Sid and the Last Five Years

'You were so young then,' he smirked, with a smile that was so mischievous and misleading. 'The way your curly little rag doll hair was pulled back into pigtails, and it was still that sweet honey dew blonde color. You were a spitting image of your old Pop.'

I tried to talk, but Sid persisted. 'The only thing that's changed now, is your hair color.'

He was right. My father's genes were strong. I had his same odd, crooked smile, the same large eyes and the same knatty hair. I inherited his looks, and from where I stood now, talking to a figment of my imagination that look crystal clear-real, I also inherited his mind. I don't know if I'm like my mother, if I am it's hidden under all the alcohol and distance.

I turned to him, looked at his hair and how it resembled the texture of my own. Although his eyes were a fog and meant nothing but harm, the shape was exact to the ones I wore. 'Have you ever considered death? In its wholeness, in its utmost entirety.'

Actually, I had. I was not suicidal, as I had come to terms with death and realized if I were to die, what would the benefits be? I deserved the pain that the earth cast upon me every now and then, and the swings it took on the brightest of days, throwing me into the storm- I could not gift myself the pleasure of death, because I was meant to breathe in the mold, and smell the alcohol, listen to the moans and see the Sid.

But if I were to die, the blessing in disguise, I would be at peace with it. I was not scared or the least bit frightened to end all this, and I would wave with a smile behind me in fact, but no- I was not scared of the closing of this book. The pain, oh the infliction upon me, that was a tad bit frightening.

And before I die, which, if it is soon, if it will ever be soon, I wish to the world that I haven't given as much dread as I have taken.

'You think you're noble because you talk down on the suicidal, well, you're not. You're just another one of those psychotic human beings that hide behind a mask all their life until their truly exposed.' But it should have been predicted by now, that I am just like my father, that people should be worried, that people should-

'I asked you if you had considered death. You took it all too personally. 'I' this and 'me' that. I said had you ever considered death.' I now know what he meant, death in general. Where do you go after death?

When I was awfully young, when my mother took a hiatus from alcohol and was there for about two years, she preached about God and about the one below too. I used to believe that there was a place in the sky, high above the clouds paved with gold and winged humans, crafted smiles on their faces, and there is no pain. She would never look at me when the stories unfolded, sometimes I could see the tears about to form, but she always shook them off with such sureness of herself. She would caress my face and pinch my cheek then continue on. Since I was young, very, very young in the peak of my childhood in fact, she would dumb the religion down for even me to understand. The bottom line was: if you respect yourself, others and Him, the afterlife will be good to you. If you do not and treat your life as it is trash, then you will get trash in return. Hell, she meant to say.

Now I don't know. I lost that theory, that Santa Claus for adults a long time ago. Mom lost it too, but she lost it before me. She lost it when she realized alcohol was a lot better than getting dressed in expensive clothing and dragging your children to church for a year or two. Because the benefits of getting hammered are better than the benefits of a religious education.

But all that, was still not what he meant. Had I considered death. Not death in me, not death in general, the death in others.

'Have you considered to kill.'

*

Before I had even exited the house to retreat to school, my day had collapsed from the outside in. In a moment's time, my mother's arms were wound tight around me like a collar around a dog, the hot breaths of her mouth hit the back of my necks, the hairs rising, and her heart like a beating drum, mine parallel to it. “I missed you.” I felt the wet smack of her lips on my cheek, and she rocked me back and forth in her arms. The scent of strong perfume sloppily applied all over her body was strong, but as far as I could tell, and I had adapted to the smell far too well, she had not a single drink.

“I,” I stuttered on my words, overwhelmed in her arms. Then I pushed her away. “I can't say the same.” Her hair was cut above her shoulders now, and a deep chestnut color; the color it was before yet enhanced. She had no makeup on, and her eyes were deeply circled with dark purple rings. The clothes she wore hung loosely around her thin build, and she released me from the last touch we held. Although her clothes looked casual and cheap, the shoes she wore were high and tall, as if to prove she were some important figure because she towered over everyone. As I saw her hand weight to her side, I realized the horizontal lines across the wrist. They were a dark color, like her eyes.

“I brought us back a lot of money,” my mom stammered, assuming this had warranted her wrongs. I had no desire for money, that was just a bunch of printed paper with dead presidents on it. Money bought nothing. I could hear her heart beating from the few feet away, where I stood silently. Her hands vibrated viciously and her teeth chattered along as if she were cold. For a moment I thought this was some slight spasm of a seizure, but it was craze, craze over money. “We're going to be okay now,” she smiled, then the smile faded.

“I didn't know we weren't okay before.” My face was solid as a poker player's, emotionless and cold.

Her eyes skated around the room, and the familiar face of disgust and disappointment returned. Walking over to the phone, she looked to see if anyone of importance had called, then later found out the only messages that were left had been erased. She put a pot of tap water on the old stove, waiting for it to come for a boil. “Financially we were not.”

“So you left me and Adam alone for some price? Some number? While you were gone, did you decide it would be alright to just go get your hair done? Since Adam and I had already missed you too much, what would a few other days hurt, right?” That same hot feeling I got when Eric was talking with all the other, more pretty girls, appeared once more.

I have thought about death.

Suddenly the room seemed much bigger than it had before, the distance between my mother and I seemed to go on for eternity. The floor looked miles long, the cold, dirty hardwood floor furnished with beaten down couches and matching ripped leather chairs. The windows were hit hard with the strong pit of the rain, the curtains slightly moving from the storm outside. Every wall appeared as if I could not reach it if I were to travel for years on end, my mother and I were growing apart and now it was clear.

“Oh calm down!” she screamed ruthlessly. “Like you cared when I was here, Elli. You never even talked to me. So I was gone a few days, and I came back better than I left. Isn't that what matters?” I couldn't let it go, I was going to dwell upon this moment for a long time.

“While you were out having sex with God knows what, I was here taking care of YOUR kid! Fuck, when you're here I have to take care of YOUR kid! The one who can't do anything for himself! And you want to know why I do? Because I care about Adam more than YOU. I was here being the mom, while you were off being a stupid slut-” I felt the impact of the back of her hand, as it hit me square in the face. It didn't feel like a slap, it wasn't that stinging sensation you should get from skin-to-skin, but more as if her hand pushed hard on the side of my mouth, giving an achy feeling. I stumbled to the ground grabbing my numb face and evaluating what had just happened.

She came closer to me, and now I longed for the distance that we had had just moments before. The feeling of wanting to inflict pain on her grew stronger.

-I could slam the heel of my shoes into her shin and knock her onto the floor. She could be knocked down for a single second and that's all I'd-

“You be grateful for what you have and not what you don't, Elli.” The look she gave me was the one she had given my dad that night he burned the house down. The one that read 'I don't want to be counted on, fend for yourself' it was really similar to 'it's your fault for trusting me.'

'You could easily take her down. End her and everything she's done.'

*

His favorite color was red. He said that's why he liked my hair. His favorite band is AC/DC. I said I liked them; I don't. His favorite time of the day is afternoon. He said that's when he gets to see me the most. But we never really talked before today.

By that time in English, I shifted myself around in my chair and took a glance around the room. He had basically eliminated every girl from this class off his list, and now I was the only one left. Of course there was Ana and Mandy, Casey and Megan, Charisse and Crystal, but those girls were either too good for him or they didn't meet his standards. The others were the girls with issues and problems, the average teenage girls who searched in a guy to find happiness and fulfill their missing puzzle piece.

He told me I looked nice today. I had this wild, uncontrollable smile and tried to hide it behind my hair.

He told me we should hang out some time. I never told him anything; he repeated himself.

“We should hang out some time.” It was those words he used on every other girl, it was his line that made him infamous (or famous, depending on how you look at it.) “Elli?”

“I just have a busy schedule, is all.”

'Lies, that's a big load of bullshit. You have nothing to do and you know it. For the first time in your life someone actually wants to hang out with you, and what do you do? You lie. Because you're a liar.'

I thought I saw Eric's eyebrow raise, but I could have just been hallucinating, which I wouldn't doubt. “Look, you just seem cool is all,” he explained.

“Well, I'm not.”

'You're just like all the other ones, lacking self-respect.'

“You're cool enough to admit it,” he bargained, finding himself clever in this he revealed an unattractive smirk that also appeared to be attractive at the same time.

“I usually don't.” I felt myself wilt into this dead flower, what I had wanted to achieve, someone looking at me in a way that wasn't complete dissatisfaction or failure, I finally had, and now I ruined it. I was one of those depressing girls, one of those- those girls with daddy issues.