The Art of Fading

Please let me vomit.

It’s all I can think as I stand over the skink, my shoulders touching my ears, head hung…waiting for the bile in my stomach to just come out already.

It won’t though, and that’s the most frustrating part of being sick. It’s not the fact that I’m stuck at home with practically nothing to eat but refried beans and crackers—it’s the fact that it’s been five days and I can’t get this over with. As much as I hate school, I’d rather be there than at my house. Practically alone. Mom stopped by to drop off some Advil for my headaches but she’s pretty scarcely seen most the time so she really hasn’t been around. And Dad is at work.

Bailey is at school right now—not like she’d be much help.

I’m tempted to just stick my finger down there and get this over with. I know once it all comes up I’ll be okay. Probably pizza and Jack; that’s what most of the content will consist of. Maybe some McDonalds and egg rolls that Jamie dropped off. I shouldn’t have eaten them but I was so fucking hungry and she and Ike had just come from a Chinese restaurant. Probably the one that was blocking my calls and writing me off for hitting on the delivery boy. It’s a Ma and Pa owned establishment, so I’m assuming the guy delivering was their son or something.

I’m interrupted from my mirror glaring when I hear a small gurgle come from within. It’s not enough though. I let my head fall against the glass mirror and for a while my putrid breath just fogs up the mirror. It’s so rancid I’m surprised it doesn’t burn through like acid. With another sigh I finally leave the bathroom and head back to my room.

This happens often; me being sick. It’s probably got something to do with where I’ve been and how long I’ve stayed out for several nights in a row. I also haven’t been able to sleep in class ever since Ms. Smith wrote me up to the VP about my tardies. Ike and I served Saturday school two weeks ago and since then we’ve been on time for the most part. Either that or we’ve been able to sneak in without being noticed.

A few hours of some self loathing and moaning around ensue until I hear the door slam and heavy footsteps march down the hall; followed by another slam, some laughter and then the drowning noises of high pitched screaming. Meaning Bailey is home and she is probably on her cell phone. I swear, the thing is glued to her face by some magic power.

“Is it too much to ask for you to shut the fuck up!” I end up hollering the last part and bang violently on my wall. It’s practically paper thin; might as well be the way Bailey talks. Someone built in a mini megaphone in her vocal box—so basically since screaming age—she’s always been the loudest. Everyone hears her. Sees her. People listen to her; though I’m not sure why because all she talks about is boys. You’d think we’d have a lot in common, but we don’t. I can’t remember the last time we’ve had a decent conversation.

Bailey’s response is to turn her music up and continue talking on the phone.

It’s not just my stomach, but my throat is messed up too. I shouldn’t be yelling, it’s just feels like my throat is bleeding now.

Out in the kitchen I try and raid the cupboards for something to sooth my throat. There’s really nothing, aside from coffee and that most definitely will not help. I end up going back to my room empty-handed, but not before I run into an unfamiliar lurking in the hallway. He’s tall, straight black hair and a mile-long torso that’s just barley exposed by his wife beater.

“Who are you?” His voice is unusually friendly. Normally Bailey’s ‘boyfriends’ aren’t so nice.

“The fuck are you?” I say back, not nearly as polite. It’s automatic though. Just reflex.

“Oh, right,” he hitches up a polite smile. “I’m Tommy.”

“Hm,” I mutter a grunt and walk past him as Bailey is opening her door. I hear her asking ‘Tommy’ what he was doing talking to me—the rest is cut off when I shut my door. I simply don’t care.

►

’Oh my God, Tommy.’

’Yeah…oh yeah…

I pull out my headphones and turn up the volume, despite my headache.

►

I’m taking the trash out on Sunday when I see The Dreaded.

Like stated numerous times before, Kenny is actually my neighbor. I’m not home enough to pay attention to the local real estate, but it seems that someone has finally moved into the empty house near us. It’s sort of a surprise that it hasn’t happened earlier, seeing as how we live on a decent block. There aren’t many robberies or anything and the community is clean; also close to the high school and shopping center.

“Hey, Bran!”

I toss the bag of trash and turn to Kenny. For the past couple weeks I have been openly ignoring him. This whole gay-and-proud thing; I’m thinking he’s trying to be edgy or something. Hip. There’s all those skinny, trendy boys in the city that proclaim their gayness to the rooftops and all but I never bought into that. Kenny kind of reminds me of one of those guys.

He’s more stereotypical of a nerdy kid in high school though. It really seems like he hasn’t grown into his body yet. His arms and legs seem kind of gangly but for the most part he’s got a solid build. He walks like he’s determined; all the time, it looks like he’s marching on a mission when he walks—straight up to me, this time. I think it’s the cold that has me in a haze and I’m unable to really escape him before he’s practically in my face. Not quite eye level though, not many people are as tall as me though.

“Missed you at school last week,” he says, wiping off the green stain of lawn clippings on his jeans. It makes me briefly glance over at our house; weeds grown up the cracks in the walkway, the hedges have sufficiently taken over the entire front window and our tree is just about the only thing that looks like it’s not overgrown—that’s probably because it’s saving what little water it gets to stay alive.

“Are you sick?” he asks, and his face actually takes on a look of concern that I waver back a step. He advances forward, smelling like freshly cut grass and B.O., stretching within my personal bubble.

“Contagiously so,” I warn. My tone nothing but serious.

He laughs. “I doubt the common cold is deadly.”

“Could be SARS,” I suggest. “Or pertussis.”

He gives me an odd look before he breaks into an all out smile. “You’re a funny one.”

It’s such an odd reaction. He doesn’t even have a great smile, not like Ike’s or Jamie’s; but something nags me silently. It’s been a while since I’ve heard that. It has to come from him of all people.

“And cute,” he adds, biting at the corner of his cheek.

I don’t say anything. My throat goes oddly dry and I feel like I’m in desperate need of water. It’s all I can do not to trip over our recycling bins as I scramble away from him. He just stands there, his cheek resting on the head of the rake, that obnoxious look on his face. He’s laughing at me with his eyes. I do eventually manage to get to the safety of our doorstep, after falling on the curb and cursing.

I get in and lock the door behind me, turning violently and nearly smacking right into Bailey.

“Moo-vuh,” she checks me a bit into the wall. “Retard.”

“The walkway is made for two people,” is my lame comeback. I hear her snort, sorting through the pile of shoes at the doorway. She’s all dressed up, most likely going out with friends or something. Mom’s not due home for another hour.

“Did you hear about our neighbor?” she says, sort of startling me. “Total freak show, right?”

I can’t help but agree; a strange heat prickling at my neck while I nod.

“Cover for me?” she finally says, finding her shoes. “I’ll be back soon.”

“How ‘bout you don’t come home at all and I’ll tell Mom whatever you want.”

“Very cute,” Bailey sneers. “Seriously, Bran. Your cocky attitude is pissing me off. And what the hell was that with Tommy the other day? Now he’s all interested in my family.”

“I hate it when the people I screw ask questions,” I mutter as she’s halfway out the door.

“Like anyone would want to do it with you!” echoes as the door slams shut. And I hate myself for agreeing with her, because she’s pretty much right.

►

When Mom finally arrives home she’s not alone. I initially hear the jangle of keys as I’m raiding the fridge, and then the sound of heels on tile; and then my hair spikes from the tip of my spine right down to the heels of my feet when there’s a distinct wailing noise. I shut the door so hard I hear bottles on the inside falling and I’ve probably rattled the entire insides.

She walks in just as I’m trying to leave. Her arms are full of groceries and her hair is windblown; she looks tired and at any moment the weight of everything could just bring her to her knees. But she doesn’t fall. Instead, she smiles at the sight of me and sets the few bags on the table, balancing a bundled wrap over her shoulder. It moves and whines just then. I get this automatic surge of just pure hatred for what she’s doing. Everything she’s done. How she has the balls to even come home with another child.

