The Hollow Days

I watch Emma leave, dazed. I wasn't used to girls flirting with me, and when she did, when she got close to me, I could feel the warmth radiating off of her, and crawling to the surface of my cheeks. The last time I felt like that was, well, never. Maybe I felt cocky towards girls last year, but I couldn't remember ever feeling nervous. Cyrus was cocky, too; only one time did he ever appear nervous to me, but I don't think he meant to be, or wanted to be. He tried not to be, but I don't think he could help the way his hands shook and how his palms sweat around her. I don't think he understood, either. He always said that when we start to understand things, that's when we can conquer them.

I see him, in his button up shirt and blue ripped jeans, his dirty blonde hair spiked up. He's standing in front of Cassie Langred, this dainty little brunette with large blue eyes that almost looked scared. She doesn't really look like his type, but he insists on talking to her, says it'll only take a minute. Says it's only about their project, but I can see in his eyes that it's more than just a stupid assignment. All while I stand back watching them, my arms crossed over my chest, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, Cass." His words seem to echo in my ears. He splays his hands out on his jeans, then wipes the sweat off, still smiling at her.

"Hey Cyrus, did you finish the power-point last night?" Her tone is friendly, but it sounds like a dream, sounds like it's underwater, yet it feels like this moment happened only yesterday.

Surprisingly, Cyrus did finish it. It's rare he ever does his part on a project. But I remember his words when I asked him why he even bothered. "Of course." And it was when she touched his arm lightly and smiled, that the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his smile grew genuine, his eyes began to twinkle. I remember when we walked away, how I asked what the hell that even was. He told me the same thing he did when I asked about his effort, "she's just different."

I hear the back door open and see the living room before me again, then shortly after I see Allyson walk in. "You know what's for dinner?" She plops on the couch, kicking her shoes off.

I head for the stairs. "I don't know, ask mom."

"I would, but she annoys the fuck out of me. Sorry."

I look at her over my shoulder. "Maybe she is only annoying because you're not respectful." I keep walking up the stairs.

I'm about to slam my door before I hear her yell. "And maybe dad is only so mean because you're such a faggot!" I make sure it slams shut now, turning on my stereo. I just wish they never had another child, I wish I could be the only one, so they'd have no choice but to be proud of me. I mean, they can't be ashamed of an only child, can they? They have nothinig to live up to, so the parents shouldn't have that high of expectations. I'm tired now, and lay down in bed, trying to forget about my family for a little while.

"Come on don't be a wuss, now, El." Cyrus raises the joint to my lips, grinning like a fool.

I couldn't help but to grin also. "Oh shut up, man. Fine." I inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs. My eyes begin to water as I fight the urge to cough, but it felt like something was scratching the back of my throat. I cough loudly, the big puff of smoke coming out abruptly.

Cyrus laughs out, tears forming in his eyes from how hard he was laughing. He pats my back while I cough. "Let it all out, bud. Oh god, that was funny. You'll get used to it, but how do you feel?"

I was beginning to feel more relaxed as I sank into the leather of the couch in his basement. The television looked bright to me as we watched cartoons. We talked a lot, passing the joint back and forth before his phone starting ringing. "You've reached someone who doesn't give a fuck, please leave your message after the beep." We look at each other and double over in laughter as he listens to something on the other line. I could see his cheeks reddening. "Oh hi, Cassie. You want me to come over? Sure I'll be right there." He hangs up and gets up quickly, looking jumpy and giddy at the same time.

"Dude!"

"I'll make it up to you, man, come on I'll drop you off!" He pulls me to my feet and pushes me out the door, grabbing his keys.

"Elliot George Fredrick!" Banging on my door.

"Yeah dad?" I say groggily, wiping at my eyes.

"Your mother's called you for dinner about five times." He swings the door open, giving me a look. "And turn that goddamned music down."

I scramble out of bed and punch the stereo off, and then slowly head down for dinner, hearing chatter at the table already. I take my seat across from Allyson, sitting beside my mom. She smiles at me.

"Well, hello there sleepy head." She says in that upbeat tone of hers.

"Hey. How was work?" I smile back. My mom is the only person who has ever given me a positive vibe since what happened. She works at a hair salon, and sometimes does nails on the side. She looked about thirty-five, when really she was forty-three. She was good at all the make-up stuff that helped her look young, and was especially good with skincare. There was barely a wrinkle on her; laugh lines, maybe.

"It was good! There was this girl that came in to get her ends trimmed, and oh, Elliot. You wouldn't believe her hair, it was every color of the rainbow, I swear!" She laughs loudly, and her laughter is contagious.

Allyson doesn't seem to think so. "Yours isn't much better."

My mom stops laughing. "Huh?"

"Look at it! It's red and blonde. I mean seriously, how unnatural is that."

My father clears his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's enough, Al."

And just like that, the happy mood is gone, and the tension becomes so thick in the air that you could cut it with a knife. I shake my head, quickly finishing my dinner and then running back up to my room. I lay in bed for a while, trying to imagine what Emma could be doing right now. I imagine her at her fancy dining table, laughing with her life-loving-mother and all-American-dad. I imagine family photos in golden frames all over their house, their wedding glasses on a mantle decorated with flowers and vases.

I dig her number out of my pocket, staring at it for a moment. I dig up my phone too, punching her name into my contacts, setting up a message before closing my eyes for the night;

Goodnight, Emma.