The Hearts of Lonely People

If anything, his paper was mocking him. And if that was the case, then he couldn’t finish the assignment. He’d simply tell the teacher that everything he put on the paper was shit. Complete shit. And he’d say that, if the very thing he had to write didn’t decide his whole life. Or his high school life.

The problem with writing a story right on the spot is that, it’s too broad. There’s everything and nothing all at the same time. When you try to focus on something, it moves away a thousand miles an hour.

He really needed a topic; but he didn’t want to be too edgy. What did a literature magazine want in a writer?

He’s been working on a story for a while, one about him. Because he deserved a story, just no one cared about him enough to read it. He hid it in a female character, tried to boost up the drama. And it flowed, it poured onto the paper. He was happy, for a second he thought it was cutting edge. It just wasn’t under five pages, it was at least fifteen.

As he placed it in the bin, the English teacher glared at him. That was his cue to leave, most likely because it was a Friday after classes. And the janitors were impatiently waiting to lock the room up.

For a second, he could imagine his teacher pushing all the papers into the trash, or just his paper. Deciding on the grades or the person’s actual personality. He didn’t have either. If that was the case, he wouldn’t make it into any club.

The only students left were the ones who sold drugs in the senior parking lot. They sat in a huge van usually associated with kidnapping. It made him uneasy that his mind went to the darkest places. It’s smart though, because everyone’s out to get him.

He likes to think it makes him seem interesting.

“Hey,” one of the guys opened the van to get his attention. He didn’t have to do that though, because he’d watched the van suspiciously as he walked to the bus stop.

“Yeah,” He asked, not really sure of how to greet strangers. He doesn’t meet strangers, or talk to anyone with a different last name than him. And that whole process is a stretch.

The last time he had an actual discussion with anyone in his house, it was very one sided. His sister had asked where she should go to college maybe ten years ago, he was seven and the only thing he said was “Make it by the ocean”. Which isn’t proper English, and doesn’t really make sense out of context. It counted it though, because he didn’t have the time to stretch back so far.

“Want a smoke,” He asked. It only mattered if he had to pay, and of course if it was legal. Nothing was legal for a seventeen year old, but he could blur the lines a bit.

He walked over to the van to be pulled in. Not the creepy way either, but like they were his best friends. He laughed at the thought. Not because they were drug dealers, but because they were actual breathing people. With interests and feelings that everyone in his household lacked. His family was emotionally crippled, but he really shouldn’t think about them when real guys his age wanted to give him the time of day.

“Here kid,” The oldest looking one said. He smiled at being called kid because he wasn’t a five year old child in the 1920’s.

“How much do you want for them,” Ryan asked, reaching for his wallet.

“Nothing,” The skinniest one said.

If he weren’t so happy he would have heard the oldest one say “Expensive fucking investment”.

They gave him a ride home and told him to smoke the whole pack by tomorrow. Which wasn’t a challenge, because they made him feel interesting and numb at the same time. He couldn’t smoke the whole pack because after the sixth one he felt like his lungs were bleeding and his room looked like a pub. God forbid the musky air escaped his room, his mother would tell him it’s bad for his health as she finished off her bottle of wine. Or maybe her second bottle. He honestly stopped keeping track of what his mother decided to do with her life.

He made his way down to dinner just to keep up an appearance. Even though his role in the family was just as important as a house plant. All he had to sit there and breathe.

“So honey how was your day,” She asked him.

He had started to form sentences only to be cut off by his oldest sister, Victoria, who really should have moved out already. Instead she made her boyfriend of how ever long move in.

“I have night shift next week,” She complained, because being a doctor was so horrible. Making money and helping people drove people insane these days. Crazy people.

“I got my nails done,” his older sister, Haley, said. She held out her hand showing her newly polished nails. He really didn’t understand where she got the money to do this.

He let out a quiet groan, and his father looked over at his daughter’s loving boyfriend.

“How’s the younger man of the house doing,” He asked.

It felt like a shot to the heart, it made him want to get up on the table and preach his existence. It just wasn’t fair.

“Nothing happened, my hours changed. I got dayshift,” Gabe said, like he was disappointed.

He almost laughed, because he knew it was planned out. While Victoria was at work, Gabe would hang out with Haley, and it frustrated him that he was the only one that knew. He didn’t want to know about anyone’s sex life.

He ate silently. No one ever asked “Oh Ryan did you make it that club” or “Why do you smell like smoke” because no one really cared.

He went to bed after dinner. After he washed the dishes because his mom asked him to. After he wanted to slit his throat and die right there. It wasn’t worth it though. He didn’t even have to force a smile anymore; his home was a prison with paint.