Say Those Three Little Words

January 1st, 2009

I’m completely useless, like dust that collected at the corner of a TV screen or the large crack in the sidewalk on Main street that everyone automatically steps over. People seemed to avoid me like I was a social disease — and perhaps I was. My own sense of reality became blurry and unfocused, and it felt like I was locked in the consciousness of my own mind.

Sometimes I’d wish that the ground would swallow me whole. Bury me alive so I wouldn't see their judgmental faces everywhere I turn. I knew I was different, and I guess the conservative cunts here in Rhode Island didn't accept anything different.

I hate myself, and looking at those around me scowling and giving me a wide berth just makes me hate myself even more.

I want to go back to the UK.

Oli closed his journal with a sigh, tossing it to the ground and laying back on his bed. He’d been in Exeter, Rhode Island for two weeks, just minding his time and trying to survive in the bleak and unfamiliar surroundings before he can finally move back to his hometown. He didn't know why he was forced to move out here anyway — He was a 22 year old man who could easily take care of himself but instead was dragged overseas to a shitty little American town — but his mother insisted that it’d “be good for him.”

He hasn't met a single kind soul. Granted, he only went outside twice: both times to get a few things from the local grocery store. But still, all the people he passed looked at him with distaste and obvious hatred.

He remembered going to the bathroom one night and locking himself inside. There was a full length mirror on the back of the door, and he had gazed at himself for a few minutes. His dark brown hair cut neatly above his eyes, a couple tattoos on his face, small and subtle, and others covering his neck and arms. He was dressed in a Pink Floyd t-shirt, ripped, black skinny jeans, and converse that were a size too big for him.

He couldn't understand what was so wrong with him that made everyone want to avoid him. He wasn't a rapist, or a murderer, or even an animal abuser. He was just a regular guy who liked tattoos and rock’n’roll.

“Oli!” His mother called from downstairs. “We have visitors! Get down here, please!”

Oli groaned, sliding out of his bed and stepping out into the slightly chilly hall. He stood there for a minute, hoping it wasn't one of those annoying neighbors who wanted to “welcome you to the community.”

It was absolutely sickening, the look of fake cheeriness they plaster on to their faces once you open the door. They invite themselves into your house, occasionally give you a gift basket, which was the only good thing about their visit, and perch themselves on the couch.

They dig into your personal life, trying to gather anything that would be great gossip for their pals. They don’t really care why there isn't a dad in the picture, or where you moved from, or why. All they want is to destroy you and your reputation before you had the chance to gain one.

“Oli!” His mother called again, a warning in her voice.

The young man sighed before making his way downstairs, his feet heavy on the steps, a loud clunk reverberating throughout the almost empty house. When he reached the living room, his mom shot him a “be nice” glance that was just laced with the promise of bad things to come if he did anything but.

“Hello! You must be Oli.” An overly cheery voice said, and a hand appeared in his line of vision. Oli blinked at it a couple times before grasping it, looking up at the person it belonged to. “I’m Harvey. Harvey Mansfield. I’ve heard that you kind folks moved from the UK, and it’s so comforting to know that there’s someone else here from overseas. We’re from the UK as well, and we’re just across the street.”

Oli smiled politely, and let go of his hand. He took a step back, and observed the strangers standing in his living room. The man was tall and lean, with the hint of five o’ clock shadow and the scent of a wet dog, poorly masked with cheap cologne. His eyes were light brown and sparkled behind thick rimmed glasses.

The lady standing by a teenage boy, smiling and trying to encourage the kid to be more social, although Oli could plainly see he didn't want to be there, was small with a slightly cherubic face. Oli reckoned she could be pretty for an older woman if it wasn't for the fact her entire face was caked in make-up.

When the kid didn't respond to his mother’s pestering, she sighed and stood beside her husband, lacing their fingers together. Oli almost threw up. “Hello! I’m Meghan, spelled M-E-G-H-A-N, and the boy refusing to make contact with any of you is my son, Josh.”

