Meet Me At Pioneer Rock

Why can't he see what's right in front of him, me? All he has to do is look. Look past the smell of incense I'm wearing from Ryan's truck, look past the mask I wear around most people, and see me. But it's not like I'm a hidden, buried treasure. I'm just sitting here, leaning up against our rock, Pioneer Rock.
“Hugh?” I say. He turns to me, and I look at him like I want him to look at me, longing for his lips, craving him like the drugs dad's addicted to.
“What?” I don't know what to say to him. But he obviously isn't a mind-reader and he obviously doesn't see my desire for him. I just want him to think I'm prefect, and see that I've been here all along. Is that too much to ask?
“Will you teach me to skateboard?” I ask, winging it. Hugh shakes his head in a disapproving way. Not what I was expecting.
“Why? You're dad too much of a cheap bastard to buy you twenty dollar lessons from Mike?” He jabs his thumb to the left, where Mike, the 26 year old who made a pass at me once, lives. But of course Hugh doesn't know anything about that. I open my mouth, like I can't believe he just said that, but I do know even if I wasn't scared Mike would rape me, my dad would be too cheap to pay Mike a few bones to give me a intro lesson.
Ever since mom, dad has applied for free school lunches, not bothering to pay the 2 bucks to let me eat school lunch a day. And the time two years ago when he gave me $35 to go to GoodWill and buy some stuff. I did get a typewriter, an old Fall Out Boy CD, and a sweet pair of moccasins, but that's besides the point.
Hugh starts to realize what he's said is rude. But I don't care. I agree with him. And I am definitely not in line to back my fat, lazy ass dad up.
“Pretty much.” I finally say.
“Ugh, fine, where's your board?” Hugh asks, smiling at me with his perfect smile. How he's still single, I'll never know.
“Ah shit!” I exclaim, remembering earlier today. “Mr. Westerburg took it 'cause Ryan was borrowing it to show me how to ollie in the courtyard.”
“Why don't you have any girl friends?” Hugh says, sighing and dropping his smile. Internally, I sob. He doesn't realize they all hate me for being friends with him and Ryan and guys like them. They hate me because I'm independent in that sense.
“I do! Like Carly and Dee!” I say, defending myself. I pull at my pink Pikachu sweater and look at my legs that are semi-covered in my short shorts. This is the girliest outfit I own and it has to do with Pokemon. I remember once, when Ryan was drunk, he kept going on about how soft my legs were.
“Dee? Your mom's friend? Who cusses?” He exclaims, taken aback that I would even mention Dee.
“You fuckin' cuss too...” I say softly, I can't believe Hugh brought up my mom. Looking past him at the girl on the swing set who's mom and dad are having a fight, not even five feet away. But either the girl can't hear them, or she's not listening because she looks as if life won't hurt her, like life won't come back and bite her in the ass.
“Jewl... Your mom's been dead for two years. You gotta talk about her sometime.”
“I know. Peace out, Hugh.” I say as I stand up in my black Target flip-flops on the grass that's holding onto the smell of the rain from last night.
“Aww... You leavin' Jewl?”
“Yeah.” I say as I turn around and start walking the ten blocks back to my house. I turn around and Hugh is walking the other way, his French book tucked under one armpit, which is probably sweaty from his football practice earlier today and his blonde hair that's laced with a brown sandy color has a small cowlick on the top of his head, most likely from his helmet. His jeans fit him perfectly and he doesn't sag like the other half of the boy-population that makes up our high school.
I turn around and tie up my brown hair into a pony tail with the pony tail holder I always keep around my wrist, a trademark I stole from my mom.
I walk, humming Postcards Of Persuasion by Funeral Party and trying not to think about Hugh.
I start thinking about dad. He's been on a “business trip” for the past two days. Which is code for going to a casino and snorting coke and hooking up with prostitutes along the way.
But whatever, that's the lifestyle he wanted. He just got stuck with a kid along the way. After mom died, I learned that I really did have to fend for myself.

I flop down on my bed and pull out my slide out keyboard phone dad forgot to pay the bill on, so I can't call or text on it. I go through my contacts, just because.
-Bobby
-Carly
-Dad
-Dee
-Grandma
-Hugh
-Momma
-Ryan
-Sam

I look at the word “Momma” and click on it. Seeing the profile picture I have for her almost makes me cry. It's from the day mom and I went for a drive and went on a picnic. A day before we found out she had cancer.

