Lost Boy

I was kidnapped for 62 hours, which I now know is about 2.5 days. My racecar watch would “vroom” on the hour every hour. The engine revved 62 times during my confinement, counting the noise kept my young mind sane. I was in the first grade and just learned how to count to 100 a skill I took much pride in.

​I was waiting on the bench watching my brother play basketball when I was taken. All I can remember after that is counting and pretending to be in an NBA locker room. My brother Richie was looking after me that day, flying around the court like Michael Jordan. He was my hero and even then I understood he didn’t want the burden of watching his little brother so I waited on the bench for him to finish. I never blamed Richie for that day but I’m probably the only one that hadn’t, including him self.

​The town I grew up in was relatively small and my Mother participates in local bake sales so the news of my disappearance was ginormous. I didn’t understand then but everyone came together for the search party. I gave everyone a purpose, a reason to feel united, part of something heroic. That’s alright with me.

​I wasn’t even upset when my Mother spent the first few days of my return baking cobblers for the volunteers instead of consoling me. I found out later in life that this is called a “coping mechanism”. All together now “cope-ing-mech-a-ni-sm!” They told me my sense of humor about what happened to me, or as I like to call it “whatever happened to me” was one.

​ When I did come home I didn’t feel different, until everyone treated me different. Although I returned, my credibility as a mentally capable human being never did. Everyone expected me to crack, to shoot my classmates, or kill my parents. Everyone assumed me to be dangerous, or some kind of a loner, but I wasn’t. I wanted a normal life with normal friendships just as bad as any kid my age. I was aware that everyone had questions for me and hell I would have even answered them, I just had no answers.

​Girlfriends were out of the question as well. I suppose everyone assumed I was submitted to a marathon of violent, crude, sexual acts that would set the basis for a copycat lifestyle filled with leather masks and humiliation. However, not even the twice a week therapy sessions of purging my subconscious could bring up evidence of that during my 62 hour memory loss.

​The upside of having little friends or distractions in high school was a lifetime on honor roll. Sometimes I did wonder if my grades correlated with how sorry a teacher felt for me. They’d say things like, “You’ve done so well, considering everything…”

In which I would reply, “Yeah that global warming is a bitch”. Causing the teacher to implode into laughter that only victims or cancer patients get. I have this laugh down to a science, it is made up of the following elements: relief –that I didn’t fill them in on my outlandish plan to take down the school, pity, everything sprinkled with pity, and pride- the freak can make jokes! Perhaps he isn’t such a freak after all!

​Nothing bothered me about my situation more than the way it affected my brother. Growing up I found the more forgiving I was toward him the worse off it was. It wasn’t good guy, bad guy, he is my brother; but everyone wanted someone to blame. Richie played the part of the bad guy all too well. As he grew up he filled his body with incriminating tattoos, his record with felonies, and worst of all his arm with heroin. I guess that was his cope-ing-mech-a-ni-sm.

​So “despite the odds” I grew up to be a pretty simple and happy guy. On my last day of high school, my acceptance, and myself letter to NYU moved to Manhattan.

​“Please let me help unpack my shit!” I pleaded as my parents and a set of neighbors carried my things up the crammed apartment hallway.

​“You need to rest, you must be exhausted mentally and physically! Moving is very hard on a person. Why are you cursing? Is something bothering you?” my Mother’s eyes welled up.

​“It’s our pleasure to help you man, honestly it is” the neighbors cheered almost simultaneously throwing me a smile that says, you’re so brave, I would have killed myself if I were you. A face that I will not miss once the U-Haul pulls away.

​No one let me lift a finger since I was 7years old, overcompensating for the one hour I was left alone and something happened. I was sent away in attempts to help do the dishes or pay rent because all my parents’ money was spent on Richie’s rehab.

​Not to sound like every wide-eyed college kid but I really did need a new start in a place where no one knew me. I tried to get Richie to move in with me, we both could use a new start. He even agreed to but he disappeared the morning of my move; probably for the best.

​Parents always have trouble dropping their kids at college but I literally had to pry my poor Mom’s hands from my neck to send her on her way. Watching my Father hold her up as they walk down the stairs, I cringe to think of how much Xanax she will have to take just to get home.

​The rest of the day was spent rearranging the furniture they set up. Even though the fridge was stocked up compliments of my Mother I decided to go out and grab a bite myself.

​Something strange happened when I go to the street. A drill to my brain, a flash of remembrance I could spot my kidnapper’s face clear as day. Suddenly every person on the street resembled some version of him. It seemed like they were closing in on me, walking faster, honking in their cabs, pushing other stolen children in strollers. Everything was amplified; I was losing it just like everyone thought I would.

​I duck into a restaurant and catch my breath in a booth. It was a bar and just like the street, pretty crowded for the middle of the day. A waitress approaches me, looking exotic compared to the girls I am used to at home. Her shirt is cut at the neck exposing her shoulder, a hoop dangles out of her nose, and her head is shaved on one side. I’m not sure what her deal is but I’ve made it a personal mission of mine to not judge others.

​“You look like you could use a drink!” her voice sounds like there should be a wad of gum in her mouth, but there isn’t. She slides the drink specials menu onto my table. Trying to laugh off my shaken appearance to not label myself a freak in another city, I take it. It is filled with alcoholic beverages, which leads me to believe she doesn’t realize I am 18. I point down to a beer under the IPA section, and say a quick Hail Mary she won’t check my i.d.

​“You got it!” she clicks her tongue and heads to the bar.

