Alone.

03

Humiliation, by the way, is truly a terrible emotion. It’s at the bottom of the pile. Much worse than fear. I bet. If only I could toss humiliation away. And while I was at it, I’d get rid of anger, hurt, compassion, betrayal, and selfishness. Oh, and guilt. Definitely guilt. Without all of those things, I think I could imagine maybe being happy someday.

Hey that’s it. I, Mathai Brookes, have discovered the secret to happiness. People have been searching for it since the beginning of time, but it took me, a fourteen-year-old with no philosophical, medical, or psychological training, to discover the truth.

Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah. No wonder I’m digressing -- I don’t feel like putting this into words.

I’ve never had a boyfriend.

No, no. It’s way worse than that. I wish it were only that but it‘s not. It doesn’t convey the depth of this particular humiliation.

I’ve never been kissed.

Okay, there you have it. Can you say “loser”?

When I was ten, I had something approaching a boyfriend, in a preboyfriend kind of way. His name was Kile, and he lived around the corner. He was the one with the right kind of hair. Straight and light brown. The right kind of eyes, eyes that haunted her. They were the endless azure of a summer sky, sometimes they turned a blue-violet of an early evening. He had the right kind of bike; specialized. The right kind of jeans (Gap, at the time). His parents had the right kind of car. A red jeep with a good stereo. And a very large pool. For these reasons the popular girls sought him out. I liked him because he was secretly just as weird as me. We both played board games like checkers and knee football. We concocted these elaborate fantasy games, long after imaginary games are socially age acceptable. Age four roughly. We were both nerdy enough to watch Bill Nye, the Science Guy, but cool enough not to admit that to anybody but each other.

My love life, if you would call it that, got left behind with the rest of my life the autumn after my eleventh birthday. Eventually around that time when I made the biggest mistake of my life; my secret. Eventually I told Kile I hated him, so I didn’t have to leave any threads dangling. It wasn't true.

My life ended then, but I keep growing. I usually pride myself on the fact that I don’t care about being a freak or a misfit. I don’t care what people think of me. But for some reason this kissing business, this lack of kissing business, bothers me, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t.

That’s the very worst thing about it. How much it bothers me. How much I think about it. But I’m going to be brutally honest right now, and hopefully afterward I can snap back into some more comfortable state of denial. Of all the terrible things that have happened in my life -- my mom, my dad, my foster parents and siblings, that middle-aged man with the suit, Kile, the life I lost -- I’m such a vain, petty, and selfish person that I am most ashamed of the fact that nobody has ever kissed me. The thought drives me to something worse.

What in the world was I doing? What was I thinking? I walked extra fast along the road, past bars, past many shops with blazing neon signs, shops that pierced you anyplace you could think of.

As much as I despised going to a stupid party full of people I was sure to hate and hate me as well, there was a small but squashable part of me that was happy to be out on a Saturday summer night with someplace to go.

I know I said I wasn’t going to do nothing and be alone this summer. But this is exactly what it is. Nothing. It was just a stupid party anyway. If it turned out to be a great night, then I’ll be spending more time at clubs and parties from then on.

I glanced down at my dark jeans and trashed sneakers. Oh well. Who cares

Getting to the party was no problem since walking is a past time of mine anyways, reaching there all too soon and hoping I wasn’t early. The flyer said eight.

The party in the house could be heard from down the street, from what I could tell. I could feel my muscles tense at the shrieks of laughter and loud buzz of conversation spilling out into the front lawn. This was kind of a momentous event. Although my capacity for nervousness was nil, my capacity for insecurity was all there. I tucked some hair behind my ear and took a deep breath as I pushed open the unlocked door.

What was I expecting exactly? Some deeply narcissistic part of my thought everybody in place would know that even though I was a freshmen, I had never been to a real party before. Not even a birthday party. Would everyone fall silent and turn to stare at me?

In fact, the only difference between before I had come and after was that there was one more beating heart in the very crowded home. Dylan’s. I wanted to see him again, even though it’s just been a month since I last saw him. I knew he would be here because word spread and almost everyone from school was going to be there. Okay, here I was, suddenly I am sure I’d been born with an extra gene for social awkwardness. It was time to find Dylan Hannigan and hope he still thought I was wild and entertaining.