From across the room, Josh groaned. “For the millionth time, I am NOT your son. I don’t belong here. I belong back home. In the UK.”

“Joshua!” His mom, or whoever she was, shouted. Oli was confused as to whether or not the kid was being an angsty teenager or telling the truth. ‘I told you, we can’t go back. Rhode Island is our home now.”

Josh grumbled something, and turned to look out the window. Meghan kept her eyes trained on him, and Oli could see anger, fear, and disgust flash through the seas of green. He took the opportunity to make his escape into the kitchen.

“It was nice of you guys to stop by.” Oli’s mom said, trying to diffuse the obvious tension that was building in the air. Meghan’s glare quickly turned into a bright eyed grin. She nodded.

As the adults chatted, his mom answering a bit too personal questions and the Mansfields’ feigning interest, Oli watched the kid. He was gazing at his lap, his arms laying by his sides like they were dead weight. He constantly flicked his head to the side to get the hair out of his eyes, and a permanent scowl seemed to reside on his face.

He looked up once when his father mentioned his name, and Oli gasped at the sheer beauty of the kid.

The first thing that caught his attention was Josh’s eyes. They were a marvelous shade of blue that had flickers of childish mischief in them, contrasting drastically with what Oli called “wisdom wrinkles” on the corner of his eyes. His bushy eyebrows, but not so bushy that made it look like a hairy caterpillar was growing on his youthful face, arched as his father spoke.

The next thing he noticed, which forced Oli to swallow a lump that had formed in his throat, was the kid’s perfectly shaped lips. They were parted slightly as he listened to his father, and had a healthy pink hue that seemed to tease the older boy. Even from where he was, Oli could tell they were soft and well taken care of.

Physical appearance aside, there was something about Josh’s demeanor that made Oli want to get to know him. He was a mystery just waiting to be unraveled, and the type of person Oli felt that even after he solved the mystery, he would still be interested and amazed by.

That says a lot, since Oli couldn't keep friendships if his life depended on it. He got bored of people easily, and when he finds himself thrust into the same routine whenever he hangs out with a friend, needless to say they’re no longer friends. He doesn't mind being alone, and most of the time he prefers it over doing the same boring things with the same boring people.

The older boy opened the fridge and scanned its contents. It was mostly bare. A few cans of beer were tucked in a corner on the top shelf, along with assorted condiments and leftover Chinese food from the night before. A half eaten pie took up residence on the lower shelf, sharing it only with a couple cans of Coke, which Oli grabbed one of. Stashed in the compartment underneath was deli meat and a sack full of potatoes.

Oli didn't know whether to blame the lack of food for just moving into a new home practically on the other side of the world, or the fact money was tight. Probably both, and he sighed before closing the door.

He went back into the living room, opening his can and taking a sip out of it. It was always awkward when the Sykes family, if you could really call it that since it was just him and his aging, hardworking mother, had guests over. Although someone else who wanted to be there less than Oli made him feel a bit better, he still kept his eyes downcast and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

It was only the kid’s voice that shook him out of his trance.

He talked over Meghan’s voice, who was doing most of the questioning, to the relief of Oli. “Hey Meghan, you've pestered them enough. Can we please just go?”

Meghan glared at Josh again, mouth open, hand over her heart. “Joshua. I am just being neighborly, something you obviously don’t know how to do.”

“Whatever.” Josh mumbled, standing up and stretching his joints. He forced a polite smile at Oli and his mom. “I’m so sorry about these people I’m forced to call my parents acting like the British mafia or some shit.”

He left, slamming the door behind him. The house shook dangerously and Oli had to catch the lamp that was perched on an end-table before it fell and crashed into a million pieces.

Despite the situation and the intense disapproval that filled the room from his words, Oli couldn't help but admire the kid. He had balls. He defied authority and couldn't give a rats ass if he got in trouble.

He was someone Oli wished he could be.

In that moment, he knew he had to befriend the kid that lived across the street.