​This was my first normal interaction with a human being since I was 7. She doesn’t feel sorry for me, or fear me, in fact it seems she may even trust me not checking my I.D. That makes me feel a little bad to lie to the first person in over 10 years that treated me normal. However a downside of being a loner in high school is not being invited to many parties. I would like to establish a bit of a tolerance before I am drinking in front of my peers.

​I decide my best attempt at trying to fit in is not try. I know every child was raised with the advice just “be yourself” but I never could be. Observing the rest of the high-schoolers I found the ones that tried came off obvious and desperate and while they would be in the social spotlight momentarily through a kegger at their parents or driving around the actual popular kids their popularity was short-lived and they went back to their lives.

​New York City struck me as a place where people didn’t really hide their identities. In this bar alone I see all different types of people. For instance the waitress, I would typically think the groups that find her appealing would carry motorcycle helmets or have spikes protruding from their chins but that doesn’t stop the table of business men from staring at her ass and nodding their awkwardly manicured eyebrows at her.

​She places the beer in front of me, its dark brown which I find confusing. I’ve obviously seen beers before but it was always a golden foamy river flowing the bottle that hangs from a sleeping Richie’s hand.

​“Yum!” I hear myself say, immediately regretting it. It reminds me of when my mom places something displeasing on the table and I don’t wan to hurt her feelings so I say some ridiculous word like yum or de-lish! The waitress smiles at me as if I’m some foreign creature and laughs, “Well you enjoy, I’m Piper. I will be here to help you if you need anything” she places her hand on my shoulder and walks away.

My hand swiftly palms over the remaining tingle of her touch as if to trap the feeling. Her touch felt warm and foreign. Things seem to be looking up. Cheering myself I raise the heavy mug of thick liquid. I expected it to taste chocolaty but quite the contrary. It tastes the way ink does when a pen explodes in my mouth. My strategy to survive this is gulping it down as fast as I can, the grown up equivalent to holding your nose.

​“Whoa where do I sign up for the race?” I see a distorted figure in the bottom of my empty mug. “Dark beers are meant for enjoyment my man” ,he is slurring a bit so I would imagine he has been here a while.

​He looks about my age, a long frame that seems to fold in half as he slides into the bench across from me, and a chiseled face that I imagine girls would like. That is probably where he gets the confidence to talk to strangers.

Something goes off inside of me, like a siren of hope that I have made a friend. Like I could finally answer, “yes” to my mother when she asked me all those days if any of the children from school were coming to my birthday party.

I seize the opportunity but as I open my mouth I feel the mud I just consumed rise from my stomach. Human instincts tell me to make a fist and burp into it. I look up with apologetic eyes, feeling I’ve failed at this first impression. He sits before me laughing hard, not the laughing I am used to be instead a genuine laugh. He flips two fingers up at Piper as if to signal her, “Two Stellas Pieper, this thick stuff is going to fill our boy up over here”

​She winks at him, confirming his order and my suspicions about how girls reacted to him. He extends out his hand, I am petrified he will attempt to engage in some sort of tribal handshake I don’t know but he simply shakes mine. “My name is Jake, you waiting on anyone or you always drink by yourself in the middle of the afternoon?”

“My names Sean, I just moved here from Minnesota figured I’d start my time in New York with a beer”

“Land of the lakes! No shit? My boy Gabe is from Minnesota” he points to a group of guys hanging out at the bar, “No reason to drink alone man, come join us” I notice that he keeps calling me man and wonder if I should reciprocate but I’m not sure I could pull it off yet.

“Yeah man, that’d be cool” success! If only Richie could see me now. I think about him for a moment, my stomach fills with emotional rocks. In my first moments of social opportunity I feel guilt that Rich will most likely not get this feeling. If only I can tell him things can get better. Maybe if he sees I am better.

“This is Sean guys, he is from Minnesota! Just like you Gabe!” Jake pronounces it with a Southern accent which makes no sense but I laugh to show I’m a good sport.

“And what did he come over here for? A fucking medal?” Gabe doesn’t seem to take a liking to new friends.

An Asian kid bumps his fist into mine, “I’m Timmy, pardon our friend Gabe. Nice to meet you dude. Minnesota? What are you a Mormon or some shit?” again this makes no sense but in a few years neither will the “Sk8 or die” tattoo he has on his forearm.

​For the most part all of them are friendly aside from strange stares Gabe gives me. They joke, drink, talk about girls, music, and sports and don’t ask me why Oprah never contacted me for an interview like she did other kidnapped children. I sip beers and pray that no servers i.d. me, removing me from the only social circle I’ve ever been apart of.

​I realize I am drunk when I open my mouth and hear Richie’s voice. The slurred, slowed, sloppily fragments of words putting together sentences. Pieper hands us a bill. “Sorry guys my shift is ending, I am heading out to a club up the street with a few girls though, care to join us?” she seems to stare straight at me. Although I am not attracted by Pieper I am flattered.

“Gather ‘em up Pieper, we will see you there” Jake makes the consecutive decision. I would go along with his niche as the groups leader and do as he says but I don’t want to push my luck trying to get into a night club with nothing but my high school i.d. card.

We all split up the tab, I try to not look shocked by the cost considering I’ve never bought myself drinks out a bar in NYC and figured it would be pretty expensive.

“Pieper doesn’t look at the rest of us like that.“ Timmy observes, this solidifies my acceptance within the group.

“Yeah well look at her fucking haircut, she looks like she would be into chicks” Gabe storms by me, slamming his shoulder into mine. He slams the door open and walks out into the street.

I’m confused, “Did I say or do something to him?”

“No man, Gabe just has a chip on his shoulder.” Once again Jake speaks for the group, “Probably jealous you got attention from the girls or something. Don’t let that worry you, you still coming out with us right?”

