Caged

As the young boy stared straight down the aisle toward the stage that he would walk across in just a few moments, reality set in.

He already had a few shots of whiskey in his system—illegally bought, of course—and he’d barely made it to where he was now on time; although he knew that it wouldn’t have made a difference if he’d not showed up at all.

As the short, red-haired boy with the yellow sash draped over his blue gown proceeded with his drawn out speech, Brian Haner finally realized that there wasn’t a way in the world he was going to survive this life.

The valedictorian’s high pitched voice shook and wavered, sputtering words of encouragement and praise over the crowd of graduating students, setting them for the real world.

The words meant nothing to Brain. The way he saw it, none of them applied to him, or to his life.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart; he was, extremely, and everyone knew it. Everyone but Brian.

Yes, the grades that had brought him through to graduation definitely weren’t A’s and A-‘s, but it wasn’t because he couldn’t pull that sort of grade off to make the honor roll-worthy grade point average. It was simply because he refused to apply himself.

His teachers saw this, but unfortunately, they saw twenty of the very same case every day; and so they would think nothing of it.

But even worse, was the fact that almost no one would think of Brian Haner twice, unless they had to. And often times, if they did, it was in vain.

It was almost as if he sat as a ghost in the world, no matter where he was. No matter if it was school, home, or the city, he would watch and listen, but never speak, never attempt to be noticed.

In all truth, Brian would rather have not been noticed. He didn’t like where he was in life, but then, he thought, it was better to be invisible than to be teased and made fun of.

And that, he was almost positive would occur, were he to step out of the dark.

After all, his mother was a drug addict, his father a criminal and a fugitive. The only things he had to his name were his Ibanez acoustic guitar, and his song writing ability.

This was the one thing that his father had given him before he’d gone on what Brian had considered a suicide mission: The guitar.

In fact, he and his mother were very technically living off of that very same instrument; Brian was very well self-taught, and would sit on the corner by the city bar, playing for tips.

People who were already alcohol-drowned tended to think that the music Brian played was better than it really was, and would commonly offer larger tips. The people just entering the bar always seemed to be in better moods than if they had been going someplace else, and so they would offer decent sized bills as well.

But of course, this wasn’t the only reason that Brian had chosen this particular spot; by the end of his night, he could usually convince a friendly couple or an understanding enough man to take a few of the dollars he had earned and use it to by him a drink or two.

Out of all of an average night’s events, Brian always enjoyed this the most. The alcohol seemed to dull the affects of life; make the situation he was in seem less crucial than it truly was.

However, for an eighteen-year-old, whiskey and vodka—Brian’s favorites, out of what little he’d tried—were pretty hard to come by.

Even when he could get someone who was going into the bar to take the money
intended to buy him a shot or two, the potent liquid he’d request wouldn’t always return to his hands safely.

And when it did, there was always a risk. A few times, by the devious young women who always seemed to come by late at night, Brian had been drugged.

And even after the first time, he’d still given his money to the same three girls; only for the purpose of the alcohol.

As far as drugs went, he didn’t actually like them, considering his mother’s state, but he was so desperate for the slightest buzz that he didn’t care much whether or not they were present, either.

The last thing he was concerned about was waking up in a strange woman’s bed; he seemed to wake up in the same bed every time he was taken advantage of anyhow.

Most of why he refused to worry about this feat was because the concept of sex or women only brought up another issue entirely.

The issue of Brian’s sexuality. Although he didn’t remember any of the sexual encounters—if there’d been any at all—he’d had with the three girls, he did realize that he wasn’t, and had never been attracted to a woman in his life. Not even a celebrity, which was something that most boys would’ve experienced by the time that they were 8 or 9, at least.

He also realized that he’d never been attracted to a man, either, though something inside told him that this was the direction he was headed in.

At present, however, Brian was totally and completely convinced that he wasn’t made for romance of any kind, whether it were with a man or a woman. He’d never once had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, for that matter, so why should there be anyone out there who was even remotely attracted to him?

The point, he’d always said, was that there was no one. This was what he’d told his mother, when she was sobered up enough to the point of having a decent conversation; when she’d ask him when he was going to find a decent girl.

Being dry to the bone on intimate relations, Brian knew that there’d be no marrying for money, or using a partner’s loaned money to get his family—or what was left of his family—back on its feet.

And this all led back to the reason he was convinced that he was now at a standstill in life, and that time was in slow motion around him. He knew that being completely broke, and practically emotionless, he would go no further.

So it was sort of a shock to Brian as tears began to trickle over his cheeks as the person standing behind him shoved him forward, toward the stage when his name was called.

He hadn’t realized that the valedictorian’s speech was over, or that the ceremony’s announcers had already handed out the first 30 diplomas belonging to the students ahead of him.

The ring in his ears that was caused by the whiskey must have dulled the older woman’s voice, he internally decided.

Even though his feet felt as if they would freeze solid if he stood another second, Brian forced his legs to move, advancing step by quivering step towards the stage before him.

After a moment, he’d taken up a good, proud-looking stride, and he was to the stage in seconds.

As he stepped up, towards the two women onstage, Brian hoped that they wouldn’t smell the alcoholic stench that lingered on his breath. He would be kicked out, in which case that happened.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward, taking the hand of the announcer to shake while reaching for the diploma the next woman held out to him.

As his fingers wrapped around the yellowed-looking scroll, the paper almost seemed as though it were burning in Brian’s hand; as though the moment he’d taken a hold of it, its edges had began smoldering.

