Awful Direction

“So,” Devon stated, setting her hot chocolate on the table, “Tell me about yourself, John.”

He kept his eyes on his cappuccino, she wished he’d look up. “I’m not interesting.”

She snorted, “I highly doubt there’s absolutely nothing exciting about you.”

“There’s not.”

“You have to be good at something. Everyone’s good at something!”

He simply shook his head and took a sip from his cup. Frankly, she was growing irritated with John’s refusal to give more than one to three word answers. She might’ve smacked some color into him by now, had it not been for that fragile look in his eyes. For the ten minutes they had been together, she’d been unusually self-conscious of her words; she was afraid of touching a sour subject and pissing John off. Devon wanted to drag this out for as long as possible, because all that was waiting for her at home was her grandmother. This could be the only interesting part of her day. She didn’t want to get too caught up in the moment and do something to make John storm off. If that meant biting her tongue, so be it.

He’s just so black and white, she thought looking over his broken, skinny frame.

“Do you play a sport?”

“No.”

“Video games?”

“No.”

“Play guitar?” She smiled, already knowing the answer.

“Nope,” he answered flatly, popping the p.

“Liar!”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. A low groan escaped through Devon’s lips as her frustration towards John grew. It bothered her that he wasn’t even trying to be happy, he wasn’t pretending for anyone. He was just a ball of nothing. She sort of envied him a little bit too, because she wished she could turn off her emotions as easily as he did. A lot of people wished they could do something like that. You just turned off your emotions, like flipping off a light, and it was that easy. No more disappointment, no more false hope, no more sadness. No more happiness though? It didn’t feel worth it. John was a prime example.

“You just might be the most boring person I know,” Devon laughed, knowing John wouldn’t pick a fight.

She looked out the window—when the two first walked into the café she made sure to find a table with the perfect view—and stared at the setting sun. It had been a long day, to say the least, but she couldn’t say it had been all that bad. She made a new friend after all, more or less. And her search for the perfect hot chocolate was a success. On top of that, the sunsets seemed to be even more breathtaking in Arizona than back home in Washington. It was safe to say Devon’s first week in Tempe hadn’t been a complete disaster.

“I love sunsets,” she spoke up after a brief silence, “Don’t you?”

John looked up from his cappuccino and turned to the window.

She expected yet another one word answer.

“I guess,” he shrugged, “My girlfriend used to love them.”

It was a little more personal than she’d expected, but she decided to work with it. “Used to?”

He looked at her. “What?”

“You said she used to love sunsets,” Devon replied, “What made it past tense?”

“Oh. She, uh, left…”

She wondered if he knew he was a terrible liar.

“Sorry, that sucks.” She fidgeted with the straw in her cup. “My mom used to make me watch them all the time while my dad was at work. It felt weird at the time, but looking back I regret not taking advantage of those moments, you know?”

“Definitely,” John sighed before adding, “Used to?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you used to watch sunsets together.”

“Oh.” A light pink washed over Devon’s cheeks. “Well, my mom left too…”

John pursed his lips and looked at Devon as if he were inspecting her. Searching for a hint to whether or not she was making fun of him. It made her a little insecure under his gaze, unsure of whether she had some whipped cream on her lips or not. The dull look in his eyes made it hard to get inside John’s head, and that put a big dent in Devon’s confidence. She didn’t like suspense, she hated not knowing what a person thought of her, and she hated when a person stared even more. It made her blush.

“Is that why you’re being so nice to me?” John asked, “Because your mom left?”

She licked her lips out of nervous habit and checked her phone.

No new messages.

“Sorry but I need to go,” she replied, already standing up, “My grandmother’s called me several times and I think she might’ve already called the police.”

“Oh, okay,” John said, “Thanks for the, uhm, coffee.”

“No problem, it was fun.”

She turned to leave but he tugged on her cardigan sleeve. When she turned around he was holding her sunglasses. “You almost forgot these.”

A brilliant smile adorned her pink cheeks. “Keep ‘em. You look way better than I ever did.”
Without another word, not even a quick goodbye, Devon skipped out of the café and speed walked to her car. Once inside she exhaled a breath she’d been unknowingly holding. Her grip around the leather steering wheel tightened until her knuckles turned white and it felt like the entire world was staring into her windows. Her reflection stared at her from the windshield with wide-eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. She could hear her pulse thumping in her ears; not even the soft sounds of Coldplay comforted her.

It had been too long since anyone asked about Devon’s mother.

*~*

It was a little after dinner time when John pulled into his driveway. He could imagine his family perfectly, each of them picking at their own plates and making small talk amongst each other. Occasionally Ross would steal a piece of bread or something from Shane’s plate, and he’d whine about it. They’d bicker back and forth for a good five minutes before John’s mother would smack the both of them over the head and yell for them to knock it off. Ross had always been a picky eater, even with baby food, so he’d complain about the steak being undercooked or how gross his asparagus looked. If John were with them for more family dinners, he’d agree with Ross about the asparagus.

He walked through the door, dozens of bags in hand, and kicked it shut with his heel. Immediately John heard the sound of chairs scuffing against hardwood; both his mother and father ran into the family room with wide, worried eyes. Just by looking at them he knew he’d gotten himself into some sort of trouble.