Gabe wasn’t the reason I wouldn’t be going but he was a good enough excuse. “I’m alright guys. I appreciate the invitation but I have a lot unpack” =

There was a sincere look of disappointment across Jake’s face. “Well if you’re sure. Were playing ball at the park tomorrow at 2. Come down, Gabe will chill out”

​I picture Richie, dribbling down the court, not a care in the world. Red Chuck Taylors weaving through his opponents so fast it looked like they were on fire. If I just stayed put that day Richie could still be playing ball with his friends. I won’t let these thoughts take over another day of my life. I need to snap out of it but being drunk just amplifies my feelings.

“Let’s fucking go!” Gabe calls out to his friends from the corner. There is something in his voice, something disturbing. It snaps me back to reality, or whatever this is.

“Get going, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” It is nice to have plans.

“Don’t be surprised if I steal Pieper from you bro” Timmy points his finger at me as he walks backwards towards Gabe.

“All yours!” I laugh and turn around, slightly stumbling on my way home.

Once again I am alone but it doesn’t feel so obvious now.

The boxes are cluttering my apartment but I am hesitant to open them, as if particles of my old life will escape and pollute the air. Resting against a big box marked “Winter clothes” I smile to myself but it hurts. I think about my Mom, I should call her, let her know I made some friends but she would be able to hear the boos behind my voice. A technique she has picked up from having an addict son. I think about her as a teenager, probably so filled with hope. No idea that her son would be taken away and returned only to send the rest of their lives spiraling. I often think if they would be better off if I never returned but I know better. She is so broken, just shards of the woman sticking into her soulless body, cutting and scaring the new her.

​There is a picture we kept on the mantel, the picture they used when I went missing actually. It was one of my t-ball games, my mother baked the coach his favorite casserole and he let me on Richie’s team, even though I was too young. She tells me to this day that it was because of my excellent pitch. She laid out our matching uniforms and even bought a replica for Dad. Richie had made it to third and it was bases loaded by the time it was my turn at bat. Most of the other teammates groaned when they saw my runt self pick up the bat but not Richie. I looked to him as I always did when I was afraid. He nodded at me, that’s it , just a nod. I knew he believed in me. I gripped the bat back like he taught me, closed my eyes and swung hard and haphazardly. Then came a crack that sounded like a bolt of lighting and I could hear Richie screaming getting closer, “Run Seany! Run the bases”. He made it to home plate and gave me a gentle shove. The players in the outfield stumbled around never anticipating I’d hit the ball. I ran so fast I could swear my legs were going to crumble to soot but I didn’t stop. “Get to me” Richie screamed, jumping through the air. When I made it to home plate my Mother had jumped out of the bleachers and scooped me up wrapping her free hand around Richie. He clung to her leg and we all grasped tightly. The perfect moment caught on film, one of the last times Richie really ever made it home, one of the last times I ever really was able to get to him.

​He always looked out for me, always believed in me. Tucking my legs into my arms I curl myself into a ball, reaching my hand into pocket grabbing my phone. I wish I really were old enough to buy liquor because I think just a bit more would numb all these feelings. I slide my fingers through the contacts, and find my brother. He isn’t even in my recent calls. Holding the phone outward, dropping my head to my knees part of me is wishing he would call me. Telling me he forgives me, he forgives himself, wishing me some fucking luck. When I lift my head nothing has changed except the time. One minute has passed, and nothing has changed, and often that’s how we believe things are but were wrong. Things only happen during minutes not years, or months, or even days, its minutes, the rest is just static, meant to make us believe life is long, life is worth it, keeping us hopeful and hardworking. Everything happens within minutes.

​One day I was just a little boy watching his brother play ball and then a minute later I was a prisoner. One minute Richie was a nice boy from Minnesota the next, a felon, a junkie and I fear it will take only one minute until he is dead. I don’t give myself another minute to hold back and I press send. The phone rings twice and I reach his mailbox, he clicked the ignore button. Its still good to hear his voice on his voicemail even if I can’t make out what he is saying.

​I try to jumble together words, figure out the right thing to say but I just panic and then the beep goes off to tell me that times up and its time. “Richie?” I call out his name as if he can still answer. “Richie, its me. Please call me Richie, come see me. You don’t even have to call. I don’t even have to tell anyone your here Richie…” I lose myself within my own one-way conversation, a message that will be heard but never really get through. I just cry sobbing, wet, spit, and teary eyed cries, so much so that I’m afraid my phone will shut out. I hang up. I am alone again but this time it is all too evident.

​For the first time I don’t to hide. I don’t have to pretend for the sake of others. Is this who I am? Is this the unmasked version of myself? Sitting around a box of old belongings drunk, weeping uncontrollably. I haven’t cried like this since then. Loud, sobbing cries, that even he muffled but now there is no one to stop me from caving in. Perhaps this is the breakthrough, the distraught epiphany. Perhaps I will wake up brand new, fixed, now that I know I am broken. Maybe that was my minute.

​ When I awake I subtle toxic waste in my stomach, a gentle pulsing of the head and a mouth so dry I’m convinced my tongue swelled up and absorbed any liquid my body was able to produce. I am assuming this is a hangover but it is bearable which is making me thankful I didn’t switch to the hard stuff. I am curled up in a winter coat from my now opened “Winter Clothes” box.

​My eyes feel sore the muscles do form working out. Last night floods back to me rapidly, the tears, the voicemail. I am afraid to see if I have gotten a response. No matter what Richie is, he is my older brother, and what he thinks of me weighs heavy on me. My phone is filled with nothing but spam emails and messages from my mother asking why I’ve slept in so late. It is pretty late and if I actually am going to meet those guys for basketball I better start getting ready. It feels too soon to refer to them as my friends.

