While Listening to Rock and Roll
BENTLEY.
Standing in the brisk air of dawn, I tousled my hair and shrugged the wool jacket closer to my body. I watched with impeccable green eyes the passerby’s – the hustle and bustle of the chaos embodying the small town of Tennessee. Girls in flowing dresses whistled past men with wandering eyes, pretending to bypass the expression of lust-filled interest. Young children on the brink of awareness rubbed their eyes and yawned, all the while supported by their mothers’ arms. Men suppressed in black suits stared at the ground in mock rage, briefcases galore trapped in calloused hands from days of home labor.
I sighed in delayed deflation as I sucked on another cigarette, the ashes floating to the ground in pirouettes. I propelled forward from the brick wall I leaned against, my feet clanging together as I moved. Turning, I stole one covet glance over my shoulder at the world passing me by, and then proceeded to venture down the sidewalk. Despite the commotion that overran me, I somehow managed to feel completely alone; disengaged from society as I came to know it. Rounding the sharp corner I came face-to-face with the overly-average sized house I lived in for the past ten years. In a few seconds I was throwing my shoes into the foyer and calling out to see if my mother or father were home. Which, after echoing silence to my call, I assumed they were not. Another day alone, I thought, as I took the stairs to my bedroom. Inside I fell atop my bed, letting my feet dangle from the end, precariously hanging over my school books.
I closed my eyes as the morning filtered through my curtains and birds began to chirp away at one another. I yawned loudly, opening my eyes and lifting my head from the silk pillow. I looked at my digital clock, sitting idle on the bedside table and blinking in the reminder that I would have to leave for school in less than half an hour. I hauled myself up begrudgingly, grabbed a random pair of jeans and shirt from my closet, then began to strip and re-dress. As time ticked by and I finished the normal necessities for any seventeen year old boy on his way to educational hell, I grabbed a stale poptart from the cabinet above the stove and hauled my worn book bag over my shoulder. As I trekked towards the winding driveways’ end, I found myself deciding that instead of going to school I would just skip the first half and buy some Mary Jane from my personal dealer.
His name was Mason, one of the better dealers I’d had; all 5’8, blue eyed parts of him. Hell, I could even admit to myself I had a bit of a crush on him, but not anyone else. The gates of hell would slowly open if anyone found out that – dare I say it – Bentley Christopher Christensen liked another man. Ghastly, and utterly devastating to my parents, and their reputation. Because, see, my parents were big time lawyers who owned their own practice; wittingly (to my parents) called Husband and Wife law firm. I thought it was stupid, but when I voiced my opinions to said parents, they laughed and said teenagers don’t find “these types of things funny.” Anyway, they traveled almost constantly, minus their only son, and won cases here and there, raking in millions for us to spend. Most was meant to be put in my college trust fund, which I never doubted due to my parents constant boasting about the magnificent schools I could attend.
This is if I had the grades, which, let’s be honest, I didn’t. I say as I skipped another day of school to buy pot and get totally fucked instead. To forget the loneliness and depravity, the heartache and overwhelming nostalgia.
I sighed in delayed deflation as I sucked on another cigarette, the ashes floating to the ground in pirouettes. I propelled forward from the brick wall I leaned against, my feet clanging together as I moved. Turning, I stole one covet glance over my shoulder at the world passing me by, and then proceeded to venture down the sidewalk. Despite the commotion that overran me, I somehow managed to feel completely alone; disengaged from society as I came to know it. Rounding the sharp corner I came face-to-face with the overly-average sized house I lived in for the past ten years. In a few seconds I was throwing my shoes into the foyer and calling out to see if my mother or father were home. Which, after echoing silence to my call, I assumed they were not. Another day alone, I thought, as I took the stairs to my bedroom. Inside I fell atop my bed, letting my feet dangle from the end, precariously hanging over my school books.
I closed my eyes as the morning filtered through my curtains and birds began to chirp away at one another. I yawned loudly, opening my eyes and lifting my head from the silk pillow. I looked at my digital clock, sitting idle on the bedside table and blinking in the reminder that I would have to leave for school in less than half an hour. I hauled myself up begrudgingly, grabbed a random pair of jeans and shirt from my closet, then began to strip and re-dress. As time ticked by and I finished the normal necessities for any seventeen year old boy on his way to educational hell, I grabbed a stale poptart from the cabinet above the stove and hauled my worn book bag over my shoulder. As I trekked towards the winding driveways’ end, I found myself deciding that instead of going to school I would just skip the first half and buy some Mary Jane from my personal dealer.
His name was Mason, one of the better dealers I’d had; all 5’8, blue eyed parts of him. Hell, I could even admit to myself I had a bit of a crush on him, but not anyone else. The gates of hell would slowly open if anyone found out that – dare I say it – Bentley Christopher Christensen liked another man. Ghastly, and utterly devastating to my parents, and their reputation. Because, see, my parents were big time lawyers who owned their own practice; wittingly (to my parents) called Husband and Wife law firm. I thought it was stupid, but when I voiced my opinions to said parents, they laughed and said teenagers don’t find “these types of things funny.” Anyway, they traveled almost constantly, minus their only son, and won cases here and there, raking in millions for us to spend. Most was meant to be put in my college trust fund, which I never doubted due to my parents constant boasting about the magnificent schools I could attend.
This is if I had the grades, which, let’s be honest, I didn’t. I say as I skipped another day of school to buy pot and get totally fucked instead. To forget the loneliness and depravity, the heartache and overwhelming nostalgia.
♠ ♠ ♠
comments would be nice. (: