And Going Away Means Forgetting

Too much coffee was not good for me.

I plugged my earphones and started listening to Ryan Adams, the best artist to listen to early in the morning.

I waited for Rob–my boyfriend's stop over. We're both Seniors and we met during our eighth grade, he became my best friend and at that time he had a girlfriend who was so mean and bossy who makes Rob a slave of hers but she was the one who broke up with him because she thinks he doesn't love her, and I was responsible to help him to get over that bitch (I know, he was so young).

Rob lived down the block from my house, we'd always sneak out; although, both our parents know we're together, and we'd go to the café to have coffee.

"Jane, scoot over." Cam said.

"No." I replied with a harsh tone.

"Rob's not around. Now move." She demanded. Rob was not around and he didn't even tell me anything. Jesus

"How did you know?" I gave up and moved to the seat next to me even though I hated the window, it made me want to choke up everything I had since my birth.

"I know everything. Pfff.."

"Yeah right."

"Well, he called me last night and told me he can't go to school because he has family matters." She left off sounding like she wasn't sure but I didn't bother asking her further more why's.

We kept quiet the whole time until we got to school.

Four years later, who knew somebody could change from being an outcast to be someone who is widely known in school. I mean I'm kinda part of the cool kids since at last I've gain friends, well six friends actually and the rest are just acquaintances. I met Cam during my Freshmen year, alone. Cam has a blonde overly-straighten boob-length hair and side fringe. She's the typical blonde girl, she loves shopping and boys, she's smart but not boy smart. She sleeps with everyone she meets during parties. We have the same height and she's actually a year older than me. Cam is short for Camille, she doesn't like to be called Camille because she thinks it's too girly for her (when in fact, she's girly). She's the type of person who is punk rock but with a twist of blonde girl blood, well at least that's what she says when someone asks her to describe herself. I'm still the same, quiet but with a loud personality; although, I've grew taller because I'm already nineteen and I've already crossed out one out of hundreds on my bucket-list by dying my dull brunette hair with pastel blue tips, it was Cam's idea because she thinks my hair is too nice to be dull and tied with the same old high ponytail.

"Rob ditched me for our double Wednes-date." I frowned. I hated Wednesdays, they're the worst. Cam and Kennedy & Rob and I would always have Wednes-date since we were all best friends well except Kennedy because he's not from our school, he had a band but I forgot the name. Something with "Maine", Our Maine? A Maine? From Maine? The Maine? I don't know. I don't really talk to Kennedy that much. He was shy but hilarious and sweet. He's that guy who's really enthusiastic and gentle with the gap between his two front teeth. I remember he would always say the story when you ask him why he had a gap.

"Kennedy's out too. He went home to Tempe to meet a friend. Their band is in good terms now. They somehow broke up in seventh grade because their vocalist left, or at least something like that." She took a bite from her semi-melted bar of Butterfinger.

I kept quite merely because it made me remind of someone from past years. I've moved on but not fully.

"But hey, at least they're okay now. Hopefully, they'll get internationally known so I could join their gigs." She grinned.

She loved Kennedy more than anything even more than me.

Cam kept going with Kennedy's band all throughout lunch time and it wanted me to cut both my ears but I love Cam. Her annoyance is tolerable anyway.

The day was longer than I thought it was. Rob wasn't around, Cam was way over the other side of the room to talk to. It was only a 15-minute walk home to I just decided to walk home and pass by Rob's to scold him for leaving me.

It mesmerizes me to how beautiful Arizona is. I remember watching the sunset everyday with my mom on the roof deck, we would have tacos and diet coke. My dad would not always be around because he would always have business trips, maybe that's why they always fight, always I mean every night. If there would be a night that there wouldn't be screaming and fighting it's either my dad's not around or it's a fucking miracle.

I stood in front of Rob's house for a minute before knocking. Rob's mom, Grace, opened the door for me and she knew–obviously, I was looking for Rob.

"Oh. Rob's not around, didn't he tell you?" She asked.

"He didn't mention anything about going out of town or at least something with that nature." I innocently smiled at her.

"He went surfing with his dad for a few days. Oh you know, it's a father-son thing."

Why didn't Rob's mom go with them? I mean why leave the lady?

"I guess I should come back soon again. Thanks again, Grace." She doesn't want me to call her by her last name because she feels old. I mean there's nothing wrong with that, neither do I want to be called by my last name. "Oh Ms. Parker,". Jesus.

I went straight to the cafè to make the most out of my time, just like any other day. They should have this "customer of the month" and my name would always be there.

I ordered my usual which are French Macarons and their 'drink of the day' drink. I study there as long as I want to be. I can't study at home with all the screaming and crying. It was too depressing to study. I'm tired of both their bullshits. I don't even know how they survived nineteen years together, if I was mom and my other significant is fucking killing me emotionally, I'd definitely leave him.

I love and hate both of them at the same time, it's hard.

I reached home past eight in the evening. As usual, my mom would be downstairs to wait for me and my dad would be probably in their room or getting drunk until past three in the morning.

"Mom," I called out. "I brought home Carrot Cake." I smiled at my mom who was standing in the kitchen, as always. She looked like she cried since the day Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. Her eyes were swollen and red, even her nose were red. I wanted to ask her if she was okay and what happened but my mom's answer will just always be, Don't mind me at all, I'm fine. It's just misunderstanding and you know. Misunderstanding my ass, mom.

For the nth time, I wanted to punch my dad for being such a douche to my mom. My mom was perfect–tall, petite, short curly honey brown hair, she graduated with the highest honors and went to Europe just pursue her career in Culinary Arts and yet my dad would always abuse her with ugly, dirty words.

I'm an only child which is hard, hard to cope with this kind of family. Why can't just Cam adopt me. Why can I just go back to California and be a rebel, be a badass motherfucker.

"Your dad is in the basement watching the Godfather." She sobbed. "Bring him the cake, in case he liked one."

"I'll just leave this in the fridge, I'm tired." I stared at her blankly. "Tired of your bullshits." I mumbled. She didn't hear it though, she was busy sobbing and staring at the window pane. I ran upstairs without excusing myself.

I laid my back in bed, planning and wanting to get away. I looked at my light wooden bookshelf, half occupied with my books and other documents. My mom didn't really encourage me to read, that's why I didn't have piles and piles of books lying around my room. I reached for my Vinyl player, placed the needle and Arctic Monkeys began to play. I left myself fall unto the bed; I was exhausted.

A plain, maroon and dusty box caught my attention.

Maybe it has my emergency money, or saved up money and coupons that could let me get away. As if I could actually get away with this. Jesus. I'm overthinking again.

Curiosity still creeped me out. I got up again and reached for the maroon box. I tied my hair into a bun and sat down into my office chair near the table where I put all my school books. I slowly opened the box, it felt like I was opening a treasure box with gold bars inside. I was fragile and kept my small hands lightly holding the box.

It had a pile of letters with scribbled hand writing was kept complied together with three-colored rubber bands. It had another small box, still unopened because it had a beautiful ribbon tied around it. It had a wallet with crumpled $10's, $20's and $100's inside. Another was a red with blue and weird (weird I mean I can't even understand the graphics) pattern that was somehow fading. It smelled old and seemed overused. 'JCOCV' was written at the lower right corner of the bandana. I don't remember having it actually, it's been years since I opened this little box again.

Who's JCOCV? Jane Coco O. Cacatoo Villa? Jack? Jeff? Jen? Jennifer? John?

John.