“Would you give me a hand, Bran?” she asks.

“What the fuck are you doing?” It comes off a lot less harsh than it may have seemed.

Her shoulders droop then and she shifts the toddler to her hip and glares at me. “I’m off work,” she says sharply. She’s ignoring the obvious question, she can’t even speak straight with me.

“Where’s your sister?” she asks.

“Dunno,” I shrug. “Don’t care.” I head for my room, trying to ignore the child that’s sitting in my seat, eating Cherrios sloppily and making all those child-like noises that piss me off.

“Bran,” Mom whines. “Groceries…”

“Oh, right,” I nod. I look through the bags briefly. “Awesome. You forgot my medicine. Fucking A.”

“What?” she says, giving me a puzzled look.

I shake my head and laugh almost bitterly. “I gave Dad my prescription. Shit man, do you even talk to your husband anymore?”

It doesn’t bother me so much when she attempts to slap me. I always used to laugh with Ike when we’d watch those dramas on TV where people would get slapped. As if you can’t see the person think it, and then wind-up. It’s unrealistic. I duck quickly, balancing my glass of water before dashing to the hall—a small sneer on my face. Fortunately, it all dissolves the next minute when I see from my window as another car pulls into the driveway.

The lights flash a couple times and I set aside my glass of water and pull a sweatshirt on. I gather up my stuff. My backpack and clothes; a toothbrush and I shove it all together. I get into my drawer and pull out a baggy half-used—that goes in my pocket for safe keeping. I slide open the small side window and toss the bag out. Ike is waiting impatiently in his truck, I can see from behind all the bushes as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

I dart back out into the living room and pass my mother.

“Bran—“

“Be right back,” I lie. I’m out the door, running around the front to grab my stuff and then I sprint to Ike’s truck. If Mom saw my packed bags, she’d probably stop me from going anywhere. It’s a system I’ve become accustomed to for a while now.

“You’re looking better,” Ike says, starting the engine and pulling out quickly.

“I feel better,” I say. And honestly, it’s the truth. Just getting out of the house is half of it, the other half I’m not so great at avoiding. I wear my body down to the extreme and tend to find myself in this position a little too often for comfort.

“So what is it this time?” he asks. “Pneumonia? Bronchitis? Don’t tell me my best friend is going to die of leukemia,” he fakes a dramatic tone while he wipes at his eyes.

“Nah, just rhinovirus,” I say.

“Just what?” he asks.

“Common cold, douchebag. Where are we going anyway?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Bailey text me. Said there’s party in the city.”

I don’t tell him, but I’m sort of literally sick of parties. I don’t think I can make it through another night of binge drinking and sleep in Ike’s truck. I don’t have to tell him though, he doesn’t really say much after that. He also knows I hate it when he talks to my sister. He definitely didn’t text me while I was sick at home—not like he was required to. God damn, I just need to stop over-thinking things like these. That’s where all my headaches are coming from.

►

“Hey, Bran,” Jamie comes up on Tuesday and links her arm with mine. I fight myself not to fidget and keep a straight face.

“Hi, Jamie,” I say, going to my locker and eventually pulling away to grab a couple books. I know, they’re not for studying though. Just mostly things I need to return to the library from last year. “How was your weekend?”

“It was all right,” she says, leaning against my locker. Her hair is in wavy ringlets and she’s smiling brightly even though her tone says she wants to talk serious. “Do you have a minute?”

“You know…I’m really—I can’t be late to class.”

She nods. “I know. It’ll take a minute though.”

“’Kay, what is it?” I ask, turning to her and adjusting the straps on my backpack. I brush out some of the kinks in my hair and try to pretend it’s not sticking up everywhere. Another thing, I can feel the eyes of a few of Jamie’s friends on me as they pass by. She’s fairly popular herself, so it’s not a huge surprise.