Was this a normal feeling? No, he decided, this was happening because everyone knew that he didn’t deserve the blue ribbon-tied scroll… right?

Shaking his head, he again decided that it was the whiskey burning holes in his body’s natural processes.

Once he made it to his position in the stage line-up, he began to zone out again, concentrating only on the end of the ceremony; the next shot of whiskey.

And after several more excruciating moments, 42 more handed out scrolls, that moment finally arrived. The microphone was handed to a student, who instead of shouting out the normal, Ocean-View High glory cheer, shouted “We fucking did it!”

Even though there were looks of solid disgust on every teacher and present adult’s faces, the crowd of students burst into cheers and laughter as they tossed their hats into the air.

Brian followed suit, simply for the sake of not being noticed once again. If it wouldn’t have looked odd, he would’ve stridden from the stage as soon as the “cheer” was given.

It was already obvious that he hadn’t been exactly excited for this event; given the fact that it only brought to mind the next of his life’s flaws.

Just a few years ago, Brian had had something to believe in, something to look forward to; something that had never involved alcohol or anything of the sort.

That something, however—Brian’s younger sister, McKenna—was now long-gone.

Really gone, not a runaway like his father, or an addict like his mother. Just over a year ago, his young, 13-year-old sister had been abducted by two men while she’d been on her way home from school.

A few weeks after she had disappeared, her body had been found, badly beaten with obvious signs of sexual assault.

After this, Brian’s true downward spiral had begun. He got into alcohol, and his mother delved her way deeper into the world of drugs. The family’s already-bad money situation got worse.

It had torn Brian so badly to think of his sister in her last moments, that it now drew rivers from his eyes to think of her at all.

The moments, the shared secrets, all of the promises they’d made to one another, seemed to cause nothing but pain for the 18-year-old, even if 9 times out of 10, they made him smile as well.

As far as the promises went, this was where graduation had tied in. At one point, a point that no one could seem to distinguish now, Brian had promised McKenna that at his high school graduation, instead of tossing his hat toward the sky, he would send it toward her as a good luck charm for her own progress in school.

She’d promised in turn that she would wear it whenever she would study or work on her homework. Brian knew that she had always wanted to go to college to become a doctor.

But now, here he was at the graduation ceremony he’d once dreamed of, with sorrowful tears lining his cheeks because he would never be able to fulfill that promise to his sister; his best friend.

As he threw the velvet hat into the blue canvas that was the sky, he couldn’t help but hope that Kenna would somehow see it, and reach out to take a hold of the soft, navy cap.

He could almost picture it: His sister’s small, olive toned fingers appearing out of the clouds with her pretty face not far behind, grasping the very edges of the hat, and pulling it back through…

Even as the vivid image came to life in Brian’s mind, his heart sank as the cap fluttered back onto the wooden deck of the stage, and rested there. No miracles, no signs whatsoever of McKenna.

More tears crawled their way slowly over his cheeks as he stalked towards the edge of the stage and peeled the heavy, uniform gown from his shoulders.

Walking past, he could hear the teachers scolding the boy who’d given the cheer. They called it “out of line”. Everyone else found it completely appropriate.

Once he noticed who the boy that they were attempting to discipline was, Brian understood.

The kid was officially deemed by everybody as the class clown, or at least something close to that sort of description; Jimmy Sullivan was probably the most entertaining part of the place.

For a millisecond before Brian glued his eyes to the ground again, their gazes collided, and the strangest expression crossed the Sullivan boy’s face. He’d noticed Brian’s tears.

Something in his eyes said that he wanted to follow; pump for information. But his body language clearly suggested otherwise; that wasn’t going to be happening.

Although he was pleasantly surprised that someone had given him a second glance, he was still glad that Jimmy had decided not to follow after him. Right now he needed to be alone with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Somehow, Brian wished that he had will enough to save a cup or two, considering how difficult it was for him to obtain a full bottle of liquor.

But when he had the opportunity, he would always use it to go all out, to the point where
he could barely remember his own name.

And that was exactly where he was headed now.

He forced his feet to slow themselves, restraining from breaking into an all out sprint.
He would save this for when he was out of view of the crowd, and out of view of the boy who’d seen the coating of salt moisture that covered his cheeks. The last thing he wanted was to strike up new curiosity.

Once he was at least out of hearing range of the 200 and some people he was leaving behind him, Brian broke into that sprint he’d worked so hard to contain, even though he was almost positive that Jimmy’s eyes were still on him.

Everyone though the kid had this extremely short attention span, but Brian had watched him from enough corners to know better. He knew that Sullivan paid plenty of attention to his surroundings.

Still, even as he knew this, he continued to run, the concept of one left and one right being all that was on his mind.

One left turn and one right turn, leading to the alley where he’d stashed his beloved bottle. Soon enough, he was making the first turn, and rounding the second…

Smack!

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in Brian’s palms, as well as his knees, and he soon came to realize that he had just skidded across the pavement.

But how had he lost his footing? He certainly wasn’t clumsy, he thought as he pushed himself from the ground and slowly turned back toward the alley’s entrance, and there shouldn’t have been anything to trip him…

However, as Brian turned, his eyes widened. Surely he couldn’t have missed this… had he been that distracted, in that big of a hurry?

If he hadn’t been, he had to have been at least three quarters of the way blind.

What lay before him must’ve been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.