​First I know I have to call my mom and silence all the worries in her mind. It would be nice to let her know I met some people here and that I wasn’t spending the day completely alone like I usually did in Minnesota but I fear telling her I’m going to play ball will trigger some old flashback. We couldn’t so much as have basketball on the television in our house without her having an episode. So maybe for today I will hold out on telling her about the people I met and just let her know I am alright.

The phone doesn’t ring more than twice before she answers, “Sean! It is a quarter past one in the afternoon”

“Very good Mom!” I joke with her, “Are you learning your times tables as well?”

I hear her breathe away her worry, small huffs into the telephone receiver, she hasn’t mastered letting it all go yet.

“You’re a real riot!” she lets herself attempt to laugh, but fails.

“Everything is great mom, I guess the move just whipped me out. How is everything back home?” The word home sounds strange to me now. I look at the small cement walled apartment, one window, with the view of another building, and a small bathroom, is this my home now?

“We are fine. We- “She stops, “We miss you Sean” ,I want to ask her if the “we” included Richie. I wonder if he has even noticed my absence. The first time Richie went away to rehab m parents thought I couldn’t handle it. I was about 12, they told me he was sick and that is why he had acted that way for so long. They told me that when he came back everything would be different. I waited four months, planning things we could do together, building fishing poles out of sticks I found in the backyard. The day he came home I ran down the stairs, he knocked into me as he passed me up the stairs and kept going, packing up his things, except the fishing pole I had made him and walked out. He didn’t come back for a few weeks and was in no means “fixed”. I remember how quiet the house seemed without him, I wondered if it was like that now.

“I miss you guys too”

“A lot of the neighbors want your address, they would like to send you care packages” the subject is changed.

“That’s nice but I’m alright Mom”

“Don’t be rude Sean! It is a nice gesture”

I’m beginning to get agitated. “Rude? I survived my whole life off of nice gestures can I just live my own fucking life for once Please!?”

This time I hear an inhale on the other end of the phone, sucking in twice the amount of stress and pain that she exhaled earlier.

“I’m sorry Mom, that was really wrong. I know you everyone is just trying to help”

“Dr. Fraushner said you may go through a rebellious stage being away from home. I should have prepared myself that’s all. Just please be careful”

My hungover stomach growls, perhaps the doctor’s right. “I promise Mom, I will call you later okay?”

“I love you Sean”

“I love you Mom”

​Al though the conversation and the stomach cramps don’t put me in the mood to play basketball I figure my chances of friends picking me out of a crowded bar in the middle of the day are a one shot deal so I go.

​Jake hangs from the chain link fence, yelling out “Minnesota” when he sees me. I am a bit relieved that they remembered I was meeting them. I do a strange hand gesture and yell back at him “Jake” in a voice about 6 octaves lower than mine. I am evolving.

​“Where is the rest of the guys?” I ask.

​“Well Gabe is on his way, got caught up helping his Dad and Timmy is a little caught up himself…” he nods his head over to the other side of the court. Pieper and Timmy are all limbs and tongues tangled in each other.

​“The one that got away” I kid, holding my heart.

​“There will be more, but for now we play ball” he throws the ball to me but it’s all just too strange. Not only have I not played since I was seven years old, I can’t stop picturing Richie’s red sneakers, the benches, the chain link fences. The beginning of the end. I should have figured I would react this way but all these reactions and feelings are new for me. The ball drops to the ground and begins to roll away. Gabe shows up right in time to catch it and knock from the social circle.

“What the fuck? You can’t catch a ball? You think we just run and get it for you?” he is furious. I’m baffled by him, even if he didn’t like me why the hatred toward me?

“Chill out Gabe, fuck. Let the kid breathe “ Jake comes to my defense, which I worry may make the situation worse. He grabs the ball from Gabe and walks over to me, speaking under his breath “Seriously don’t worry about that. Sometimes Gabe’s Dad can send him into a really bad mood. He will calm down.”

​ He side shuffles over to Gabe, seemingly to get the ball but I see past it. He places his hand on Gabe’s shoulder and says something I can’t make out. Gabe shakes his head up and down. Jake squeezes his shoulder and slaps the basketball. Throwing it with both hands at the back of Timmy, who is now slightly down the pants of Pieper. “Lets go!” Timmy pulls himself away, I flinch watching hoping he isn’t caught on her lip ring.

I’m starting to understand why Jake earned the position as leader of the group. He seems to keep this ecosystem running. As they start to play into their roles on the court I am remembered where I was snatched from mine. The scuffling of the sneakers, the rubber against asphalt, the chanting, and cheering. I close my mind and I can remember his shoes. Walking toward me, these brown leather, scuffed up shoes, with tassels hanging where the laces should have been. I’ve never had a flashback like this before, even after the therapy, and the talks with my family never. I don’t remember opening the box labeled “repressed memories” last night.

I am brought back again, “Sean, heads up” Timmy screams. The orange ball comes soaring through the air as if it was in competition with the sun. I cup both hands and grip my hands around it. Then as if the moon did not want to be outshined a shine crescent shaped object comes flying toward my face and I start to see stars.

“Gabe, Are you serious?!” Kyle shriek is filled with concern.

My nose feels like it has exploded off my face. I look around to see if it is laying next to me and notice the river of blood pouring from my face. My nose is still intact but it’s in pain.

“I was just going to get the ball” Gabe acts defensive. I put the proof together, he elbowed me in the face as soon as the ball touched my hands. It happened too fast and precise to be an accident. I can’t keep my cool anymore. When I cup my nose, my hands fill with blood, I can’t even recognize it as blood when it flows this freely.

