- > 2008-06-19

[I wrote a story about my teen years because I have no life. Try and guess how much of it is true.]

His name is Anthony. I don’t know much about his childhood, but I know what it’s twisted him into. Once upon a time, he was my favourite living human. By far. There was a time when we were almost inseparable, when we burst on verbosity and never grew jaded. But things change. Maybe, once this story has been told, you will understand why he does the things he does. Maybe it’ll help me to see eye to eye with him again. Or, maybe we’re just wasting our time. Anthony is gall, and I am losing my mind. It’s difficult when everything has changed. I find myself searching for old selves, while speeding forward through an erroneous void of emotes. I never thought it could be like this.
Before, Anthony would have described himself as vertiginous. He’d told me it means that he’s always moving, shifting into a spiral, and I’ll have to take his word for it. The words he speaks are often confusing. He has a deep love for eloquence, which I’m hoping you will read as ‘he likes big words.’ My vocabulary isn’t quite as expanded, and there was a time when I’d cared enough to try to change that. I’ve now realized that it does not matter.
Sometimes Anthony would speak to me in obscene poetry, spitting out metaphors and pentameter, all with an underlying sense of drama only he could pull off with solemnity. Sometimes it was just plain ridiculous. “You’ve red-rovered the Gestapo circling my heart. Nothing can stop you now, Ronnie. No death, no ugly world.” True, he was usually under some form of intoxication when he entered this state of mind, but I loved it all the same. This was him in his prime, shivering with the cool night air in a shed that was not his, a burn in one hand and a misplaced girl to his left. This was how we’d thrived.

``````

I arrived at his new foster home just before ten in the morning, and I must admit, I was surprised at the appearance of the one-storey shanty standing afore me. Small and sweet, the front lawn was extraordinarily well kept; flowers and rocks and grass all meshed together for a breathtakingly wonderful result. The house was a pale blue, with a marvelously white door. When I knocked, it swung right open on its own, at which I concluded it must have been left ajar previously for how else did that actualize?, and let myself in. The air smelled of cleaner, in a pleasant, kempt way. ‘Hello?’
Anthony walked in through the kitchen, and I recognized his look of confusion. ‘Hey. What happened to your hair? It’s straight.’
I told him that was how I wore it now, and he made a face.
‘I liked it the other way. Sanguine and spiraling.’
‘You’re a sloppy prick.’
‘And your sulphurised heart is sorry.’
I couldn’t help but smile, relieved to find that his antediluvian self was same as always. ‘Is Irene home?’ Anthony still hadn’t introduced me to his new owner, and when he shook his head, I was a little disappointed. ‘That’s too bad. She seems cool.’
Anthony grinned, ‘Oh yeah. She’s nefariously hip. Hey, let’s go grab some breakfast.’ He led us out, explaining that there was an IHOP just down a few blocks and that he was familiar with the manager. I wasn’t hungry, nor am I a fan of pancakes, but I didn’t mind. Our rendezvous’ are always worth it.

``````

It’s a mad free ruined world. One that warps you with each minute that passes. You can do what, go where you want. Is happiness even possible? Perhaps it’s better if you’re aware that you won’t succeed, that your dreams will be buried with you. At least then, you’d be authoring your own disaster.
Know you bait me way more than you should.
‘I’m sorry; I was too numb to think.’
You’d never lied to me before, so I fell for your paltry excuses. I never concerned myself with your friends because you never did with mine. I never jumped to conclusions because I had nothing to go on. I can’t believe you’re blaming me for what you got yourself into.
‘The sky’s the limit, and so I want to shoot up the ground.’
The sky’s the limit? Ha. Maybe if you’re holding a hookah in one hand and Jack Daniels in the other. Even then it’s only a matter of time before you’re thrown back to earth, like gravity’s bitch. You should know that damn well.

``````

We claimed a booth in the center of the restaurant, and Anthony baited the waitress into a lengthy discussion about art snobs in the middle of ordering drinks. ‘Come on authors, grab your guns! It’s time to murder everyone that’s never heard of Apollinaire.’
‘Who’s Apollinaire?’
‘An author, I’d assume.’ The waitress released a surprised simper, and walked away with the promise of orange juice.
Anthony continued on, enamored with the topic. ‘Those benignant jerks with all their academic swine...they’re absolutely disgusting.’
‘I don’t know, I think you’re just jealous.’
‘Huh. I don’t think so. Why would I be jealous?’
‘Because their brains are made of porcupines and yours is a paper ball.’
He raised an eyebrow in that way I wish I could. ‘You’re completely mercurial,’ he said. I didn’t get it. I looked on blankly, waiting for him to simplify for me. “It means zappy and inconsistent.’ Oh. Alright. Mercurial, eh? I liked the ring of it.
‘The mercurial apple lies forlornly beneath the lemon tree. I watched the party sway, mercurially in sync. Mercurially speaking, I understand. The wine contained the consistency of mercurial fluid.’ Anthony kicked me under the table, and muttered something obscene. ‘What’s that? You’re feeling mercurial?’
We finished our meal, and he asked if I minded paying. I told him I hadn’t brought my purse. He told me he hadn’t brought his wallet. Uh. Well. We stood from our booth slowly, and walked out the door slowly, trying to appear as typical as we could. No one suspected a thing. As soon as we turned the corner, Anthony let out a yell. My heart was pounding inside my chest, and maniacal laughter shredded out of me. I fell onto the sidewalk, unable to contain it. I’d never dashed before, and it frightened me how easy it was. Jumping to my feet, we sprinted back to the blue house, and my body immediately collapsed onto the plush carpet. ‘I can’t believe we just did that.’
Anthony shrugged. ‘It’s so beautiful, our lunacy.’ I looked up. He was mocking me! I kicked at his shin and he tripped onto me, forcing me backward. I pushed him off, promptly heading down the hall. ‘You got anything fun around here?’

