Good Luck Charm (Completed)

Regrets and Regression

Marty sat at a park bench as the snow drifted down landing in his slick black hair. It was a cold January day, and he had failed to dress accordingly. In his hand there was a crinkled up bus ticket, and a note from stranger, he had yet to read. Black skinny jeans against the wet bench were uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight moving his backpack strap to his other red flanneled shoulder. His eyes were uncharacteristically watery as he lifted his frigid hands up to blow warm air into them.

He was going to Allegheny County Jail in Pittsburgh, a few hours from his home, to meet his father for the first time in his 21 years of life. He crunched the letter closer in his large hand, letting the still stiff edge poke painfully into his palm. He didn't want to go; he'd told his mother he wouldn't go, but his social worker had insisted he at least visit. Marty's dad apparently had big news, big enough news to summon his son. Waiting for the bus Marty feared the worst, worried his dad had done something awful, and he was being called in to see his father before his father was executed. But Pennsylvania hadn't had any executions since the 90s, even if it was technically legal; a fact you only bothered to learn when your father was a criminal in prison. No, Marty was worried about nothing.

The bus pulled up and he begrudgingly boarded, slinging an overnight bag on his shoulder. He was going to stay in Pittsburgh for the night so he could prolong describing the events to his mother. Besides, it was late afternoon, and by the time he finished with his dad it would be way too late to take the bus back home. Buses made Marty depressed, he wasn't sure why, they just did. Maybe it was the strange collection of people all stuffed together for an hour before scattering back to their depressive lives. Maybe it was the smell of unwashed bodies that always seemed to arise after a certain amount of time on board. Maybe, and most probably, it was that his bus rides always ended up in the exact same place.

The ride was excruciating, for just being a few hours, but Marty's mind was racing around his head, and his black sneaker bounced up and down with nervous energy. He played lightly with a ring on his finger; a claddagh-- which reminded him of Vincent, a red headed Irish boy. Marty hadn't ever been to Ireland, he wasn't even Irish, but something about the ring seemed to hold the calls of a simpler life in the countryside, one Marty would never have.

Why did Marty wear a claddagh? He wasn't really sure. His father had married an Irish woman after Marty's Italian mother and it was a gift. At the time Marty felt as if the woman was trying to erase his mother and her culture, but with age he'd come to appreciate the sentiment of belonging, or at least the feeling of wearing rings on his fingers, which made him feel awfully tough.

Vincent clawed at his mind again, Vincent and Lucas along with him. Freaking out at them hadn't been the right thing to do. In fact, it'd been the exact wrong thing to do, but he'd done it all the same. He regretted it, but more he regretted that despite his best efforts the two boys had ended up together. It was like watching all the pieces of a plan come together and realizing it's a different plan from the one he'd thought he'd had.

Maybe it was for the best, Lucas and Vincent. Maybe they'd make it, but it still bothered Marty to think about.

Left to his own devices, Marty had no choice but to consider the logic of his own choices. Why had he cared so much? Vincent had never really given him a reason to believe he'd never like Lucas, or that it was all useless. Much to the contrary, Vincent had demonstrated a very sincere attachment to the boy. That angered Marty even more than if he'd just wanted Lucas for money.

Marty cared... cared more than he was ever willing to admit. Vincent had been as kind as possible to him, helping with his sister, and in that time he'd developed something of an attachment to the boy as well, which just made him hate him all the more. Marty and Vincent were not friends, but he figured there were several universes where they could be, or even should be.