“What is your fucking problem with me?” I push him hard on the shoulders, sending him backward onto the ground. Just like my homerun during t-ball that day, hard and unexpected. I’ve never pushed anyone onto the ground before, I’ve never been so angry before. Another breakthrough.

​His expression on the floor is shocked, on his shoulder lays my handprint in my blood. The image alone frightens me. His friends circle around him, no one breaks eye contact with the bloody print. I’m not sure if they are going to kick my ass now but I don’t even mind, it seems like the best way to release these feelings inside me.

​He lets his eyes follow his gangs, to find the print. Perhaps I’ve maimed him the way I was once maimed. He tries to wipe it away but the print remains, just like mine.

“Beat the shit out of him Kyle. I’m covered in his blood” I see tears buckling from his usually dead eyes.

I look at Kyle waiting for him to swing, knowing I won’t lose an ounce of respect for him even if he knocks my teeth out. He just looks down.

“Go home Gabe, just go home”

This causes Gabe to spring to his feet, “You know I can’t go home! You said I didn’t have to!”

“You can’t act like this man. It isn’t right” I’m not sure what to do and neither is Timmy or Piper who has stopped being a sideline spectator and ran over to see the commotion. “Lets go guys”

Kyle Walks and we follow; I found my place in the pack.

​Just because the confrontation is over my nose finds no reason to stop bleeding. Small spurts of blood drop on to the pavement, I crane my neck forward to keep from it pouring into my mouth. The reaction from the public is a mixture of disgust and concern. I notice Jake, Timmy, and Pieper shield me from their looks. That brings in a feeling so incomparable to the pain. The silver lining I’m always hearing about.

​“We have to get you cleaned up” Pieper gets shaken up when she realizes all the blood. “Gabe is such an asshole!”

“Lets not let this ruin the day.” Timmy holds onto Pieper trying to keep her positive and focused on him.

“My apartment is up the street I can run in and change” I’m glad that I won’t be spending the day alone inside it.

​As we walk Jake doesn’t speak much, seemingly deep in thought. I fall back a little bit to speak to him privately. An easy task now that Timmy and Pieper were back to being all hands.

“I really appreciate you having my back. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to leave Gabe behind. I’m just some new kid”

Jake cuts me off, “You’re my friend too, and Gabe was just some new kid once. From the same place you’re from, there is no reason for him to act that way. I look past a lot of things for Gabe because he has a bit of a situation at home but he can’t treat people that way”.

I want to ask about Gabe’s home life but I don’t. Jake’s loyalty is admirable and I wouldn’t want to thank him for it by acting like a gossip.

I decide against inviting them in due to the clutter of just moving in and they don’t seem to mind considering the beautiful weather. My reflection is alarming, dried up crimson like a crusting goatee from my nostrils to my chin. I remove my shirt and run it under the cold water. Gently pressing is getting me no where, I know I’m going to have to endure the pain and scrub hard if I want to get rid of this.

My wandering mind removes me from the situation. I know better than to compare Gabe to other people. Everyone has his or her share of family problems but Gabe’s hatred is rooted deep. I can see it diluting the color from his eyes and sanding down his teeth as he speaks through their grit. That is the way people expect me to act.

​No time to sit around in the mirror analyzing. I rip open my “Summer Clothes” box and grab a t-shirt that my mom had basically folded into a pocket square. I get pretty frustrated at first by the amount of effort it takes me to unfold this cotton origami but then remember it is only because she cares and now I can do things on my own. Throw my keys into my pocket and fly down the stairs, jumping onto every other.

“Looking good as new” it seems the last few moments have gotten Jake back to himself too.

“A bloody nose never killed anyone” My attempt at playing off the throbbing in the middle of my face.

“Obviously you’ve never seen how I get down!” Timmy jumps in front jabbing his fists forward. I duck to avoid any accidental situations.

“Stupid” Pieper laughs. “It is so beautiful out. Let’s get some drinks”

“Kind of an issue…I’m 18” I reveal one of the many things I had been hiding about myself.

Pieper’s face drops as she swings an arm into my shoulder, “You ass! I served you beer yesterday!” Laughing more than I expected her to.

Jake intervenes tossing his arm around my shoulder, “The mans gone through enough physical abuse for one day Pieper! Plus don’t act like you didn’t strut around with your fake id when you were 18”

She puffs her breath out sending her multicolored hair dancing. “Okay, fine you’re right!”

“So Pieper as you so correctly pointed out it is a beautiful day, a beautiful day for some drinks! I just happen to know your pal Amanda is working todays shift you think she could close her pretty blue eyes to our young man over here?”

I flash her a big toothed grin, “Pretty please”

A moment passes as she squints at me through narrow eyes then grunts, “FINE! But you better act cool don’t get high school wasted on us!”

Crossing my pointer finger over my heart I make her the promise and we are on our way.

As they walk ahead I watch Timmy slide his hands into Pieper’s back pockets. It makes me feel regretful. There is nothing about her that stands out to me nothing I’d want from her aside from warmth. A beating heart to drum in my ear, fingers to roll through and tug on my hair, and a mouth filled with saliva. Would she hold me tight as I told her the truth about me? A gentle understanding whisper saying everything but saying nothing at all. I watch her bright purple shorts, and neon top, everything about her too loud, too aggressive. I had never been with anyone before, not physically, not emotionally no valid connections to another human being.

There are times I can feel the pit within my stomach deepen, corroded by loneliness. Trying so hard not to stare my pupils begin to feel like a burden. Who would have thought being a part of a crowd would make it so difficult for you to blend into one?

“Did you have a girl back at home?” Jake asks, as if he could read my mind.