“Well, you know how I’ve been seeing that one guy.” I know who she’s talking about. They’re really not dating, the guy’s not that interested in her and he goes to college anyway. Which means Jamie is just easy access when he can’t lay anyone his own age.

“Yeah.”

“Well—so. I was just wondering. If you could go to the pharmacy for me.”

I raise my eyebrow at her.

“With me,” she corrects. “Come with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

I don’t want to—I mean, my initial reaction it’s like, ‘yeah, let’s do this’. It’s more like, ‘is this really happening to me?’ But she is my friend, and in a way, I don’t like to see her feels get hurt if I say no. I think she’s one of the only people I can’t really say no to. I think that’s what’s most confusing about her. She’s not ridiculously gorgeous, but she’s got some strange draw to her.

So I agree to it, and after school she drives us down town and we go to the pharmacy. I don’t really do shit. I’m really just there for moral support I think. The whole time I just keep my hands shoved in my pockets and nod at whatever she says. It’s not until we’re out of there that she gives me a big hug. I sort of blush as a few guys walk by.

“Come on. My Grandma is making dinner. I’ll invite Ike and the gang.”

“It’s a school night,” I say, though the sound of dinner is nice.

“Like that honestly ever stopped you before.” She gives me a solid punch in the side. “Besides. You’re looking kind of skinny.”

I nod. “I’ve been throwing up.” That’s sort of a lie. Actually, I haven’t been able to eat without making myself sick. But I don’t want to say that because it sounds so fragile and delicate. Like I can’t just force down a can of soup or something; it’s just that I haven’t really had the motivation.

So we go to Jamie’s house and, as promised, her Grandma is in the middle of cooking a huge meal of spaghetti meat balls and French bread. She’s an elderly woman with a large hearing aide and a cane, but a motherly heart and voice. I don’t really know what it is about Jamie’s grandparents, but they’re just those stereotypical old people that have been married for years and live in harmony. They cook badass meals like this almost daily and there really isn’t a kid from our gang that isn’t allowed to come over and eat. There’s almost always a massive amount of leftovers.

Ike does show up, along with Sarah and Kevin (a mutual friend). Ike sees me and immediately comes over to jump on me while I’m trying to watch TV.

“How’s our sick puppy?” he asks, giving me a less-than-friendly punch in the gut. I retaliate by kicking his butt (literally) and shoving him onto the floor.

“Dude, asshole,” Ike complains, brushing off and sitting next to me. He smells like shower Axe and Spearmint gum. He’s wearing my hoodie I lost a while back. I guess I don’t mind so much. It’ll probably end up smelling like us when he gives it back.

For the most part. I don’t like Kevin. He’s not a bad kid, he just cramps my style. He’s sort of all over Jamie and I can tell it’s making her a little uncomfortable. It’s not his fault—he doesn’t know what she’s going through. But he also doesn’t really catch the hint. So after dinner, when we’re all sufficiently stuffed and Grandma (that’s all I know her as) has gone to bed, we just sit and hang out in the TV room.

I make it my mission to sort of be a barrier between Kevin and Jamie. I sit down next to her and put my arm over her shoulder. I see Kevin sort of roll his eyes but he sits opposite of us, on a different couch. After a while I feel Jamie moving her body closer to mine. Her breathing gets heavier as it travels around my neck. It’s always around this time that I have to just try and ignore it. But she wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me closer to her.

“I have to go,” I tell her, gently, so as not to offend her.

“I can drive you home,” she suggests. We live in a fairly basic town, and we all live close by. But my house is still twenty minutes from hers, so she’d be going out of her way quite a bit.

“I got this,” Ike jumps up. Sarah sort of protests a bit and I realize we’d kind of pared off and left Kevin the awkward fifth wheel.

“See you guys later,” I say. I gather up my backpack and things but see that Kevin has already moved to replace me, and for the most part Jamie looks a little disappointed but not so much that she seems annoyed with our other friend.