“Hey, honey.” Mom said as she shook me awake, her red hair bobby pinned and her cinnamon smell flooding my nostrils like always. My pink walls provided an energy boost and I jolted awake as mom told me to get dressed and kissed my forehead, before walking out, still in her snowman pajama pants and Death Cab For Cutie shirt. My room was different back then. I had pictures of Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers taped on my wall.
I dug around in my dresser and found my New York Giants shirt I had just gotten a few weeks ago, for my birthday. Mom always got me the perfect presents, whether it be for Christmas or my birthday or just because.
Mom and I drove three hours away to this little town and we spent the day window shopping and driving and eating in the car, me making little sandwiches out of ripped off chunks of a baguette and deli roast beef and handing them to mom as she drove and sang along to Beck on the radio.
We had bought little necklaces from an antique store in some obscure little corner of the state. Mom's had a small giraffe on it and mine had a miniature zebra.
When we got home, we had a gangster-movie marathon:
-My Blue Heaven
-Goodfellas
-Road to Perdition
-The Departed

We slept on the couch's secret pull out bed and the last thing I remember was Queenan falling of the building in The Departed. It was the middle of summer and life was good.
This was before dad was into hardcore drugs and destructive crap. He went to other states for business. And yes, back then, it was really a business trip.

The next morning I woke up at 12 and mom was gone at a forgotten doctors follow-up from a visit a few days ago. I got up and walked to my room and got dressed. After getting dressed and eating Top Ramen for lunch, I heard mom's car pull up. I ran outside, barefoot, cutting through the lawn to greet mom. I wanted to hang out with mom some more and I was thinking we could go see a movie or play Scrabble. Maybe even Monopoly. I remember how it felt to have my toes glide through the grass, care free and happy.
I got to mom's red Honda and saw her forehead was on top of the steering wheel. Something was wrong. She was sobbing, almost uncontrollably. I tapped on the window. She looked up and opened the car door, hugging me and wrapping me in her scent, her red hair making a protective net around us.
“What's wrong, Momma?” I asked as I tried to pull away. But she wouldn't let me go.
“I- It's cancer.” She said loudly. It was a real statement. It was real. Definite. I hugged her tighter, like it was the last time.
There were lots of hugs like that. The kind where you know you won't see that person for a few months or a few years.
It's like you want to tie a red string to their pant loop and connect the other end to your pant loop so you can tug them closer whenever you need them. Like they're just a tug away.
There were lots of hugs like that, the kind where I wanted to tie us together so I wouldn't lose her.
And when our invisible string finally frayed and tore, dad went into seclusion. He locked himself in his room.
I couldn't sleep. Hugh would come over and sing me to sleep. Then, about a year ago, around the time I turned sixteen, dad found drugs.
Mom lived for a year after finding out.

I exit my contact screen and shove my phone under my pillow that smells like Hugh from him sleeping in my bed when either he needs to get away from his uncle or when I need some help falling asleep. He'll sing me a song like Bixby Canyon Bridge by Death Cab For Cutie or Mad As Rabbits by Panic! At The Disco. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, maybe even Belt by Say Anything.
He'll lie down with me facing him and he'll make me close my eyes. He'll sing me a song and tuck a loose piece of hair behind my freakishly big ears. He says they're not big but I've thought I was Dumbo since Rachel Kelley called me Dumbo from the first day of second grade, right up until she got hit by a bus in 4th grade and died. I actually cried when I found out she was dead. That was the first funeral I had ever gone to. And I barely remember it. I cried, but I didn't feel remorse like I should've.
I walk downstairs and spot the home phone sitting on it's dusty charging dock. We rarely use it, but dad never forgets to pay that bill; it's combined with the cable TV we have.
Our house is a pretty decent size. It has two bathrooms, one for me and one for dad, and our rooms are on opposite sides of the house, connected by the kitchen and living room that we never use. In our living room there's a small fireplace and above it, there's picture frames that have been turned upside down so all you see it the back of the frame facing the ceiling, and so the pictures of mom are hidden from view.
I type in Ryan's number, not knowing what else to do. I hit call. He picks up on the third ring, his greeting being an opera of people coughing. I assume it's him, Hugh and Calvin all getting high.
“Hello?” He says weakly, a small cough arising.
“Ry, it's me, can you come over?” I ask. I really want Hugh, but that's not gonna happen. Ry is different. He has always been here for me and he helps me through everything.
“Jewl, you okay?” He says, snapping out of his smoky self. I can almost imagine him standing up as he asks and consequently dropping his pipe. It pisses me off that he won't let me smoke, but he's just looking out for me. I ask every time and every time he says no.
“OHHH IS THAT JEWL?! LAST NIGHT WAS FUN, JEWL!” I hear Calvin yell in the background. I roll my eyes and walk to the front door. I open it and sit on the concrete step, looking at the cookie-cutter houses jammed together across the street. Staring at the sunset that's appearing across the sky, I think about how I used to have friends. Then mom died and I shifted toward the guys. Every once in a while, a guy I don't hang out with will end up questioning my sexuality because I haven't gone out with anyone since sixth grade, and the guys will beat him up. Or threaten.
“Calvin, shut up. Sorry, Jewl, Calvin's pretty drunk.”
“Oh, if you need to babysit him, that's cool, I can just see you tomorrow.” I say, walking on eggshells. I look at my toes. I have always thought my toes were retarded. Literally, retarded.
“No, I'm getting my jacket. I'll drive over there and be there soon. Love ya!” He hangs up. Ry is my only guy friend that will say “love you” to me. Everyone else thinks I'll take it seriously, even Hugh.
I set the phone down next to me.
I close my eyes and think about last night.