“Nah, just haven’t met anyone that I find interesting” Which is the truth.

“Yeah it’s no easy task. Once you find that interesting one though, it isn’t too easy to hold onto her” he looks down and sighs.

“Woman troubles?” I ask unaware what to say if he does confide in me.

“I dated my girlfriend for 6 years, felt like I had spent my whole life with her. Then she heard some song on the radio or some shit and decided she had to find herself. Where do you find yourself? How does one go about doing that?” he seemed to get choked up. It was a valid question though, one I certainly don’t know the answer to.

“I’m sure you have lots of girls that are into you”

“Yeah, and I try but by morning I’m sober and looking to bolt. You know how that is” he laughs.

“I sure do” I don’t.

​When we arrive at the bar a girl comes behind and slaps Pieper on her ass. She has long blonde hair, and perfectly tanned skin aside from the white circles around her eyes that I assume is from sunglasses. Her uniform looks painted on and I admit I would be envious of any one who had the job to do it. “Well Hello! Look who came to keep me company!”

Her and Pieper hug and she hops around the group kissing each of them on the cheek. I notice Timmy and Jake gaze at her up and down which I think she notices. When she reaches me she extends her hand, “I’m Amanda. You’re new.”

I put my hand in hers, its soft with pink finger nails. “I’m Sean and yeah, I guess I am new”

Pieper whispers under her breath, “He is also 18, he is cool though. You don’t mind do you? I promise he won’t cause any trouble”

I wish she could have waited at least a few hours before she told her. I feel like a juvenile until she looks me in the eyes shaping her lips into an O shape, “ooooh, you’re bad!”

Normally I would find this obnoxious but I guess the new me is shallow.

“So… “she rolls her eyes around the group of us, “…shots?!”

“Yup!” Jake calls out.

Amanda jumps up and down clapping, my eyes follow her movements but I play it off as a nod.

“Be right back!” she seems excited about everything she says, which I have mixed feelings about but then she turns around and I find a reason to be excited myself.

“She may be the hottest girl I’ve ever seen in my life” I blurt out.

“Yeah and she is bat shit crazy” Timmy rolls his eyes my way.

Pieper belts him in the side, “Shut up that is my best friend!”

“I thought I was your best friend? “ Timmy jokes with her holding onto her hips which leads directly into a mouth to mouth episode that no one needs to see.

If Amanda works as quickly as Pieper I may have a shot in hell.

“Lemon drops!” Amanda squeals slamming down a tray of sugar coated shot glasses and lemons.

“I’m not drinking that shit Amanda” Jake declares.

“Yeah, that is a shot for a chick who is looking to spend the night with her head in a toilet bowl” Timmy agrees.

She crosses her tan toned arms, which pushes up her chest even more and pouts. I want to find this adorable but I just can’t. “Fine! More for us!” She hands me two shots and there is no way I’m going to let her down.

​I throw back the shot and it actually tastes pretty good. “wooo!” she yells and shoves a lemon into my mouth, Feeling her fingertips on my lips makes me a slave to anything she asks of me.

​I can hear my voice get horse as the night progresses since all Amanda really asked me to do was take shots with her and chant out “woos” and “yeahs!” each time. I can tell that I am drunk but this is a much different feeling than when I had a few beers. Amanda looked incredible before before but now she is flawless. I even started to understand the things she was saying and agreed with some of it.

“There should be like no president!” she poured more shots except this time most of it spilled onto the bar and she was blinking a lot.

“You’re on your own bud” Jake slaps me on the back and excuses himself.

She is completely oblivious to the insult as she stares at me to respond with big doe eyes.

“How do you mean?” I wasn’t sure if she was telling me a joke.

“Like, let everyone do what they want and no one will be pissed off. Like bring all the killers to an island and let them kill each other and just let everyone do whatever they want and be nice”

I stare at her for a minute, completely dumbfounded “Totally”

She hands me the shot, the smell alone makes my guts rise to my throat. After the 6th or 7th the sugary lemon goodness began to take on a cleaning fluid taste. As bad as I want to refuse I don’t want to look like the little inexperienced boy that I truly am. She opens her mouth wide, tilting her head back and pours the shot from above splashing it into her mouth.

“Impressive” I yell over the music.

“Yeah, it is kind of my party trick” she wipes her mouth with her bracelet filled wrist. “Now take yours” she starts jumping again. I do as she says. There are a few moments where I may expose the contents of my stomach all over the bar but they pass. My face puckers tightly as she shoves the lemon into my mouth.

“This is so fun right!” she screams

I nod my head flashing the lemon in my teeth trying to hide the fact I’m about to die.

“You are so funny!” She is cheering again, and then turns serious pulling the lemon from my mouth and popping it into hers, “Do you want to come home with me?”

The lemon in her mouth alters her speech, It is borderline hilarious but I let it come across as sexual.

​Nodding uncontrollably, yes. When others have their first encounters with the opposite sex it is supposed to be uncomfortable, but I, at the ripe age of 18 should be a veteran at this. She pulls the lemon from her mouth and drool trickles from her lip. Strangely enough it is the first time I connect with her, I see she is in fact human.

​She kisses goodnight to her employees and customers friendlier than I’d like if I gave a shit about her. Sliding through the tiniest of spaces between the bar her already minuscule stomach sucks in to show ribs and the bottom of her perfectly round and what I’d imagine god given chest. A large red bag filled with buckles and logos slides onto her small muscular arm. Her patrons all give me reactions, some yell, “How dare you!” while others, maybe those more experienced scowl into, “Good luck”

We head out to the front door. As weak as she looks her grip around my wrist is strong. When we reach the door I feel a stronger hand on my shoulder.