“Where the hell have you been?” His father asked furiously.

“What do you mean where have I been?” John looked to his mother for some assistance, but she was just as angry as his father. “Mom kicked me out of the house to run errands all day!”

His mother sniffled and croaked, “It wasn’t supposed to take you this long! I thought you had…”

She trailed off, obviously having said something she hadn’t meant to.

A lump formed in John’s throat, already knowing what his mother had wanted to say. It felt as though he should’ve felt some sort of guilt for making them fuss over him and worry for over two hours, but quite frankly he felt nothing. A little tired perhaps, and he had a bit of a throat itch, but not anything close to guilt or shame.

“You thought I what?” he asked, playing dumb.

“John…” his father looked to the ground, kicking an invisible object, “We were just worried about you.”

“We’d thought you’d done something stupid,” his mother whispered.

John winced a little. “Oh.”

They thought he’d gone and killed himself. Or ran out of town for good.

It was beginning to bother John that he couldn’t feel the things he should in this type of situation; or any situation for that matter. He had been immune to nearly everything since Daisy died, but now he was suddenly receiving a rude awakening. Suddenly he noticed how all these people were concerned for his well being, and he couldn’t even fake a smile for their sake. He couldn’t find the motivation to act like everything was okay for him. You basically hit rock bottom when you’re parents thought you killed yourself.

“Well, I wasn’t doing anything illegal,” John mumbled, “I was hanging out.”

Both his parents looked at him incredulously, and he couldn’t help but feel a little insulted.

“Hanging out? With another person?”

“Yes…”

“Who?”

“Some girl.”

They exchanged uneasy looks and glanced at their oldest son with some concerned half smiles. Suddenly John remembered why he never bothered to tell people anything anymore. It was almost like being four years old all over again. Everyone treated him like a time bomb; slowly killing himself from the inside out, one wrong move and he’d explode. He couldn’t just ‘hang out’ anymore, because everybody assumed he was sleeping around with some hoe. When he told his mom he was going out, she thought he meant to drink away his problems. If he went out to run errands, and got sidetracked for an hour or two, they jumped to the conclusion that he killed himself.

Great.

“It wasn’t like a date or anything,” he muttered awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, “I just met her at the park and we went out for some coffee and talked.”

When he looked up his parents raised their eyebrows disbelievingly; as if no one just went out for coffee anymore.

“That’s all we did, I swear.”

John’s father shrugged off the entire situation and walked back into the dining room, his mother however stayed behind and continued to stare at John as if waiting for some sort of reaction. Anger towards his parents for accusing him of being irresponsible, happiness to finally be home with his family, hell even hunger for some food. Anything; but she got nothing. John just stared off into space, his mind obviously in another world, and headed to his room without apologizing or anything. He left the grocery bags at his mother’s feet.

The second he was out of hearing distance, and safely in his room, John nearly blew up. His breathing became uneven, his face flushed a dark red, his fingers were aching to throw things across the room. He stormed in circles, kicking everything in sight. The anger he’d been building up suddenly burned inside his chest like wildfire, and he was going to throw up a scream that’d been long overdue. For the first time in two years, John felt something. He curled his fingers and used all the force in his right fist to punch his bedroom wall.

“Why does everyone think I need fucking help?!” He screamed, sure his entire family could hear, “I’m perfectly fucking fine!”

He punched the wall again, harder this time. There was a quiet crack, and the pain ricocheted up his entire arm, causing him to jump back and yelp. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” John stumbled around the room, too angry to comprehend he’d broken is wrist, and could feel a familiar sting at the corners of his eyes. When he’d finally run out of anger, his knees buckled from under him and John collapsed on the carpet. And he just laid there; his wrist throbbing, his throat dry, and his stomach growling from lack of food.

His lips burned from the salt in his tears. He could feel himself retreating back into his mind, which was reeling from the constant whiplash of emotion. Sad, numb, content, angry, sad, numb, content, angry; it was always the same. The end of every day left him with a terrible headache and he was embarrassed with how often he cried anymore.

John choked on another light sob and punched the floor with his good hand, this time crushing a small object. His head snapped up, afraid he’d broken an important picture or something, and he raised his fist over his head. Inches from his head lay Devon’s Ray Bands, the left lens now shattered to pieces. Her words ran through his head over and over as he slowly gathered the shards into a small pile. You just might be the most boring person I know. It was funny because he really wasn’t boring; honestly John was a very outgoing person when he wanted to be. He had a way with people, a peculiar charm for lack of better words, that made it so easy for him to work a crowd. Lately John just didn’t want to be a very outgoing person.

For an hour he remained frozen on the carpet, picking at little fuzzies here and there. He thought for the first time in awhile; he actually brushed off the little cobwebs around his brain and thought about what he’d been doing with himself for the past two years and how that seemed to be effecting his life and those in it. He’d never noticed how consumed he’d been with himself and his problems; it was embarrassing, to say the least, to just now realize how much of an ass he’d been.

He desperately needed to change his attitude.

Perhaps with a little assistance, it could become a possibility.

With an exhausted sigh, John hoisted himself from the carpet to go apologize to his parents; almost keeling back over from the stabbing pain in his newly broken wrist.

He’d have to worry about apologies later. After a quick trip to the hospital.