only my dad could help me through this, and, still at such an early stage in this, I hadn't actually been listening to him.

But who could blame me?

I'd lost my first and only love, and it was all because of me. This was my fault. Something I'd have to live with forever.

See what I said about thinking? Its not healthy for you. Especially about things like this. Like dad and countless other family members and close friends had told me, I shouldn't blame myself. But that was the only thing I could contemplate doing for the time being. Well, I mean, of course I was blaming the other driver, too. But the accusing thoughts directed towards myself overruled those.

As lame as it sounded, I felt like I needed a sign from her that everything was okay and that I should move on and stop blaming myself. Though that appeared to be very unlikely to me. Which is probably why I decided on that in the first place. It wasn't going to happen. And I was aware of that.

There I go, not listening to everyone, again.

Shaking my head in disgust at myself and my insensible thoughts, I walked up the short, weed infested walkway to the front door of my moderately new house, little bits of dark shards falling onto the porch, which wrapped around the entire house, and door mat from the chipping paint of the door. I pulled out the peace sign covered key dad had specially made for me to try to ‘brighten my spirits’, and stuck it into the key whole in the door knob. Dad agreed with me on the whole 'this town is pretty ghetto' thing, so he liked to keep the door locked pretty much twenty-four seven.

So why did he choose this place to move?

The world may never know.

"Dad! I'm back," I shouted from the small entrance way, closing the door and locking the deadbolt on it behind me.

I heard the springs of our old, beat up rocker from the living room, and knew right away that he was getting up to rush over to me, probably check for any cuts or scrapes. . .or check my breath.

He didn’t always trust me when I went out - not that I had really gone out since we moved here. But he had reason to feel that way. There had been one incident in NYC, recently after Abby's funeral, that I had 'gone out for a walk' and ended up stumbling through the door at two in the morning, drunk as hell. Not exactly the smartest thing to do when your dad is already worrying his ass off over you.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked conversationally, entering the kitchen I had just walked into myself.

I shrugged, taking out a box of Cheez-Its from the pantry. "It was alright. There's not much here," I admitted.

You know how you can tell when someone is burning holes through your back with their eyes from behind you, like they're trying to figure out what you're about; who you are? Like, by simply staring at you, they can comprehend just what's going through your mind? Yeah, that's basically what dad was trying to do with me. Probably not working out too well though. I had a hard shell of an exterior. He wasn't going to break through with ease either. No one was; which was one of the only few things I was sure about these days.

"Yes, it certainly will take some time to adjust. Living here is much different than living in the bustling city," he laughed at his own 'joke,' swiping the box from me and pouring a handful of the cheesy snacks into his cupped palm.

I didn't think that living here in L.A. was really that much different than New York. Sure, we didn’t live in the most populated area of L.A., but it certainly was a lot like the city. It just wasn't as animated and crowded. You could walk across the street and not have to worry about getting run over by a taxi - it was the hobos you had to worry about. They can both be pretty dangerous.

“But I’m sure you’ll get the hang of everything before ya know it,” dad told me encouragingly, firmly patting my back. “After all, school will be starting up shortly. Maybe you’ll meet some new people and they can show you the ropes of things here.”

Silently cringing, I looked at my dad’s smiling, hopeful face and nodded my head unwillingly.

Dad was right. It was just something I was absolutely not looking forward to.