New Jersey (WIP)

New Jersey might not have been the best place on Earth, but it was where I grew up, and that’s where it all started.

*

“Hey, motherfucker. What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that. I hate it.”

“Always whining..!”

“Well, how would you like it if someone accused you for screwing your own mother?”

“Geez, chill out, it’s just a word. You sound so fucking pompous, you know that?”

“And you sound like a douchebag. But I guess that’s not too far from the truth.”

“Jersey River’s next for you.”

I pushed my glasses up on my nose. They kept sliding down, no matter what I did. I could spend the day on my back – they’d still be at the tip of my nose every five minutes. It was those typical ‘original emo’ glasses, with thick black rims. I liked them a lot, but because of them I had to stand the regular exclamations of ‘fucking emo’ and ‘go cry in a corner’. It didn’t bother me much at all though, I was fairly able to douse out any outer activity, only to focus at whatever I was doing at times. When I was younger, they’d thought I was autistic, but then came to the conclusion that it was a thing I was in control of and could utilize when I felt it was needed. All for the better – the ‘freak’ stamp was hard to wash away once you got it. I only had an ‘emo’ stamp, and that wasn’t really all that bad in Belleville, New Jersey.

The conversation I’d just overheard had attracted my attention because the foulmouthed speaker was a boy I happened to be ever so fascinated with. Connor Rowland was three years older than me and a poster boy for the troubled young man who attempted to release his pent-up feelings by writing songs in his basement. He was more emo than I was, on some scale that the cool kids had made up, and he sure looked the part. Thick hair dyed pitch black, with the fringe hanging in his eyes to the extent where he actually kept having to tilt his head to be able to see; dark clothing with lots of scarves, coats and tight girl-cut jeans to fit his slight, lanky frame; black thick-rimmed glasses with a tiny fake diamond on each side; flesh tunnel piercings in both ears... It was ridiculous how emo he really looked. One might think he’d strived towards looking at stereotypical as possible.

I pushed my glasses up again. Sitting on the stone floor with my back against my locker, I looked up as a pair of feet came to a halt right in front of me. Those feet were attached to legs that belonged to Connor Rowland, who currently stood looking down at me. He was too tall for me to get proper eye contact without cranking my neck back.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” he replied. “Wanna skip English Lit and go be as emo as we’re labelled?”

“Sure thing.”

We wandered around for an hour or two, challenging each other at ducks and drakes, collecting fallen chestnuts and throwing in the odd impromptu poetry, just to confirm what people assumed about us. Every poem would end with a laugh though, as it was all quite silly to begin with, and neither one of us could actually compose anything of value. About to return to the school grounds, we realised class had been dismissed half an hour ago, and thus didn’t bother. I would choose Connor over English Lit any day, and I’m sure he knew it. As we parted, he mussed my cap around, upsetting my already messy hair a bit more.

“You’re okay, kid.”

“Thanks, you’re not half bad yourself.”

“Panic At The Disco are playing in New York on the 7th and 8th of May. Are you going?”

“I’ve got tickets.”

“But no one to go with?”

“Right. And mum won’t let me go alone.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“You could go with me if you’d like.”

“Are you going on the 7th or the 8th?”

“Which one is your ticket for?”

“The 7th. The sold out one.”

“Ask your mum if I can take you. She can call me if she wants.”

“Thanks a lot, I’ll do that.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Will do. Take care.”

“You too.”

*

No, New Jersey definitely wasn’t the best place on Earth, but I was quite fond of it, as it were. I learnt a lot there.