“Can you take me home too,” Sarah says. “I don’t want to watch these guys make out.”

“Oh, shut up, Sarah,” Jamie rolls her eyes but blushes.

It’s instant like lightning. She’s already forgotten about how much she really doesn’t actually like Kevin—at least not like that. But who cares? She knows what she’s doing, I guess. I can’t be bothered to care at this point.

We all load up in Ike’s truck and Sarah sits in the middle, resting her head on Ike’s shoulder. Really—I always pictured Jamie and Ike together, but it’s Sarah that he’s hooked up with on more than one occasion. I don’t remember them ever dating though. She’s pretty, sort of strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes. She’s much taller than Jamie, so she has really nice legs and body proportion.

“You’re not going to get me sick are you, Bran?” she asks tartly. Sarah isn’t exactly a sweetheart. Actually, she’s a bitch, most the time. You get used to it though. Especially when her older brother deals the best weed in this bumfuck town.

“Only if I stick my tongue down your throat,” I say, just as equally cross. The mental picture actually makes me want to gag.

Ike gasps in shock. “You didn’t tell me that last night!”

“I couldn’t help it,” I go along with him. “We were in the throes of passion.”

Sarah scowls and shakes her head but a small smile appears when she looks at Ike. “You guys are so gay.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Ike asks. “Can’t two guys just casually make out anymore?”

“Or circle jerk,” I suggest.

“Buy each other matching scarves.”

“Slap asses in the locker room.”

“Paint each other’s nails and discuss the O.C.”

“Share our hopes and dreams under the covers.”

“It’s fucking sexist!” Ike cries, slamming on the breaks outside of Sarah’s house. We all lurch forward and I’m chuckling to myself as Sarah hits her forehead on the mirror. I made a face at her as she unbuckles.

“Tsk,” she snaps, “you guys are fucking idiots. Call me when there’s an actual party next time.” She gets out of the truck and runs inside. It’s started to rain again and it’s really coming down.

“I’m totally hitting that,” Ike says once the door is shut. He gives me one of those wild grins of his and turns on the radio. It’s a catchy song, so his hands are automatically slapping the dash and any other surface he can make noise with.

“Congratulations,” I say flatly. I can’t help the foot that’s connected to my leg—it just taps to the beat on its own, even though I’m really not into pop music.

“Have you been drinking Haterade?” Ike asks.

“Fuck you,” I say, picking at piece of dry scab on my chin.

“Okay—but really,” Ike says, turning the radio down. “You can’t be such a prude.”

I snort. “I am the farthest from prudish.”

Ike raises his eyebrow at me and shakes his head. “When was the last time you kissed anyone? Think about that.” I don’t have to. He’s just making a point. The jackass.

“Fuck you,” I say, again. It’s not my sharpest comeback.

“You need to stop, Bran. Or no one is going to want to take your virginity. No matter how adorable your personality is.”

I can’t hide the fact that I’m a virgin. Not from Ike, at least. Maybe Jamie and Sarah buy it, but not my best friend. He’s always just been okay with it—never really made fun of me. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t take any chance he can get to try and hook me up with someone. They’re all duds though. He even suggested Sarah once—just as a ‘first and last’ type thing. I could just imagine it. Her insulting me as foreplay and then we try not to look at each other’s faces while we fuck. No thanks.

“I really thought you and Jamie would have at least hooked up by now,” he says. “I mean—you haven’t, have you?” He’s waiting for my response.

I could easily lie. “No, we haven’t.”

He throws his head back. “I don’t know why not—“

You should. We’ve been friends for half our lives, dumbass.

“She thinks you’re cute, too. Just go for it. She’d be a good one for your first.”

