Strawberries
Wasted Tears
I let my head fall against the vibrating window of the bus, closing my eyes. It's almost eleven right now, and hopefully you're either asleep or not home. I sigh deeply as it pulls into a stop, and our block is on the next stop. I don't want to go home.
But as the bus starts moving again, it isn't long until the wheel stop turning again, and it's at the bus stop at the top of our neighborhood. I sigh as I get off, stuffing my hands into my pockets and shuffling down the aisle, out of the bus. It speeds off when I've barely stepped foot on the ground.
Sighing, I let my feet drag on the sidewalk as I shuffle towards our house. Most of the lights around the neighborhood are off. Just the streetlights illuminate the path.
But in our house, the light is on. I sigh heavily, just standing on the lawn for a minute before I walk up the steps. I don't want to go inside. My face burns from where you punched me. I raise a hand and stroke it absently. I can't go in there.
I sit on the porch bench swing, slumping back in the chair and letting my legs dangle over the side. Letting out a deep breath, I rest my head on the back of it. I look up at the roof of the porch, counting the thin planks of wood that make up the ceiling. I get to sixteen and then give up, slumping forward and looking ahead, at the sky. I can smell fire coming from a fireplace somewhere and there's a slight smell of flowers in the air. Winter's almost over.
This is how you always act when I bring up a girl you're dating. You don't deny it, but you make me stop talking in one way or another. Why don't you just leave me if you're going to be this way?
Why don't I leave you?
I don't know.
Maybe I love you.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the screen door fall closed. "How long have you been out here?" you ask me.
I shrug. I feel the bench sink and move backwards, then forwards when you sit down. "I'm so sorry, Nick. I really didn't mean what I said. I'm so, so so sorry I hurt you."
No you're not.
You drop your arms around my neck, pulling me close. I close my eyes and sit stiffly in your arms. Then you pull away, stroking the bruise with your thumb. I haven't seen it yet, but judging by how much it hurts and the look on your face, I'm guessing it left a pretty bad bruise. "I'm so sorry," you whimper.
"Whatever," I grumble, shifting away from you.
"Nickie.... I'm sorryy."
"Okay," I say flatly. You bite your lip and put an arm around my shoulder. "Look at the stars," you say suddenly. "They're so pretty tonight."
"Yeah, I saw them when I was walking home from the bus stop."
You look at me blankly for a moment, and then you frown. "I tried to call you, really. I would have picked you up, but I figured you didn't want to see me."
You're right about one thing, Joe, but no, you did not call me. I have no missed calls on my phone, no voicemails, and I never answered it. "Okay," I say emotionlessly. "I'm going up to bed."
You don't follow me. I curl up in my own bed without bothering to change. I lock the door so you won't come in. I don't let myself cry, even though I really want to. I don't want to waste my tears on you.
But as the bus starts moving again, it isn't long until the wheel stop turning again, and it's at the bus stop at the top of our neighborhood. I sigh as I get off, stuffing my hands into my pockets and shuffling down the aisle, out of the bus. It speeds off when I've barely stepped foot on the ground.
Sighing, I let my feet drag on the sidewalk as I shuffle towards our house. Most of the lights around the neighborhood are off. Just the streetlights illuminate the path.
But in our house, the light is on. I sigh heavily, just standing on the lawn for a minute before I walk up the steps. I don't want to go inside. My face burns from where you punched me. I raise a hand and stroke it absently. I can't go in there.
I sit on the porch bench swing, slumping back in the chair and letting my legs dangle over the side. Letting out a deep breath, I rest my head on the back of it. I look up at the roof of the porch, counting the thin planks of wood that make up the ceiling. I get to sixteen and then give up, slumping forward and looking ahead, at the sky. I can smell fire coming from a fireplace somewhere and there's a slight smell of flowers in the air. Winter's almost over.
This is how you always act when I bring up a girl you're dating. You don't deny it, but you make me stop talking in one way or another. Why don't you just leave me if you're going to be this way?
Why don't I leave you?
I don't know.
Maybe I love you.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the screen door fall closed. "How long have you been out here?" you ask me.
I shrug. I feel the bench sink and move backwards, then forwards when you sit down. "I'm so sorry, Nick. I really didn't mean what I said. I'm so, so so sorry I hurt you."
No you're not.
You drop your arms around my neck, pulling me close. I close my eyes and sit stiffly in your arms. Then you pull away, stroking the bruise with your thumb. I haven't seen it yet, but judging by how much it hurts and the look on your face, I'm guessing it left a pretty bad bruise. "I'm so sorry," you whimper.
"Whatever," I grumble, shifting away from you.
"Nickie.... I'm sorryy."
"Okay," I say flatly. You bite your lip and put an arm around my shoulder. "Look at the stars," you say suddenly. "They're so pretty tonight."
"Yeah, I saw them when I was walking home from the bus stop."
You look at me blankly for a moment, and then you frown. "I tried to call you, really. I would have picked you up, but I figured you didn't want to see me."
You're right about one thing, Joe, but no, you did not call me. I have no missed calls on my phone, no voicemails, and I never answered it. "Okay," I say emotionlessly. "I'm going up to bed."
You don't follow me. I curl up in my own bed without bothering to change. I lock the door so you won't come in. I don't let myself cry, even though I really want to. I don't want to waste my tears on you.