New Year Ramblings

Holy man, it’s the new year already.

I don’t really know how to feel about it. This past year has been one hell of a speed bump that I would like to never relive again.

I can’t really remember what happened up until September, but after that, that’s when my life took a turn I wish it hadn’t of taken. My oldest brother was killed in a car wreck. He was twenty nine. He was just about to start a new job, and he seemed haply about it. He’d been having troubles with his vices, and I think he was so far into his substances that this new job was a light at the end of the tunnel. He was going to get better.

And it sucks. It really does. He made some questionable choices in life, but he did not deserve to go out like that. Nobody deserves that. He didn’t deserve to get taken out that way. He was trying to better himself. He never led on how bad his addictions were, yet he used them as a crutch. He was so engulfed in them that he was starting to lose who he was. But this new job, he was actually excited for. Being unemployed for a few months because of personal reasons, and also with the call of his addictions, this was a step in the right direction.

His “friends” who knew him in the addictive community probably wouldn’t think much of him, and how he went out. But, and I don’t care what anybody ever says, he did not deserve what he got.

Then, in early December, my great uncle lost a long battle with cancer. He was ninety. As much as all the signs were leading up to the end, it didn’t make it any easier. He was about to start radiation therapy, because his vitals were good. The next morning, he was tired and not as well, and then there was nothing.

That’s the biggest “fuck you” thing about it: he was starting to do better. He was looking up, he was starting to get his energy back. But then, it went downhill, and it went that way incredibly fast.

And now it’s January.

I feel like time has been flying by, and now it’s 2023, and it came out of nowhere. And I feel empty. Just… deflated. My head hurts all the time, I have to fight back the tears, and if I sit idle too long, my brain starts replaying everything back, reminding me that my brother and great uncle are no longer amongst the living.

It really sucks. Christmas felt fake, like those Hallmark movies: all put on for the sake of holding up a facade. It’s all a stage performance parading as real life.

I don’t know what the future is going g to look like. And the more I try to picture it, the more my head hurts. So I’m not going to look that far.

I’d like to say I hope happier times are ahead, but I don’t even believe that. I just want my brother and my great uncle back. I think that’s the old thing that will make me truly happy.

So. I guess I’ll just leave off by saying this: this is where I am right now, and I guess all I can do is take life one minute at a time. Because everything can change so quick.

QM

First To Graduate

He’s the first in his family to graduate.

A smile comes to my mind when I remember him: kind, caring, generous. He always thinks of others first. Whether it is as simple as checking in, or as complex as needing a shoulder to cry on, he cares about the well-being of other souls. His calmness helps, always, and he is always willing to offer it.

He is always strong. Watch his eyes when he needs to make a tough choice in the moment, when he needs to defend himself from the evils and injustices of the streets, when he has no other option but to protect those from harm. He will never shed a tear. You will never see him cry. He will never harm another person, but will punch somebody out if they deserve it. He will never start a fight, but will defend his own.

He’s compassionate. He’s a good listener when he doesn’t know what to say. He’ll let you rant about whatever is on your mind. He will never judge you, for anything. He’s accepting like that, caring who you are and what you believe in. He will never put you down, and will always liberate you and make you feel you are worth being alive.

He’s wise, yet he’s young. He wants to be a different person than what people say about him. He wants to meet a nice girl, and show her that when the time comes, he won’t walk out on her and leave her alone. When the time comes, he’ll be right by her side, and he’ll show not only her, but himself, that he is his own person, and he isn’t his father’s son.

He knows the hardships of the world, and takes on more than he needs to. He accepts your burdens, and will turn them into butterflies. He has no fuse to ignite, no buttons to push. He will not raise his voice, but will speak loud enough to be heard when the moment calls for it. He will not speak over anybody, or interrupt. He will not ignore or taunt, tease or pester.

He likes music. He’s learning the guitar and the drums. He likes how drums sound like heartbeats, and how guitar sounds like the soul. He likes how a song can speak all the words he can’t. He likes how music can say all he needs to say when he can’t find the right words himself.

He’s the oldest of his family. He’s seen more than his mere eighteen years can justify. He still has the rest of his life to live. He is a young man with an old man’s soul.

He is the first to graduate.

QM

Dress Up And Hide

He hated this: the suit, the tie, the leather shoes cramping his feet. But it didn’t matter what he wanted. He had to try, because it was for her; it’s all she asked of him.

He regrets making that promise.

James put on a smile like he was supposed to do. He shook hands with people Claire wanted him to meet. He held meaningless conversations of small talk with people worth more than his life savings. He was careful to watch his words when he spoke – Claire told him her family wouldn’t understand his sense of humor, and wasn’t “familiar” with his “street lingo”. He did everything she told him to do: from tie back his long hair, to take out all of his piercings, to cover up and hide his tattoos, to dress in clothes he hated. He did it all.

And over six hours later, he noticed the side eyes, the stares, glares, whispered words, sneers, snickers, eye rolls. He did all this changing, putting on this fake persona to please Claire and her family, and now…. Now James felt like the butt end of a bad joke.

“Unbelievable”, an older woman with too much blush and enough gold to pay for a small village said, disgust in her voice. “About that story on the news. You know, the one about how those homeless people making downtown embarassing?” She let out a small chuckle. “I mean, I can’t even go downtown for lunch without feeling I need to hold on to my purse for dear life, thinking every bum down there would stab me to take it! Ugh, ungrateful degenerates!”

The group around her listening in all nodded and muttered in agreement.

James only felt like throwing up.

