Disequilibrium

Part 1: Freshman Year - Scene 5

Juniors and seniors pour out of the school during lunch, sticking together in separate packs like herds in the safari. They walk off the premises to wreak havoc elsewhere, smiling and laughing and flirting all the way through.

I can't help but think of how nice it would be to have that kind of privilege; to be able to get out of this shitty stairwell and go out in the world. I imagine myself in their shoes, also smiling, laughing, and flirting with Casper at my hand. We'd be able to go anywhere once we had the ways and means to drive. We'd go far enough to see what waited beyond Seabrook; past the sea-salted air, tall evergreens, and the grand houses. We'd leave behind the stony faces and the fake smiles and all the goddamn whining they offered and find a new place where time's irrelevant.

I'm not stupid, though. I know a place like that doesn't exist and never will. The main reason for that are humans; we know how to fuck everything up one way or another. So no matter how many prayers for the American Dream float to Heaven's gates, it'll never come true. I've come to accept that.

I sigh and look away from the window as I take another bite out of my sandwich. The bread is stale as hell, but I force it down anyway. I've got five bucks in my pocket—given by David—but even thinking about walking to the cafeteria again makes me want to piss straight through my goddamn pants. 

"Patience is key," I say with a mouth full of peanut butter and bread, tracing David's signature on the dusty tiles. All I need is a blank check to be home free. The credit card was feeble—this is the jackpot. I mean, it isn't as if I'll be taking all their money, after all. Just a small amount. It won't even put a dent in their accounts.

Besides, David's always running his mouth about how he wishes he could do more for me. And this is it.

"O homeless hand on many a street, accept this change from me."

The sound of his voice travelling through the stairwell makes me choke on the piece of bread I have in my mouth; it damn near kills me, I swear. Casper, oblivious to the reason behind my coughing, strolls up the staircase with his hands in his pockets and this huge, stupid grin on his face.

"A friendly smile or word is sweet as fearless charity."

Once I gain composure, I ask, "Allen Ginsberg?"

Casper pauses mid-step, staring at me like I just admitted I own female parts. He gawks for a while before straightening his back, eyebrows pulling together in a sceptical look. "How did you know?"

"I've got Howl at home. I recognise his style. Woe workingman who hears the cry and cannot spare a dime. Nor look into a homeless eye, afraid to give the time. That's him."

Casper leans against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest, a considering look resting on his face. "Damn, Holden. They told me you were smart, but I guess I still underestimated you."

"Please," I say, though my cheeks are getting hotter. Does he see them? "Anybody can memorise Ginsberg."

"Hardly anybody," Casper says just as the stairwell doors creak open. "Take my buddy here for example. He can't do poetry for shit."

Just then, another boy appears at the foot of the stairwell, looking angry and amused all at the same time. There are beads of sweat on his dark forehead, which he wipes away with a swift movement of his hand.

"Jesus, Casper. We're in high school now, not kindergarten. I can't be chasing after you in the halls like some—"

He stops short when he sees me, jaw still hanging stupidly stunned and slack from disbelief. I'm equally surprised and slightly terrified that my space is being raided by a complete stranger, especially one who seems to know Casper more than I do.