Hazy Days
fifteen;
"Um, Duncan Hanson?"
"Apparently, he had a full ride to Stanford. Gave it up for community because he was still trying to find himself. His words, not mine. For a genius he sure is damn stupid." Oliver shakes his head. For the past few Sundays we've been coming to this bakery, the one where he brought me that first night when I was starving and cold. It's not a set in stone thing, but if he happens to knock on our door and I'm the one who answers, it means Joel isn't home and I'm free to do whatever. But if Joel answers... well, at least Oliver's a quick thinker and makes up some excuse.
I ask, "So what about Ariel Tallaware?" And he answers some gossip he's heard about how she moved to Hawaii to be with her army fiance. It's kind of depressing, hearing about all my old friends and what they've done with their lives. I try not to dwell on it.
We're quiet for a few minutes and Andre, the guy behind the counter, turns on the television above our heads. I take another sip of my coffee and absent-mindedly scratch my arm. It's sore from a bruise and I flinch slightly, but just enough for Oliver to notice.
"What's wrong, Tor?" his eyebrows knit together in concern. I feel so bad lying to him. I really do.
"I burned my tongue, that's all," I shrug. That's not enough for him, though. He looks me in the eyes and I stare into my mug.
"Victoria. Seriously."
"What, seriously?"
"Don't be mad. But you just like, look miserable. All the time," I'm about to say something but he continues. "And don't give me that 'oh I'm not a doctor so I'm sad' thing. It goes deeper than that."
"Sorry to break it to you, Oliver," I stand up. I don't have to sit here and listen to this. "There's nothing deep about me. I'm as shallow as it gets." He follows me out the door.
"You're full of shit, you know," he stays about two steps behind me. "I mean, can you even smell what seeps out of your door? It smells like weed and beer and smoke all the time. And I know you're not the one smoking or drinking."
"So you're an expert on my life now?" The weather is just starting to warm up. It's my second favorite season, when everything comes back to life and the air isn't so thick. How had I forgotten?
"Well, no," he easily follows my footsteps and keeps breathing steady even though it feels like I'm sprinting. "I'll admit I'm not. But our walls are paper thin too, you know. I can hear everything that goes on between you and him." That stops me. I stop so suddenly he crashes into me and we both fall on the sidewalk. There aren't a lot of people out, but the ones that are walk right past us.
"What?" I ignore his hand and stand up on my own.
"What?" He repeats.
"You can hear us," I say slowly. "And you don't do anything? You aren't worried or want to see if I'm all right?" Now he looks uncomfortable. He looks at the ground and at my face and keeps switching.
"Well, I know you can handle yourself. And tons of people have arguments, so... you know..." he looks so uncomfortable and so unsure of himself and I can't help but think, good. Feel bad for saying that, Oliver.
"You're right. You're absolutely right. I don't need your pity since I can handle myself and all," I started walking again and he's smart enough to linger behind a bit.
"It's something else, though, isn't it? I'm sorry, I lied; I hardly hear anything, and if I do it's your music turned up loud or your dog barking." I hate him. I hate this guy. I reach the path leading up to our apartment and he grabs my wrist. I turn around, ready to slap him, but he grabs that hand too. "Does he hit you, Victoria?"
"Fuck off."
"He does, doesn't he?" He makes it sound more like a statement, not a question.
"Leave me alone. Please." I let my hands go limp and he lets them go. I back away from him slowly. His face is torn between anger and sadness and I feel bad for being so mean to him when he's been nothing but nice to me. So I tack on, "It's best you don't know. Trust me."
"Apparently, he had a full ride to Stanford. Gave it up for community because he was still trying to find himself. His words, not mine. For a genius he sure is damn stupid." Oliver shakes his head. For the past few Sundays we've been coming to this bakery, the one where he brought me that first night when I was starving and cold. It's not a set in stone thing, but if he happens to knock on our door and I'm the one who answers, it means Joel isn't home and I'm free to do whatever. But if Joel answers... well, at least Oliver's a quick thinker and makes up some excuse.
I ask, "So what about Ariel Tallaware?" And he answers some gossip he's heard about how she moved to Hawaii to be with her army fiance. It's kind of depressing, hearing about all my old friends and what they've done with their lives. I try not to dwell on it.
We're quiet for a few minutes and Andre, the guy behind the counter, turns on the television above our heads. I take another sip of my coffee and absent-mindedly scratch my arm. It's sore from a bruise and I flinch slightly, but just enough for Oliver to notice.
"What's wrong, Tor?" his eyebrows knit together in concern. I feel so bad lying to him. I really do.
"I burned my tongue, that's all," I shrug. That's not enough for him, though. He looks me in the eyes and I stare into my mug.
"Victoria. Seriously."
"What, seriously?"
"Don't be mad. But you just like, look miserable. All the time," I'm about to say something but he continues. "And don't give me that 'oh I'm not a doctor so I'm sad' thing. It goes deeper than that."
"Sorry to break it to you, Oliver," I stand up. I don't have to sit here and listen to this. "There's nothing deep about me. I'm as shallow as it gets." He follows me out the door.
"You're full of shit, you know," he stays about two steps behind me. "I mean, can you even smell what seeps out of your door? It smells like weed and beer and smoke all the time. And I know you're not the one smoking or drinking."
"So you're an expert on my life now?" The weather is just starting to warm up. It's my second favorite season, when everything comes back to life and the air isn't so thick. How had I forgotten?
"Well, no," he easily follows my footsteps and keeps breathing steady even though it feels like I'm sprinting. "I'll admit I'm not. But our walls are paper thin too, you know. I can hear everything that goes on between you and him." That stops me. I stop so suddenly he crashes into me and we both fall on the sidewalk. There aren't a lot of people out, but the ones that are walk right past us.
"What?" I ignore his hand and stand up on my own.
"What?" He repeats.
"You can hear us," I say slowly. "And you don't do anything? You aren't worried or want to see if I'm all right?" Now he looks uncomfortable. He looks at the ground and at my face and keeps switching.
"Well, I know you can handle yourself. And tons of people have arguments, so... you know..." he looks so uncomfortable and so unsure of himself and I can't help but think, good. Feel bad for saying that, Oliver.
"You're right. You're absolutely right. I don't need your pity since I can handle myself and all," I started walking again and he's smart enough to linger behind a bit.
"It's something else, though, isn't it? I'm sorry, I lied; I hardly hear anything, and if I do it's your music turned up loud or your dog barking." I hate him. I hate this guy. I reach the path leading up to our apartment and he grabs my wrist. I turn around, ready to slap him, but he grabs that hand too. "Does he hit you, Victoria?"
"Fuck off."
"He does, doesn't he?" He makes it sound more like a statement, not a question.
"Leave me alone. Please." I let my hands go limp and he lets them go. I back away from him slowly. His face is torn between anger and sadness and I feel bad for being so mean to him when he's been nothing but nice to me. So I tack on, "It's best you don't know. Trust me."
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hey thanks pelican park.!