I squeezed past a knot of people who didn’t care about me at all. In the living room I recognized a girl from one of my classes. Was it English? Who knows. I then squeezed past very noisy guys who I clearly recognized visually and audibly who had lockers near mine. Every flat surface was covered with pop cans and beer cans in about equal number. A lot of people were smoking. On a table in the corner were raw carrots and dip and some unappealing chips and salsa which I stuffed my face with as soon as possible and left just as fast. Were anybody’s parents here? I heard that a lot of parents let their kids drink at parties because nobody drove anywhere afterward.

The sweet, suffocating smell of marijuana made its was over. I zeroed in on a little clutch of people passing around the joint and saw someone very familiar. I gasped. It was Kile. I knew that brown hair and blue eyes anywhere. What was he doing here? Specifically why he was two hours away from his home. After cutting threads and ties with him, I moved. Did he move too? Why didn’t I know about this? Fuck, Mathai, that was four years ago. I didn’t have to know. Get. It. Together.

I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. I had no time for that. Besides, how could he recognize me now? I looked hideous, plus the fact that it was four years ago. And those people he was with. Were those kids so confident in their sanity, they could tempt fate?

When I finally caught sight of Dylan in the dining room, I stifled the stronge urge to sprint over to him and give him a hug. I missed him that much. Maybe its because I never had any friends as close as him. I walked toward him slowly as I could manage. As though expecting to encounter hordes of friends and acquaintances along the way. Wait, what friends? Nonetheless, I was still very nervous and…hesitant. I am shy, and I seemed to have forgotten that about myself. I was more comfortable beating the crap out of somebody than chatting about the weather. I could be sullen and obnoxious and irritable all day long, but I couldn’t think of a single way to start a friendly conversation.

“Hi Dylan.” I said lamely to myself. Lame enough for people to glance or stare at me. Halfway there, I realized I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t just go up to him and say hello. As pathetic as that was, I just couldn’t. I knew it had nothing to do with what he would think of me, because like I said, I no longer cared.

“Holy shit!” A girl I didn’t know came over to me. She smiled big. “You actually came.”

“Well, yeah I never miss a party,” I said wryly. Then added. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Yeah, it’s me Ana. Please tell me you didn’t forgot about me did you?”

“No, I don’t” I lie.

“Good. Wow, you look great! A little less than your usual glam but it‘s wonderful.” she said.

“Thanks.” I suppose? I don’t know why I keep lying to this girl who obviously got the wrong person named Chloe who I guess looks like me…or I look like her. I guess I was just so tired of being lonely and wanted some fun. Was fun the right word to describe this? Whatever it was…it gave me the urge to talk to someone and lie about who I was, I was…happy. No, satisfied with that moment. I was never happy.

I almost laugh and feel a surge of…something. Optimism, was it? Hope? Social acceptance? I wasn’t sure exactly -- it was so unfamiliar. But here I am, maladjusted freak-thing Mathai Brookes, gabbing with someone who could very easily be her friend. The girl…Ana, sure thought she was friends with me. It was utterly alien, but not in a bad way. Okay maybe it was a little. Only now I had to try to think of something else to say.

“You look great too. Amazing. Gorgeous!” I said lamely. Once again.

I marvelled at her sparkled gold right above the knee length dress. Her gold strap heels. Her gold hair clip. Her jet black hair cascading in waves and twirls intertwining together down her shoulders until it reached below her breasts. Her make-up, simple, noticeable but clean. Not too much and not too less. Her nude lips. And not to mention her light bronze and brown smokey eyelids of her beautiful emerald green eyes. Whereas me, devoid of make-up. I couldnt afford any and my hair was a mess.

She was gorgeous. I often said complements back without really meaning them. But this, now… I really do mean it. Just looking at her made me envious. How could I have not notice her looks before? Right. My thoughts were elsewhere. Where they usually are. And her personality? She seemed like a genuinely nice, friendly girl. Could someone like me possible be friends with someone like her?
♠ ♠ ♠
NOM!
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