My left shoulder feels like it's hanging by a fucking thread. It hurts so much; it's like a constant, throbbing pain. When I straighten it, it cracks audibly; loudly - but it feels stiff and tense like a coiled spring that never releases. I lean against our worn couch in our matchbox living room and sigh. Our quack of a doctor said that it seems like "bursitis of the shoulder." I asked what I should do. She said, "Don't use it." And prescribed a total of zero pills.
"My shoulder hurts," I call out to my mom.
"You gonna keep whining or do you want an OxyContin?"
I sit up. "We have OxyContin? How?"
Cal texts me, "So, what are you doing?"
I thumb the text away - I'll respond in a bit, once I take this. My mom sets 3/4 of a pill down on a napkin in front of me, and I down it with my glass of grape kool-aid. I wince and try to ignore how the jagged bits of it scratch at my throat.
I turn on the tv, and I feel like I can't concentrate on it. I flip through my Instagram Explore page; scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. I think about what to say to Cal, like "watching tv, you?" But, I'm not really watching anything. What should I say? I want to sound interesting; I want to sound like myself - or what do I say, how do I act after what happened between us? Somehow, twenty minutes have passed. Why hasn't Cal texted me back? What did he mean before, when he said that thing when he was talking to his mom in front of me, last night? I can't remember, but I feel good. Really good. And warm. Really warm. Too warm? No. Like the type of warmth that envelopes you when you're wrapped in a fluffy blanket; feeling peaceful and content, like you don't have any worries. No problems. My shoulder still hurts, vaguely, but I just don't care about it anymore, or about anything bad that has ever happened in my life or to me. It feels like being with Cal... Cal holding me... Cal wrapped around me... Cal who didn't text me back. I check my phone. Oh... I was the one who didn't text back. My mind feels syrupy slow. I languorously, languidly type each letter into my phone, "idk nothing you? I thought I replied to you in my head lol" And I laugh to myself. I feel like sending the YouTube link to Kid Cudi's "Don't Play This Song," to him, but I feel too lazy to, like I'm attempting to swim in cement. Or, I feel like just texting back, "want to know what I sound like when I'm not on drugs? plz don't text me back," I laugh again to myself as I hear Kid Cudi rap those words in my head. They reverberate around and around. I drop my phone next to me, and fall asleep.
YOU ARE READING
The Bluest Hour
Teen FictionThe blue hour is "a time of day when the sun has just set or is about to rise, when the sky overhead takes on a deep blue color, and when the landscape is suffused with bluish light." "The blue hour doesn't even come close to lasting a full hour. In...