“Hey Amanda, can I talk to him for a minute?” It is Jake.

“Sure!” she grabs a cigarette from her purse, “I’ll be outside”

I look to him unsure anything he can say will stop me from going home with her. He scratches the top of his head as we both watch her walk outside putting on a show for anyone who has her in their vision. I think I need this. How could I ever express to Jake how bad I need this? How different I am than him?

“I’ll be alright” I tell him, grabbing the back of his neck the way he would to me. A way I never would with the confidence I had earlier in the night.

“I know! I just look out” He locks both hands around my neck so we are now forehead to forehead. “I just want to make sure you have my number if you want a first class ride from your walk of shame tomorrow.” He hands me a piece of paper.

​I shove the piece of paper into my pocket as far as I can. My paranoid instincts kick in. How foolish am I to go home with a person I don’t know. I am scared and that’s who I truly am but this person I am pretending to be is not. My jaw locks us and I swallow hard, staring Jake right in the eyes. He stares back with nothing but concern for me and I trust him. He laughs as I stare him solidly in the eyes. I am not afraid to ask him anything.

“Is it safe if I go home with her?”

He chuckles hard, unsurprised by my question. “She is a bit slutty man but she won’t cut your fucking head off”

I look at him for some time, I never met anyone like him. He reminds me of the people at my Mother’s bake sales or car washes the people that pretended to care yet he was real. I would have given my right fucking arm to have Richie look at me that way. I want to tell him but it is too much. I grab both arms around his neck pulling his forehead even closer, “You are too fucking good to me man”

He pulls me closer, “Get home safe”

​I’m not up to this. Why did things have to happen this way for me? What if I could call Richie right now? Ask him advice, make him proud.

“Taxi!” Amanda yells out her voice sounding like nails on a chalk board her body looking like a Monet.

A taxi screeches in front of her, I’m not surprised. She rips the yellow door almost off the hinges. Grabbing my shirt by the collar she wraps her fake nails around my neck.

Amanda wraps a leg around the side of my body straddling me in the back of the cab. Soft hand sliding down the button of my jeans snapping the elastic of my boxers. I see the cab drivers eyes in the rear view.

“Amanda easy” I croak pressing my arms against her biceps, tossing her off.

She climbs back up, “I can’t wait” she laughs. It sounds like fun but it isn’t. Her touching me makes me more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.

​The cab brings us to West 27th street a large building that reads Alumni Hall.

“Um, are you bringing me to a dorm?” I wonder what I’m getting myself into.

“Hell yeah, I go to F.I.T I’m going to be a handbag designer.” She catches my expression, “Don’t worry my loser roommate is visiting her parents in Long Island”

​I’m starting to get tired and tired of her. Everything she says just bothers me more. However I feel like I am on some right of passage or something, a job that has to get done. I give the driver a 20$ he gives me back $7 and two judgmental eyes.

The walls are lined with flyers about fashion shows and college student statistics. Amanda rocks from side to side of the hallway making me second guess my reasons for being here. I don’t want to take advantage of her.

She twists around swinging both hands at her side. “This ones mine”

A big lipstick made of construction paper is taped to the door reading “Manda” It makes me cringe a bit, “I never would have guessed” I joke.

“It says my name right there, Manada is short for UH-manda” she thinks I am the stupid one.

“Oh! Duh-Manda” I play it off and she rolls her eyes. This is not going well.

One foot still in the hallway she twists me around and injects her tongue into my mouth. It is sloppy but warm and foreign to me. She projects a nasally groan, I look down to see if I stepped on her foot. I realize this is an instinct of pleasure not pain, or at least that is what she is trying to make it. I follow her lead and let out a deep husky grunt. As soon as I hear it with my own ears I am mortified with myself but it seemed to have impressed her. Grabbing her shirt by each side with crossed arms she tears it over it her head. In the bright lights with running makeup and acne scared chin I realize she isn’t flawless at all.

“I want you”, she purrs at me as I notice her fake eyelash begin to dangle from the lid. This is a nightmare but I’m going to do it anyway.

“I want you too” truth be told I still do in some animalistic sense.

Wiggling out of her jeans into the neon lace underwear to match her neon lace rhinestone bra. Matching undergarments of expectation. I realize I could be anyone in that bar right now and my chances of being here have nothing to do with me. I don’t feel so bad about being here anymore; if it weren’t me it’d be someone else.

She pushes me down onto her desk chair and leaps onto my lap. “Wanna play a game?” whispering then following up with a salty lick to my ear.

“Sure”

She grabs a bandana from her desk and ties it around my eyes. I don’t know what I’m doing in general and now I’m blind. I feel her grab my wrists holding them together and breathing heavily in my ear as she ties them. Immediately they ache, the jammed together soreness I’ve felt before. It comes back to me like a meteor landing on my skull. “Stand still kid” I can hear his voice, wheezing through a cough, pulling tighter as I struggled. I was tied up and I’m just remembering it now. Feeling like my shoulders were going to break from my body. I have to uncover my eyes.

“Let me go!” I scream.

“No, no, no” She is still playing but I’m not.

I jump to my feet knocking her off me and I hear a loud crack. The kind that makes birds flock away from the woods during hunting season. “FUCK” she screams. I realize she must have hit her head on her desk. I have to get out of here. It is simpler than I’d imagine to loosen my hands and I rip the bandana from my eyes.

She is rubbing her head and laying on the floor, “What is your fucking problem!”

I just run, run, as fast I can. I don’t stop until I am in the street with two bright lights and honking horn coming my way. The tires screech and a taxi driver hangs half way out the window. “Watch where you are walking!”

