Guardians and Angels | Chapter Three (Part 9)

If I could rearrange time, I would take the moment his father caught us dancing in the California sunset, and I'd place it so far into our future, the universe would grow too cold for us to find it, all the burning stars would be long gone. God would find that moment, in the darkness, at closing time, and would wonder how it got there.

I'd cut out his father's punch from our memories like a surgeon, cover up the sound of his fist connecting...

Clack!

I'd erase his violence with my violence. I'd demand everyone agree with me. I'd cut the moment away with shiny scissors adorned with serrated edges. Clean slices, intentional severance.

Snip...

Snip

I'd bite at that moment with my teeth. Hard. Tear at it with my nails. Clench down upon it and rip it out, angry at the moment, willing to punish the moment. Make the moment feel what we felt. Violate the moment. Rip it. I wanted to rip it apart. Rip it to shreds. Rip it from the fabric of time.

If I could maneuver time like a magician, swirling its vastness like teacups on a table, I'd let the scene of the two of us tangled together slip away from our storyline like feathers floating upon a whirling sea. Swirling to remain afloat, unwilling to go under.

I'm not a magician though, so every moment will stay in its place. As it should, I guess. It's why we are all here anyway, because hardheaded boys can't rearrange time.

~

Kai went into his bathroom and stared at his blood-covered cheeks, his face, growing puffy, bruising setting in under his hazel gaze, bloodshot burgundy streaks shooting across the alabaster sclera like crimson lightning strikes.

"I'm going to have a black eye," he said, that smirk in his voice. He sounded a little excited about it.

"I'm going to look so cool with a black eye!" he laughed, turning toward me, teeth shining.

Yup, he's excited about it.

His voice sounded a bit strange from his crying, the dried blood within his nose, the shock of everything. He sounded slightly different. Or maybe it was because my ears were still ringing from the adrenaline whiplash of the past ten minutes. He grabbed a washcloth, soaped it up, scrubbing it hard across his face to get the blood off, steam rising from the porcelain sink below him.

"Check and make sure he is gone, gone, Christopher," he said through the washcloth scrubbing, voice muffled. I was gathering our clothes for the school dance into our gym bags, moving quickly, stuffing them inside haphazardly, unaware of wrinkles and how they show up forever in fuzzy pictures for the rest of our lives. Inside my head, I had been repeating my newfound mantra that shows up when someone's crazy dad beats the shit out of them in front of me.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god

Such a good mantra. Covers it all.

I rushed over to his window and peered down the street, his dad's truck turning out of sight a few blocks up. The brake lights like red eyes in the distance, demons blinking as he double-pumped twice and hauled around the corner, too fast, too loud.

"He's gone, gone," I called out.

You can breathe now

When I turned around, he was just staring at himself in the mirror. Steam rising from the sink, fogging up the battered image he saw before him. I knew he wasn't seeing himself. He was looking beyond the mirror. He was seeing through the fog, beyond the mist, past the questions lingering before us. He was seeing someone I didn't want to know but knew I would meet soon. A different part of him he hadn't yet shown me. I could sense it somehow.

He didn't speak for a while.

So many silent moments between us, but we were... synchronized

He just stared at the water condensing before him on the surface of the mirror into a fog. Something was rumbling inside him, I could hear it tumble throughout the stillness. A plot. I think his heart changed a little bit that night. I think it went from pumping warm liquid to something much colder. Some half-iced vengeance was spreading through him. I pictured the pebble ice at Sonic, slushing within his Cherry Limeade-filled veins. Something very deliberate was stirring.

"Us vs. Him, Christopher," he said slowly when he finally spoke. His voice monotone. No emotion. He was telling me a fact. Reporting from a location deep inside him. A place boys go where men can't harm them. Was his voice monotone, or deeper?

"Us vs. Him. I won't let him hurt you like he hurts me," his eyes finally detaching from the fog and finding mine, which were glossy from fear and tears, infatuated with his image. Locked onto him. Whiskey brown portals, boarded up against the world.

"He's onto you," he said.

I didn't ask any questions. I didn't have to. I grabbed our backpacks and held his bag toward him as he pulled on his shirt. He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulders. His confirmation was the last shot into my heart that I needed. A million arrows fell from the skies that day, but those three words pierced me.

"Let's get outta here," I said, heading downstairs, pulling my baseball cap on. Tonight it was a black Giants cap, a bright SF symbol blazing in orange, even though I liked the A's ten times better. I couldn't wear green and yellow. Those colors didn't look good on redheads with freckles.

"I finally get to see your house," he said with a smirk as he caught up and we headed out the front door. My stomach clenched a bit.

Yeah, about that...

I'd never invited him over. I'd never invited anyone over before. I'd always spent the night at other boys' houses. Always the guest. Never the host. There were kids who knew where I lived in town. The ones who lived near me didn't advertise it. The ones who didn't live near me knew not to mention it. I always walked home from school, never accepted any rides from kind parents with big shiny cars.

No thanks! I'll take the shortcut! It'll be faster!, I would say... lying.

Just say shortcut, then it's not a lie.

Yeah, well, it's not a shortcut though

(Shut up)

The shortcut was through a park, and then a neighborhood of newer houses lined with deep purple plum trees out front, then down into a wide creek, then under Highway 101, then out past the railroad tracks, then to the west, then toward the edge of town. No, not toward the edge of town, toward the edge of the edge of town. Out in the Boonies, we'd say.

As we left his house and he locked his door, he turned toward me, his black eye dark in the moonlight, a deep ochre color. He must've seen something cross my face, or sensed my nervousness, as we left, he was good like that.

"What's wrong with you?"

Pause

"I'm not supposed to have anyone over," I mumbled, lying to him for the first time in my life, my eyes immediately shifting away, already regretting saying it.

"Why?" he said, genuinely curious. His eyes narrowing a bit as he peered at me, sensing the deception.

He knows me better than I thought

Synchronized

I looked back up at him, guilty. I shouldn't have lied, it's not like that with him. I just looked at him in the moonlight for a moment, he was bruised but more beautiful somehow. How is he so beautiful?

"You'll see, I guess," I said with a shrug.

"How long does it take to get there?" he said, dropping the inquiry for now. Probably thinking this was another topic for our "I won't mention it, again" box.

"We will take the shortcut, it'll take about half an hour," I said.

"Half an hour!?" his eyes opening as much as they could. "Damn, we need to hurry. We aren't missing this dance. I'm gonna bust my moves!" He sounded like a milk cow when he said it. He grabbed his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and looked back at me.

"Let's go, I can't wait to meet your mom."

Clench... there it goes again

"Yeah... me either"

"She's gonna ask me about my black eye?" he worried aloud.

"No... No she won't," I said.

Not lying, finally.