It’s like picking out shoes or something. ‘Good one for my first.’ I don’t want it to be like that—as stupid as it sounds. I’m not aiming for perfect. Or special. Or even that it means something when I first do it. I just want it to be real. I don’t want it to be some more lies to add to a lifetime of fucking around and never taking things serious. I don’t want the hassle of that to interfere.

“I’ll think about it,” I say as we drive up to my house.

“You can spend the night at my place,” he says. “My parents are there though, but I have some vodka in my drawer.”

“When do you not have vodka in your drawer?” I ask.

He thinks about it for a moment before replying. “Never.”

I shake my head but smile. “Oh c’mon. You’re just as bad.”

“All lies,” I mutter with a smile still on my face as I get out. “I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

“You sure?” he asks and I feel my fingers twitch and my pulse pump at once when he gives me that single look. “It’s not fun going to Smith’s class when I’m the only one that’s hung over…”

“Next time,” I tell him.

He pulls away and speeds down the residential streets. For a moment I stand in the rain, the light drops of water hitting my fluffy hair and forcing it to smash against my head. It’s really refreshing though. It turns to mist and then—almost like a light switch—it just stops.

“Oh my God, Bran. What are you doing?”

I turn quickly, startled at the sharp sound of my sister’s voice. She’s standing on the porch, along with someone else who comes up just to her same height. It’s Kenny—of all fucking people.

I rake my fingers through my soppy hair and try to brush aside the dripping strands. I don’t even know why I’m bothering. My jeans are already sort of heavy with the rain and I look like shit from being pale and sick for a week.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “With him…”

“Him, is Kenny. And he’s our new neighbor,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling.

“I know who he is, dumbass. Why are you hanging out with him? You just called him a freak show like a few days ago.” I shove my hands in my pocket and watch as Kenny flashes Bailey a strange look.

“Oh—shut up. You’re the one that called him that. Homophobe,” she added and I nearly lost my head from rolling it back so violently. “Sorry about my brother, Kenny. He’s mental.”

“Riiight.”

“Anyway, I’m just making friends.”

“Great. Awesome. Wanna move out of the doorway so I can get in?” I ask.

Bailey ignores me, giving Kenny a side-ways hug and a big, friendly smile. “See you later.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Kenny says. Bailey goes trotting up the couple steps and shuts the door. Before I can side-step Kenny I hear a lock move into place and laughter on the other side.

“…fucking kidding me,” I mutter under my breath, adding a few choice words that I’m sure made Kenny flinch a little.

“Don’t you have a key?” he asks.

“No I don’t have a fucking key,” I grumble. I’ve left it in my room. Normally I take it when I know I’m going to be out all night—not coming home at ten.

I take my backpack and move around the front of the yard. I fight my way to my front window and push back the bush. It’s all wet from rain and dumps even more water on me. It’s really no use banging on the door since Bailey has her music blasting. Dad is probably asleep too, so I don’t want to wake him by trying to call the house.

“Want some help?” Kenny asks. He’s standing behind me, in a pair of really tight jeans and a black t-shirt. It just makes him seem even more toe headed than normal.

“Fine,” I say shortly. “Give me a leg up, will you.”

He does. He takes my foot and gives me a boost to the window while I praise myself for never quite shutting myself out. Sure, it’s not safest when it comes to robbery. But, really, I don’t give a shit. I shimmy the window open and then—while Kenny is still boosting me up—I toss my bag into my room.

“Little higher,” I tell him and he suddenly grabs my ass, giving an unnecessary squeeze, and boosts me halfway through the window.

I sputter and slightly grunt but end up pulling myself through the thing. I spring up, heat blazing in my face and glare down at Kenny; blinking away my shock.

“D-did…you just—“ I’m breathing a little harder and so is Kenny. His hair is spiked up in the front and he scratches behind his ear, giving me an odd smile. This time, I say it a little slower, “Did you just grope my ass?”

Kenny barks out a laugh and gives me a wink, walking across the lawn and down the street. Despite the fact that that’s just fucking weird…I still don’t know the answer to my question.