The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

The hour passed and I was well on my way to becoming in the clouds once again. The weed Evan had on him seemed to flow better than anything you had, not to mention the simple fact that when Evan got weed, he got big plastic sandwich bags filled. He had grinded up the bud, packed it into the intricately painted, hand-made glass pipe and then took a hit off of it, blowing the smoke out toward the window he had opened. He handed it off to me and I did just as you and he had taught me, plugging up the small hole on the side while igniting the zippo lighter, inhaling the smoke and keeping it in my lungs. As I blew out the smoke toward the window courteously, I smiled and let the feeling sink in. Evan looked at me then, a big grin on his scruffy face.

“What?” I questioned, though not in a rude manor. He shook his head, nodding his head toward the pipe.

“Take another hit, El. I want you high as a fucking kite.” Evan murmured. I did as he said, taking another hit before looking at him with a curious glance. The hazel-eyed teen swooped me up in one motion just to place me back down on his lap, arms wrapping around my waist as I situated myself. I sat facing outward, my body slouched lazily against his own, and I let my legs stretch as far out as they could.

“Well, I do want to feel like I’m in the clouds, so I’ll do just as you say,” I replied quietly with a laugh at the end of it. I took one last pull off of the pipe, then handed it back to Evan. I leaned my head backward, resting it on his shoulder as I stared up at his wood-lined ceiling, the light hanging from it reminiscent of the 70’s.

“Why is it that everything you say sounds so poetic and nice?” I heard him murmur, the smoke he held in his lungs billowing out up into the air. I reached up and played with it slightly, shrugging as I closed my eyes. “I wish I could talk so smoothly. I mean I can talk, but the analogies and shit you use are all so nice,” he added after I didn’t reply. I shrugged again, laughing quietly.

“I guess it’s just from all of the things I read and write,” I stated. I heard him take another hit and I opened my eyes then, crawling off of his lap so I could sit in front of him. I smiled again, reaching for the pipe so I could get a hit from it.

“Really?” Evan asked, blinking his red eyes. I nodded, blowing the smoke out toward the window like I had before. “Damn…” He chuckled.

“You’re different.” Those words blurted themselves out, and I just blinked hard a few times. My eyes began to get dry and clouded, and I just closed them, leaning backward so I was laying down on his carpeted floor. I held the blown-glass up in the air with the lighter so hazel-eyes could grab it. He did, took a toke off of it, then crawled on top of me with the smoke still in his lungs. I looked up at him with lazy eyes and kept my arms at my sides, fingers digging into the red carpet. Evan proceeded to press his lips firmly onto mine, causing me to open my mouth slightly, and then blew out the thick smoke into it. I coughed, but laughed, blowing it through my nose. This had us both laughing, though Evan still stayed on top of me.

“Different?” He asked after a moment, setting the pipe down onto the floor so he could grab my hands and put them up above my head. “Different good? Different bad?” He added. I shrugged, closing my eyes as I felt his lips press so familiarly up to my neck.

“Good different. You’re just… Different. You’re so caring, but rough at the same time. And you’re so clean, but dirty at the same time. You’re a lot of opposites. You’re opposite,” I murmured. Though, it was hushed and quiet because quite honestly, I didn't want the pleasure I felt to be heard by his little brothers or even his mother. His chuckle was throaty, his lips still dancing around on the skin of my neck. I tangled my fingers in his, and then tilted my head back.

“That’s interesting,” Evan replied. He pulled away from me, taking his beanie off of his head and tossing it gently onto the mattress on the floor. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked, though when I opened my eyes in surprise he laughed and laughed. I assumed he was just teasing.

“You’re a fucking loser,” I joked, giggling quietly. We both were pretty high. Just as he pressed his lips back onto my neck, I heard a knock on the door and I leaned up, looking at him. “Your mom,” I whispered.