``````

We want our films to be beautiful, not realistic. In the radiance of terror dreams, bereavement has rapacious fingers and venomous stingers. They sneer so close, just to leave you bleeding through prosthetic cuts. Never have they followed through, because death can’t touch you at all. I’d like to see it try.
Why? You had the potential of a green amaranth, and you went and threw it away with one cold, terrible choice. I’d believed in you. You were the avant garde films in my mind. But you’re lost to me now.

``````

Flash forward two hours. We are leaning against the structure of Anthony’s home, watching the long grass of the yard dancing in the wind. Anthony is completely baked. I can feel a slight high in my eyes also, from the second hand smoke. Music plays from inside the house. We’re talking like the parhelions we are; vocalizing anything that comes to mind; munching on Doritos between words.
‘You can’t keep killing God in your eyes, though. People start to think you’re really callous.’
‘I hope you’re not planning on burning down any old churches.’
‘Things could be different, but they’re not. It’s like we weren’t made for this world.’
‘Would you really want to meet someone who was?’
‘No, I just hate it when I feel like an oar in a sunken canoe.’
‘You neglect your wings like you don’t need them.’
‘It’s not even that I’m upset. Just confused. I can’t relate to this shit because I’m not bored enough.’
‘Religion is a crutch. People look to Jesus because they don’t want to panic. Cato as a pun.’
‘As long as you’ve got my back in the city, I won’t have to.’
Rapture Rapes the Muses began to blare through the stereo. We instantly silenced, captivated by the lyrics.
‘Sometimes I wonder if this song isn’t just a haughty lash for verbose insanity.’
I nodded my agreement, ‘It spikes the senses. Kevin Barnes is my unraveler.’

Anthony was still in the yard, opening and closing his eyes with the breeze, as I went inside in pursuit for something better to do.
Which one is his room?
I opened the first door on my right, to find a white-walls-gray-carpet room.
Bingo.
He’d brought the bed sheets from his former foster home with him, which I found odd. I jumped onto the bed nonetheless, pleased that it was soft and clean. The bedspread reminded me of how Anthony used to keep Oreos beneath his bed. I let out a giggle, smiling at the thought of them. Everything tasted amazing in the state of mind I was in, especially cookies. Still lying on the bed, I reached down and searched blindly for the plastic box.
Where are you?
My hands gripped onto a soft, thick fabric, and I brought it out. A blanket. It was heavy; there must be something inside. I shook it open and a sleek metal object spilled atop Anthony’s pillow. I stared for several seconds, trying to make sense of what I saw.
A gun…
What?
I realized there was quite a lot I did not know about Anthony.

``````

I don’t know how long I’d sat there disconnecting the dots, but eventually my ride came. I looked for you in the grass but you were lost. With a wave to the beautiful white door, I stepped away from the blue house and never looked back.
Two months and countless phone calls later, we meet again. You’re a stranger, Antz. In the two years that I’ve known you, never did we talk about anything personal. You never even told me what happened to your parents. I never even introduce you to any of my other friends. Maybe it’s better if we stay detached.

Then, maybe I can stay sane.

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