Every Day After That

Saturdays were probably my least favorite days of the week. School I can tolerate. School I can do as long as I'm not put in the spotlight too often. I'm not a complete moron, I know everyone has to answer a question every once in a while. And for the most part, that works for me. I can do that.

Saturdays I cannot do. See, School is okay because I do something. It doesn't matter what- I'm always fucking behind. Sundays are okay because I can focus on getting ready for school half the day, and sleep the other half. So I'm good there. But Saturdays? Nuh uh. No way. I mean, what the fuck is a kid like me supposed to do anyways?

My name is Wilson Andrew Nieves. I'm 17 years old. I play the guitar. I'm below average in school and the only kind-of friend I've managed to get is this girl Monica. That's only because she needs more people to join her club- and I'm pretty sure it's some satanic cult so I steer clear of that. She doesn't really talk to me anymore. Oh, and I'm fat.

That pretty much sums up my existence.

I guess I could technically find something to do. I always have homework to make-up. But really, after spending five to six days a week doing that crap, do you really think I want to do it even more? Hardly. I could run to King Supers for my mom, but I always cheat her list and she's starting to notice. My sister likes to get rides to friends and stuff, but not by me. And even if she did, I really have more self respect than that. Most of the time. Sometimes I get desperate.

I ran my hand through my hair and huffed. Nothing to do in this goddamn town when you're a fucking leper.

"Hey honey, I'm going out with the girls okay? Will you be alright?" My mother stood in my doorway in the sluttiest outfit I've ever seen on anyone over the age of 31. Her legs were shining- literally shining- at me and her heels would probably break her ankles had it been anyone who didn't wear heels like it was her job.

"I'm fine. Where's Taylor gonna be?" Her boobs were popping. I couldn't look away because it was so in your face but I didn't want to stare either. I'd really rather my mother wore overalls and sweaters. And maybe some crochet belts because that'd be kind of cool.

"I'm dropping her off at a friend's. How was school?" Difficult. Boring. Intimidating. Hard to breathe.

"It was fine. Bye, now." I turned around to make it look like I was busy, but I was only facing my window. Plus, we both knew that wasn't true.

She looked like she was concerned for me. Like I was a fucking suicidal just because I'm fat. Although in her defense, she probably would be if she ever got fat.

"Go okay? Have fun. I'm just gonna do some homework." I said.

She smiled. "Good." She walked over and kissed my forehead. "I love you. Bye." I nodded and waited until she closed the door to drop onto my bed. The front door slammed minutes later and I could hear the garage door opening. And then it closed, and the sound of mom's engine faded into the distance. I stared at the pile of work stuffed into my backpack and glared at it. It glared right back at me. It called me stupid. It was right.

I looked at the phone on my nightstand. It was shiny and it looked new from never being used. That was why I had nothing to do today. Well, that and a million other things.

Fucking Saturdays.

***

Somehow I ended up at the gym. I don't know what in the hell-driven world could have done to influence that, but there I was, standing on a treadmill and wondering how the fuck to work it. A million buttons all meaning absolutely nothing screamed at me. Intimidating pictures of skinny people. The back of my knees were already sweating and I hadn't even started yet. That is just great.

Honestly, I know exactly why I did that. It happens every once in a while. I get out the school yearbook and try to sort between the people who were nice-ish to me and the douches and the ones who just didn't acknowledge me. Those were my favorite being it's very obvious that nice people are just doing it because they feel sorry and I'm not cool with that.

I took out the yearbook and came across the number one bitch in the school. Actually, she's probably not that bad. But every time she looks at me I can just see her dismissive glance; the way she practically screams that she's too good for me. Which is perfectly true. She's absolutely gorgeous. So somehow I worked up this fantasy where I walked in the hall with say, 30 pounds dropped, and her eyes softened a little and she couldn't even recognize who I was.

Really, I should be holding out for someone who would recognize me if I was just a little thinner, but beggars can't be choosers.

And somehow and hour and a sandwich later I'd driven myself to the Loveland community Rec-center and walked up the stairs (figures) to the gym and marched right up the the most hidden machinery that wouldn't kill me (Those fuckers totally put the hardest stuff in the back. On purpose) and found myself in front of the most confusing piece of equipment probably in my life. I looked around me cautiously, but every person in here is already pretty well off and they obviously know how to work things as simple as this, and suddenly I was so defeated and discouraged that I decided to leave. A girl a couple feet away glanced at me and darted her head back instantly. I'm too disgusting to even look at. That was it.

I got my water bottle and starting walking around the track to reach the stairs and suddenly eyes were on me. I cringed on instinct. My eyes scanned the various types; some muscular, some slender, some fucking anorexic; and all in a better place than I am. I tried to keep my eyes on the floor. I chanted in my head, 'Just keep walking. Forget them.'

But there eyes were burning into me. I couldn't resist. I looked and I cringed again. And then I didn't. The eyes staring back at me weren't looking at me with pity of even scorn- they looked proud of me. For a minute I didn't know what the fuck to think. Were they mocking me? I took a step back and evaluated.

Fat guy huffing and puffing and walking on the track. They thought I was trying. And that gave me a little bit of courage. I took my walk up just a notch and I walked and I walked and I walked until they closed, which was about 6:00. As I left I held my head up proudly and I almost smiled. After the euphoria wore off a bit, I took a whiff of myself.

Oh, ew. I needed to bring another set of clothes next time. And take a shower.

***

As I was driving down the main road, I still had a slight buzz. Instead of driving straight to a Wendy's I took my time and looked around me. I tried to find things I didn't usually take notice of. That in itself was a bizarre miracle.

And then I noticed two fucking weird things. The road was juts as busy as ever, the weather was like, normal I guess. Everything was in place as far as I could see. Except, that is, one of the most stunning girls I'd ever seen skipping down the road in a yellow dress and sandals with the brightest smiles on her face. Well she wasn't really skipping. It was more of a dance. But she flowed and she looked so natural there. I took in her long hair, the way she seemed to be in a completely different world. She looked so happy.

I wondered what it'd be like to feel like that. To let go and enjoy whatever the hell you wanted to and not care if you looked like a lunatic. The high had worn off. I sighed and switched off the radio. I drove home.

When I got home, mom was still out. Taylour was too. I decided to take this nice but not unusual alone time to play my guitar.

My guitar. It means more to me than anything. My family, myself: it is my savior. The way the strings always seem to flow. There are endless combinations to what you can even do with it. I would play into the night until my fingers bled. My left hand was permanently calloused.

As I sat down, I decided to play Paul Dempsey's "Safety in Numbness".

Got glue in your feathers
What brought you to this?
A flightless bird surrounded by
Red handed kids
In their borrowed black sheep's clothes
Now everybody's in on the joke

So practice your boredom
Look a thousand times removed
Cause only a freak would sing
In a crowded waiting room
They would turn you out in the cold
Because everybody's in on the joke

Are you missing a stranger
That you might have loved?
Do you feel that there's something
You don't feel enough?
There's a perfectly good poison
For the perfectly numb
If you want some

As I played and sang (unfortunately not very well) I could feel it. The high; the energy. No, this was way better than that. This was indescribable bliss. For those instants I felt my heart burn with the kind of passion people only ever really hear about. My hands floated gracefully across the neck like I was God. My breath quickened and my head rolled back and my eyes closed and I felt every single word I sang and chord I played. The emotion welled up inside of me and I cried. For those instances, like all others when I played, I was completely alive as if I'd never been numb.

I went to bed still grasping onto those feelings.