He pushed past people toward the back door; the old woman in gold rose an eyebrow at him. As James reached the door, he thought he caught a glimpse of Claire out of the corner of his eye.

But he didn’t stop to be sure – he needed some air.

Cold air bit into his skin as he stepped out onto the balcony. Taking a deep breath in, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt a bit, revealing his concealed neck tattoo. Exhaling, he felt a bit better. Away from all those people he needed to be fake around.

“James?”

He turned toward the balcony door. Claire stood, half inside and half out. He could hear music and chatter drifting from inside.

He leaned back against the balcony railing, his eyes down watching the floor. “I’m fine.”

Claire stepped outside, closing the door behind her. Holding her arms against the cold, she came over to James. “You sure? I saw you leave. You looked… angry.”

James clenched his jaw. He was angry. These people knew nothing about him, and he couldn’t show them because they “wouldn’t understand”. And they can say whatever they wanted about anything they “wouldn’t understand.”

He couldn’t defend himself, because he promised Claire.

James shook his head. Some promises have to be broken to stay human.

He lifted his head, meeting Claire’s eyes. “Look, Claire. You’re a good person. But…. I can’t keep doing this.”

Claire frowned. “Doing what?”

James gestured to his suit, his leather loafers. He tugged his long hair from its ponytail at the back of his neck, letting it cascade down his shoulders. “Hiding.”

Claire exhaled. “James, it’s not hiding….” She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Look at it like… like you’re just dressing up.”

“Dressing up for a part I can’t play. Not anymore.” James pulled the tie he wore off, throwing it on the snowy balcony floor. “I’ve been doing it for too long. This isn’t me, and you know it. I’m done doing this fake game.”

“James, please-”

“Claire.”

Her big blue eyes fell into his brown ones. He remembered when he first met those eyes, years ago. And how every day since then, he needed to change because he wasn’t good enough.

Closing the space between them, James stepped up to Claire, resting his tattooed hands on her delicate shoulders.

“I’d rather die as I am, as me, than live as someone you think I should be.”

Claire didn’t speak. There was nothing she could say.

James leaned down and kissed Claire’s forehead.

He stepped past her, back inside. Ink etched his arms. All eyes fell to them. But he didn’t mind the staring as he made his way to the front door and beyond: now, he didn’t have to hide.

QM

A Trail Of Blue Smoke

Riz lit up a smoke with shaky hands, cupping the end of it to make it light. Once lit, Riz flicked the butane lighter shut, took a long drag, and exhaled a blue puff of smoke into the night.

I watched him now, with a critical eye – I knew Riz smoked; he’d been smoking since we were both fifteen, when he stole his father’s pack and ran like a bat outta hell. Back then, he said he needed to smoke because it cleared his head, made it easier to think. He needed to think, he said, because if you can’t think, you can’t do anything.

Back then, he needed to think. He lived with an unpredictable drunk father, who beat on him if he breathed the wrong way. His mom ditched when he was six, and there was nobody else in his family who gave a fuck about him.

I guess that’s why we got along so well – because I cared about him, from the first moment I saw him.

Watching Riz now, his shoulders were tight – he had a lot on his mind. Whenever he had a lot on his mind, his shoulders always looked tense, and his jaw was the same. His blue eyes were wide, maybe from lack of sleep. Maybe from whatever he’d been drinking the night before.

Riz’s hand shook, as he lifted the smoke back up to his lips, inhaled as hard as he could, then exhaled like he’d lost all of the air inside his lungs. He closed his eyes, and tilted his head to the night sky.

The silence between us was taut, but it wasn’t awkward. We never had awkward silences, even when there was nothing else left to say. It was just a silence.

“We gotta get out,” Riz said then, his voice a bit raspy. “I can’t take much more of this shit.”

“Where are we gonna go?” I asked back; not that it really mattered. I didn’t care where I was, as long as Riz was safe.

He tilted his head forward, until his blue eyes rested on the gravel road beneath our feet. “We’ll go south. To Vancouver, maybe. That place is so… so different, it wouldn’t be hard to belong there.”

“How are we going to get there?” I didn’t drive, and Riz lost his license when some drunk guy stole his car and smashed it; Riz’s name was on the registration, and the cops only cared about jailing somebody. They didn’t care who.

“I’ve got a bit of cash…. I beat Fisher at a poker game last week, and I sold a few grams for him, he let me keep my earnings.” Riz took another long drag off the smoke. “I might have enough for a one way bus ticket.”

“I’ve got some savings, too,” I said. My parents kept telling me to work my ass off to pay for school, for courses I didn’t even want to take. I had about five grand saved up, all from working a minimum wage job over the winter.

“So we’ll bus. I mean, it’s a bit better than hitchhiking, right?”

“Right.”

Riz looked up, and met my eyes, then. “You sure you wanna do this with me? I mean, give up school, give up your future…. Just to stick by me?” His voice made my heart hurt, like he felt guilty about it. Like it was all his fault.

I took his hand, the one that wasn’t holding the smoke. “I’m creating a future, sticking by you. And that’s all I’d ever want.”

A soft smile played out on his lips. “Ditto.”

Hand in hand, we walked – we’d first go to his place, so he could gather up all he’d take with him. Then we’d stop by my house, sneak in the window, and do the same thing.

As we walked, I held my fingers up, silently asking for the smoke. Careful not to burn me, he places it in my fingers. Lifting the smoke to my lips, I take slow drag off of it before handing it back to him.

“I thought you didn’t smoke.” He also took a drag from it.

I exhaled slow, letting the smoke escape my mouth in wisps. “I don’t. But maybe I can start.”

QM