One Tuesday

“Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy...”

That noise was what I hear every morning. No, the purpose of setting TiK ToK as my alarm tone wasn’t for motivating me to live my life. I didn’t want to feel like P. Diddy. I just happened to find Ke$ha’s voice unbelievable annoying that I could wake up very easily.

I dragged myself to our kitchen. It was a very windy Tuesday morning. I didn’t like the weather. I didn’t like Tuesday. I didn’t like having to go to school.

I didn’t.

I ate my breakfast, kissed my 3-year-old sister—Heidi—on both her chubby cheeks, and then rode my bike to school. I always had loved riding my bike; there was that feeling that you could do anything you want. Reality, though, was not like that.

When you were a child, everything was rainbows and unicorns. I used to lie down on our backyard, looking at the clouds with my older sister. Now, she had an abusive husband and we barely even meet anymore. That is reality. It is quite like most medicine you see at drug stores. It makes you puke sometimes. It is bitter and difficult to swallow.

You can’t do anything you want.

“Goddamn it!” I stopped my bike abruptly. I almost got hit by some enormous truck. I muttered angrily, catching up with my breath. You almost died, Charlie, I thought. Some bastards.

“That’s it,” I said to myself, “I’m not going to school.”

I didn’t even care what mom would think. I just had to get away. I hastily parked my bike by the filthy sidewalk near the bus stop, then ran towards a bus, not caring about the destination. As I stepped my right foot on the bus, I let out a sigh of satisfaction.

For the first time in 5 years, I, Charlie, had combined all my guts to skip school. I felt the pride surrounding my body.

After sitting for about 70 minutes on the bus, I got bored and decided to get off it and walk to someplace nice. I didn’t really know where I was and where to go, so I just followed the old pavement.

As I was kicking the small rocks on the pavement, I lifted my head to find a big…wheel. It was a couple of kilometers ahead of me. My eyes widened with delight.

“That’s a ferris wheel!” I exclaimed merrily as I ran towards the direction of the giant red wheel. It had been so long since I got to ride one, or even entered an amusement park itself. I stood in front of its entrance.

“Neverland,” it read. The huge, almost completely dust-covered sign had an eerie feeling to it. Some of its bulbs were already broken. It was quite creepy. Thank god I wasn’t a pussy.

I entered the old amusement park with curiosity. There were people there, but not many. I’d say that they were mainly staffs. The rest were weird-looking people.

I proceeded to approach my main destination; the ferris wheel. I passed old game stands with a few staffs standing by them, all with that familiar bored-to-death expression. Once I stepped inside one of the passenger gondolas, a gentle nudge startled me.

“Um, hi,” said a heavy voice, “may we ride together?”

I raised one of my eyebrows and looked at the tall, green-eyed guy. “Well, are you a pedophile dressed as a teenager?”

“I’m not so sure...”

We stared at each other for 3 whole seconds.

“Of course not!” he chuckled and showed off his dimples.

“Then hop in,” I half-smiled and got in the gondola.

***

I forgot how much I used to love riding a ferris wheel. The wind was quite strong and scary, but I enjoyed it.

I sneaked a glance at him. He was staring at the view of the city. His bright green eyes and dark red hair looked perfect. Contrary to popular belief, I do like guys.
Okay, remember, cute guys are either taken, gay, or dirty little dickheads, I thought. You’re not supposed to talk to strangers anyways.

He suddenly turned his head to my direction and smirked. He caught me glancing at him. Shit.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he giggled very cutely. “It’s like you’re trying to do me with your eyes.”

I blushed. The next sentence slipped out of my mouth without me actually wanting to let it out: “You’re kind of the cutest guy I have ever seen, and I hope you’re not taken, gay, or a dickhead.”

He laughed and sat closer to me. “I’m not taken—never been! I’m straight. But dickhead… I don’t know that one. You’re very gorgeous yourself, especially with that tee. I've always wanted a Mikey Fucking Way tee.”

I couldn’t help but feel all flattery. But…Never been taken? I thought, confused. I decided to let it be a mystery and introduced myself instead.

I shook his cold hands. “MCR fan? My name’s Charlie. Charlie Bourne.”

“MCR fan indeed. Wait—what, like The Bourne Identity or something? Are you scared of me trying to kidnap you and asking your family for a million bucks? Don’t make up a silly name. Try harder,” he frowned jokingly.

See? People were always saying this. I hated Robert Ludlum for creating those novels.

After a few minutes of convincing the guy that my last name was completely real, he asked, “Charlie? Let me guess—is your name Charlotte?”

I smiled widely. “Nope,” I answered smugly, “the name’s Violet.”

His mouth formed a perfect “O” and started asking me lots and lots of questions. I went on explaining it to him. When I was halfway done with my story, the wheel stopped. Our eyes widened for a second. We didn’t want to get off the ride yet, so we shouted to the guy who operated the wheel to give us a couple of rides more. Besides, no one else wanted to ride the wheel.

We laughed and talked about many other things. Suddenly, he put his thin arms around me. I nervously rested my head on his shoulder. His thick hoodie felt warm against the chilly air.

“What’s your name?” I whispered.
We grew silent for a while. The wind blew his hair; it felt ticklish against my nose. “You don’t need to know.”
For a second, I knew what was bound to happen. He looked deep into my eyes as our lips touched gently.

***

It was almost 3 in the afternoon, so I decided to go home. We hopped off the ride and raced to the entrance of Neverland. He held my hand firmly, and then kissed my forehead.

“Please don’t go,” he said pleadingly. I just smiled faintly as our noses touched.
“I better go home…” I said, "what if we meet up again tomorrow at--"

Before I could finish my sentence, a loud voice surprised us.

“Yes, that’s the one,” a woman by a fruit stand nearby pointed at the guy that was holding my hand as she was talking with a cop, “that’s the drug dealer you’re looking for! Yep, he’s the one on the posters.”

A police car approached us all of a sudden. We both stood like statues.

“Fuck! Run, Violet!” he shouted, his anger almost choking him up, “go!”

I just nodded confusedly and followed his instruction. We both ran through the vicious wind in two different directions. The police car chased the skinny guy along the dull road.

As he was racing with the car, he screamed as loud as he could without turning back, “Erik! Violet, my name is Erik!”

I stopped running, turned my back and stared at him as his body looked smaller, smaller, smaller, and finally disappeared at the end of the road. “Erik,” I repeated.

I started taking my steps home.

“Nice to meet you.”