I bolt into the back of the cab and give him my address. Rocking back and forth, repeating the voice in my head, the voice I had not heard in so long. The driver stares at me but knows better than to ask questions. I stink of boos and show movements of mental instability.

When I arrive at my apartment it does not feel like home at all. I dash up the stairs and throw myself into bed, cupping handfuls of blanket to hold above me. I wish that I was home. There were so many things about home I hated that I may have taken for granted. I try to catch a familiar smell, Mom baking or even cigarette smoke coming from Richie’s door but there is nothing there. I close my eyes and I see a- wood paneling wall, so vividly the concrete floor and wood paneling wall, a décor that I could recognize as ass backwards even as a child. I know where this is, it’s where I was held captive. I can remember it like it was yesterday, a small fist scrunching together my orange striped shirt trying to hold on to the remains of my mothers scent.

I didn’t want her to leave me the day I was taken, she scooped me into her arms as she got ready. She glanced at both of us in the mirror as if she was seeing something for the first time.

“You are growing to be such a big boy Sean”

“Then how can you still lift me mommy?”

“Love gives us all types of strength my baby” she managed to pick up her perfume, the spray spritzing into the air landing on us both like snowflakes “And I love you with my whole heart”

I smelled that shirt wondering if I would ever get to hold onto her again. Hour by hour the smell started to fade, and it was taken over by something different, a strong musk, something I can’t make out.

I want the thoughts to go away but my eyes are held shut by pools of salt and a lump forms so rapidly in my throat I’m not sure I will catch my breath again tonight. When I did become reunited with my mother she was not the same and even though she wrapped both arms around me as the police man handed me off to her there was no strength behind them. I knew love gave strength but I had to see if strength could give love and from there on I was strong and nothing else. I didn’t cry, I didn’t answer questions, and after sometime I didn’t even remember.

​Every time I thought I had a moment alone, to break, to react, or try to understand a head would peak in, a hand would grab for my shoulder, and I had to put the mask back on. Unfortunatly the moral to my mother’s story is love can suck all the strength from you faster than it can make you strong.

​Now I am alone, as alone as I was in that basement, grasping for reminders of home and coming back with a handful of puzzle pieces I don’t know how to put together.

​I had not resumed my life until this moment, paused during my captivity and filled in with lies until this moment when I cannot lie to myself anymore. I have no one to fake it for, I am going to bed once again in a strange place and I have no idea who I will be when I wake tomorrow morning. This is the first time I have been honest, the first time I have met myself.

​I think about my brother, I wonder if he knew all along. If he saw through me and couldn’t take it. I want to ask him but I’m not sure how to speak to him anymore. I’ve created these false languages; the correct amount of hand gesturing, a perfect place to smirk and the ideal degree to nod your head all to show that I’m just like every one else. That I am okay. I don’t know if I am the puppet or the master and I don’t know if my life ever really was worth living or that it ever will be. Will I ever break from this charade, How was I able to train myself at such a young age? It is as smothered my true identity with a pillow and took over its body.

I jump to my feet shaking the thoughts from my head. I can’t continue to brain wash myself anymore. The apartment is filled with boxes one of them must0 have a clue as to who I really am. If I could find a physical object to just remind me, solid ground to build on.

My fingers slip off the tape as I try to open the box, I rub my thumb across the rest of my fingers the sweat presses back into their pores, more repression. It is filled with clothes, blue jeans, and solid t-shirts. I always made sure not to stand out, never to send a message. I could vanish into thin air and the only thing that would be left to say about it is that it wasn’t the first time.

​The thought infuriates me and real true emotion, fury. That internal alarm goes off inside me as I slide the useless box across the floor causing it to spill over. I can hear warnings to tone it down but I’m not sure if I am the receiver or communicator. Regardless I am done. My feet stomp into the ground as I walk over to the next box, grasping the corner of the cardboard tightly, tighter than I’ve ever let myself hold anything. The other hand follows its lead, and I pull. Elbows digging into my ribs, teeth gritting hard, as my neck veins pop out. Eyes wider and focused strong on the box, promising not to look away until it is ripped to shreds. The physical act of destroying something is the best form of relief I’ve ever felt. Watching the phone charger wires, and scratched up video games discs fly through the air I realize before they even land they are no help.

My knuckles burn a cold white in my shaking red hands, each holding a piece of the box, broken into two, just like me.

Spotting the blood soaked shirt in the corner its almost as if I can smell it. I walk over and pick it up, regretfully that it is adorned with my blood and not Gabe’s. My ears ring with the sound of impact on my nose. Tightening my grip around the cotton I am ready to tear it but as my eyes close an image calms me. Gabe’s face how quickly it transitioned from smug to afraid. How shocked and surprised he was as I charged toward him and how he whimpered on the ground covered in my bloody print. I have never been a violent person but until now I have not been a person at all. The handprint I’ve left on Gabe was my first mark I’ve left on this world. A world that I have tip toed on, never taking, never standing out, or owning. As my muscles begin to relax they pulse, they will no longer hang limp from my bones. I feel my mass get heavier in this space; my feet sink deeper into the floor. I will not hide another day, I will live.

A ringing phone wakes me up around 8 am. It is my Mother calling to make sure I’ve made it through another night alone.

“Hello?” I’m groggy.

“Sean? Sean? Are you okay? Are you sick?” immediate panic, as always.

“Mom yes, I was sleeping”

“Oh. Perhaps it was a bit early to call. I’m sorry…” her voice trails off. I realize how hard this must be for her, how her whole life revolved around me.

“No, no its okay Mom. How are you this morning?”

“Well, I’m okay. I got up rather early to finish my reading since my book club is meeting tonight”

“That’s nice, how was the ending?”