𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐢𝐯. ✭ 𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐓 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄

JUNE, 1978; EDDIE

I didn't cry about Chance. At least not at first. Once her grandma drove her away I went back inside my trailer and made myself a sandwich. It was mediocre at best.

At twelve I turned on the television and sat in the other armchair sidled beside Uncle Wayne's. He was having breakfast after an extra late night at the Plant, eyes glazed over while he watched the Western movie in front of him.

"What are you moping around here for?" He rumbled, eyes never leaving the screen. "It's summer, aren't you supposed to be playing kick the can or something?" Uncle Wayne sipped on his mid-day beer before finally turning toward me. "Where's your little girlfriend?"

"Chance?" She wasn't my girlfriend but I was way too tired to move, let alone explain that she wasn't like how I'd done about a million times before.

"Yeah, the little red-head girl from next door." Uncle Wayne said through a yawn, shifting around in his plush chair. "Why don't you go on over and ask her to play?"

"I can't." I droned, my chin sitting on my palm. "She's gone. Her grandma took her to go live in Texas today."

"Well, figures." He exhaled, popping back his chair's lever to recline back in it. "It was really only a matter of time that she'd leave you, Kid." The poisonous thought he planted dribbled down into my lungs, stinging my insides. "Us Munson men don't have the best luck with the ladies. Always the second choice. Always left behind. It's in our blood. Same thing happened to your Old Man."

"You mean when Mom died." My brain felt murky like it was filled with numbing water. With my nerves shot, a buzzing feeling trailed up and down my skin.

"Yup."

I didn't talk to him for the rest of the day. He had pissed me off and silence was the punishment. The rest of the day was spent in my room, tediously practicing chords on my guitar until Uncle Wayne left for the plant.

Once I was alone everything became to roll downhill. Sort of like a snowball flipping down a mountain. My body moved fluidly into the living room and kneeled in front of the television to pop in a movie.

Rocky Horror's theme came grittily from the sound box. That summer Chance and I would rewatch Rocky Horror Picture Show every Friday. We had every word memorized and could've reenacted the film on a whim. Our favorite quotes were inside jokes we'd shoot at each other on the daily.

Next, I floated toward the refrigerator, grabbing a chilled beer. The bottle was cold in my hand. It called my name, whispering at me to open it. So I did.

Grabbing a bottle opener, I cracked the funny liquid open. Then naturally, as if I'd been doing it for years, I raised the bottle to my lips. Fluid sloshed down my throat, bitterness coating my tongue. I liked it. I really liked it. Just like Uncle Wayne did. Wiping my lips, I set the beer down on the counter. