Awful Direction

The Present.

Home sweet home felt like a poor choice of words. John tightly squeezed his eyes shut, pleading for a few more minutes of rest and silently suppressing the urge to scream. He was awoken from his dreamless slumber by the sun bleeding through his curtains. It was the first time in three months he had slept in his own bed and he actually wished for a little more time on tour, away from home. Three months just wasn’t enough time to forget. No matter how long the tours lasted, they were never long enough to distract him. The image of Daisy still haunted John, every time he closed his eyes her face was smiling up at him like it used to. The lack of sleep she caused was driving John insane. He was yelling more, drinking more, crying more, but thinking less. What little thoughts he seemed to have revolved around what used to be; it was impossible to move on.

Seeing that lying in bed was doing him no good, John heaved himself out of bed and headed into the hallway. According to the alarm clock lying on his nightstand, it was already one in the afternoon. Yet another beautiful day wasted trying to sleep and wallowing in self pity.

The kitchen smelled of pancakes and burnt bacon—just the way he liked it—as John sauntered into the room. His mother hardly even looked up when he took a seat at the island and helped himself to some orange juice. By now, after two years, she had grown accustomed to John sleeping in so late; and learned to keep an extra plate of breakfast in the microwave for him in case his appetite ever came back. She was used to seeing his permanent frown and was forced to accept how he isolated himself from the rest of the world. However, John’s mother secretly wished her oldest son would at least try to participate like he used to.

All he ever was anymore was a zombie.

“John.”

He stopped picking at his pancakes to look at his mother. “Yeah?”

“I want you to run a few errands for me today.”

“Mom,” he groaned, “I just got home. I’m exhausted, I want to rest for a few days.”

“Don’t give me that excuse,” she snapped, “I know you aren’t sleeping up there, John. You can’t keep doing this to yourself! It’s unhealthy to sit around in the dark all day killing yourself over the past.”

“It’s not so easy to just forget…”

“I know sweetheart, but you’re just going to have to grin and bear it like the rest of us.”

He sighed, “Where do you want me to go?”

A victorious smile stretched across John’s mother’s lips. She handed him a list of stores, and another list of things to buy. The list of stores alone took up both sides of the paper; John realized this was his mother’s way of keeping him out of the house for the day. As much as he would’ve liked to appreciate her trying to help, he was still too stubborn to admit he needed any. Granted he did spend most of his days off tour secluded in his room staring at the walls, but all of his actions were normal after the loss of a loved one.

A very, very loved one, he added sadly.

“This is going to take hours,” he whined after going to his room to change.

His mother laughed from the kitchen, tossing John his car keys. “Maybe so, but you need some fresh air!”

“And my piece of shit car is probably going to break down in the middle of the road!”

He could hear his mother scream, “Language!” as he shut the door. Reluctantly, John stepped into his car and shoved his keys into the ignition; his ancient pickup truck took five minutes too many to start. He could already see this was going to be another bad day. As he pulled onto the street, John wished for once he’d had the balls to tell his mother no. That he just wasn’t in the mood to run errands or whatever the hell she wanted. He wasn’t concerned with socializing anymore, he didn’t see the need for ‘fresh air’, and he was perfectly content lying in bed all day and night.

It was actually more torturous running around Tempe, hopping from store to store. Everywhere he looked John found another reminder of Daisy. After she died, her face was all over the place. Everyone loved her, or at least said they did, and with the way the town reacted to her death you’d think she was some sort of celebrity. Pictures were hung in her favorites shops, several memorials were made in her honor, places where she used to work used to close on her birthday. All of it was rather overwhelming for those who actually knew Daisy.

John drove past their old high school, Mountain Pointe, as he headed for the grocery store. He thought back to the day they first met. She was popular and he was a drifter, as he liked to call it. Not quite popular yet not exactly a loser. He had always been able to find her face in a crowd, she had the beauty that was hard to ignore. John had tried wooing her with his charm and tried so hard to impress her, but she wasn’t interested. She laughed in his face and shattered his confidence without so much as batting an eyelash. The memory made him laugh quietly.

Not even the grocery store could distract John like his mother had hoped. Walking through the familiar aisles, he reflexively began reaching for Daisy’s favorite foods. It wasn’t until he was in the cereal aisle that he realized what he had done and had to put everything back. He remembered how he’d learned to cook for her, and how she loved to tease him because rarely did John’s meals ever turn out right. She would come over every Friday night and John would spend most of his afternoon wreaking havoc all throughout the kitchen, because everything had to be perfect. Tofu Parmigiana, if he remembered correctly, was her favorite.

As he passed the old park, John realized it had been too long since he had bothered to take a walk. He found a decent parking space, and stuffed his hands in his jean pockets as he began to look around. He and Daisy used to spend hours walking through the park and playing on the playground. It was an old rusted jungle gym, hardly safe for dozens of kids to jump around on, but for some unexplainable reason it was Daisy’s favorite place to hangout; she talked more than she ever did at the park.

For about an hour John just sat on a swing and watched the kids having fun, but that soon became boring and he began walking again with no certain destination in mind. He turned left, and right, and sometimes just walked a straight line. But never stopped to look at anything until he somehow found himself at one of Daisy’s memorials. His knees wobbled at the sight of her smile, and he had to sit down on the nearest bench before he collapsed on the sidewalk.

*~*

Devon stared at the stranger’s picture in silence. Wondering what sort of person she had been and if her memory still haunted anyone. She had seen her picture all over in local café’s and thrift stores. You could tell just by studying her picture she had been happy. Devon stared in silence, memorizing her face. It’s safe to say Arizona breeds some beautiful people. A mess of blonde hair fell over the girl’s face, glimmering like a halo from the sunshine. She had gorgeous blue eyes, the kind that could make you do anything, and perfectly straight, white teeth that made her smile flawless. There was a date under her picture; she had died two years ago from a car accident. Devon’s lips fell into a small frown, sympathizing for her friends and family.

She jumped at the sudden presence of someone filling the space next to her on the wooden park bench. Her eyes fell over the young boy whose face was buried in his hands. He ran his hands through his sandy brown hair and looked straight ahead, his eyes red and puffy.

The temptation to ask him what’s wrong bubbled in the pit of her stomach. She was very familiar with that hopeless look in his green eyes. But she knew the last thing he wanted was someone to ask him what’s wrong or if he was okay. If he wanted to talk about it he would’ve done so himself. And, unlike a lot of people, he wasn’t trying that hard to hide the fact that he didn’t want to talk about his problems. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and Devon could see that it was broken.

Yes, she was very familiar with that look in his eyes.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she?” she asked, hoping to get him to talk.

The boy looked at her, his mouth forming a tight line; he turned to the picture and replied, “Yes, she is.”

“Did you know her?”

“Yeah,” he answered, keeping his eyes on her picture, “I did.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. What’s done is done.”

This kid was a terrible liar.

“Were you two close friends?”

“Something like that,” he replied with a small crooked grin.

The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came. Devon gave the boy a short nod before turning back to the girl’s picture. Now she wondered what sort of relationship the two shared. Best friends? Girlfriend? Distant cousins? Close friends could be anything really, and his reply hadn’t exactly given her any hints. Devon mentally cursed her curiosity for doing this to her; one of her worst habits was asking too many questions. She couldn’t help herself; she naturally wanted to know everything about everyone. She wanted to get as close to them as they would let her. It happened more and more after her mother’s funeral, Devon made small talk with strangers and clung to everyone. Not necessarily in a creepy way, she was just a little friendlier than others.

Something in her stomach told her this boy needed a friend.

“Devon,” she spoke up, sticking her hand in his face.

He stared at her hand as if it were going to eat him. “John…”

Their hands fit together perfectly. She stared down at his slim fingers and noted the calluses. Something she’d learned about him: he played guitar. Quite frequently too. She almost asked if he was any good but figured it’d be too weird of a question.

“You look sad John.”

It wasn't any better than asking what’s wrong, but she couldn’t help herself.

He didn’t seem to mind anyway. “What gave me away?”

“You’re eyes,” she answered honestly, “They’re red, like you’ve been crying.”

“Shit, seriously?” He began rubbing them frantically as if it would help.

She laughed lightly. “Here, wear these.”

Devon placed her black Ray Bands on his lap with a sweet smile. John looked at her in disbelief before slowly covering his sore eyes with her sunglasses. The corners of her lips twisted up into a satisfied smile as she watched John relax a little. When she was in the early stages of getting over her mother’s death, Devon found that wearing sunglasses gave her a bit more confidence. If no one saw her eyes, they couldn’t tell what she was really thinking, and couldn’t ask her what’s wrong or if she was okay. She enjoyed the privacy her sunglasses provided, which is why she kept a pair in her purse at all times, and it was evident John felt the same.

“They look good on you,” she chuckled.

He smiled shyly. “Thanks.”

It was sad to see how fixated he was on the girl’s picture still. He wanted so badly to look away but just couldn’t bring himself to do it, as though if he stared hard enough she would pop out of the picture and they’d live happily ever after again. Yet another feeling Devon was acquainted with. What John hadn’t realized was staring at that picture would only make him even more depressed, and he’d never find the motivation to move on. Devon felt it was her job to distract him, even if only for a little while, considering she was so familiar with his situation.

“Would you like to get some coffee with me John?”

“Excuse me?”

She could see his confusion through the lens' of her sunglasses.

“Do you want to get coffee? I’m buying.”

“Why?”

“Because I have money?”

“No,” he sputtered, “I mean why are you asking me to get coffee with you?”

“Because you’re in desperate need of a pick-me-up. Obviously.”

“Uhm,” he looked at his hands uneasily, Devon was already standing up and brushing off her skirt, “Sure, I guess.”

She sent him an elated grin and reached for his hand, guiding him away from the bench like a child. “Great! I found this really nice café the other day. They have this great caramel latté thing, I think you’ll love it.”