“Evan, honey, do you and your friend want some food? It’s dinner, and I know it’s still only like three or something, but I made sausages and spaghetti…” Cathy said through the closed door. If it were Margo or my father, they would have opened the door after knocking twice, but Cathy didn't. It was almost like she didn't mind that Evan and I could potentially be having sex, or something.

“Yeah, we’ll be out in a minute, just going to finish this movie up,” Evan lied, getting up from me and fixing his pants. He put his beanie back on and turned on the TV that was in the corner of his room. It was old, with a giant box in the back of it. Probably from the early 90’s.

“Alright hon, I’ll see you out here,” Cathy said, and then I assumed she left.

“Your mom doesn’t barge in on you?” I asked. It was going to be a general statement, but it turned out as a question. My mind does that often.

“Nah, I mean she does if she thinks I’m dead or something… But usually when I have friends over, she doesn't bother us. Girls and guys alike,” Evan said. I watched him turn the TV up, a movie already plugged in. He pushed play and turned the volume down from when he turned it up, turning back to me and grinning. I rose to my feet and ran my fingers through my hair, giggling quietly. Evan had other girl friends? Or was he talking about the girlfriend’s he has had? That had my mind wandering, and it actually made me feel pissed for some reason.

“Ah, okay. Well, let’s eat. I’m fucking starving,” I noted. And so we left his room to go join his family in the living room.

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After Evan and I ate, we went back into his room but I got interrupted by a phone call. It was from my dad, saying he’d be home soon and he expected me home, too. And so Evan walked me home. We got to my door step and he looked at me, putting his hand on the door handle so he could open the door for me. I kissed him. And I kissed him again, and then hugged him, and then that was that. He opened the door and I went inside and he said goodbye and I said good evening and we laughed. But then when I got in the house, my mood shifted to upset. My mom was there. Not Margo, my make-shift, better mom. But my birth mother. I swallowed the lump that had jumped into my throat and shut the front door behind me, not knowing what else to do. I heard my dad pull up and get out of his car, and Margo came out from the kitchen with a glass of lemonade and a glass of what I assumed was wine, setting the wine down in front of an empty chair, and the yellow lemonade in front of my mom.

“Ella, hi. Uhm, yeah, so… Look who showed up,” Margo said, a forced smile on her soft face. I nodded and walked into the living room further.

“Hello, El,” she said. It was slow and riddled my bones with a shattering and sharp feeling. It spread through my veins and into my heart, and I nearly exploded. But I kept it cool, and I nodded once more.

“Hey, uh… Mom,” that word was foreign, and forced. She wasn’t my mother, I disowned her. She looked pale, sleepless, and much older than when I saw her last. But that was only a few year-gap. My dad walked into the house and took off his suit jacket, set his brief case down, and I could tell he was just as nervous and tense as I was.

“I need a drink,” was all my father had said as he walked right past us and into his separate study that was tucked away in a small room that was originally used for storage. Dad never drank his scotch that was in his study. He never touched it, never mentioned it, and never needed it. Though he got it the night before Margo and his engagement, he only opened it then and had one glass. This was dire, this situation was so horrible that my dad was going to drink. Jeanie, my birth-mom, was the alcoholic. Margo slipped away to follow him, and I was stuck with Jeanie. I was in an open room that was suffocating me.

“Please, sit,” the woman said. She was still facing away from me, and I could easily wrap my hands around her veiny neck, though I chose not to because that would be murder. Instead, I meandered my way slowly over to the small loveseat and sat down, slumping back. I don’t know why I listened to her, this wasn’t her house and she didn’t have the space to instruct me on what to do.

“What the fuck do you want?” Blunt, to the point, straight forward… Whatever the case, it was tough and as I brought my eyes to meet the woman’s tired grey ones, I could tell she wasn’t bent in the slightest.
“Is that anyway to talk to your mother, Ellenore?” Jeanie asked, the inquiry emotionless.

“My mother? Oh, I’m sorry… Is that what you are?” If my dad was in the room, he would have either snapped at me or scoffed at the sheer fact that I was saying what we were both thinking.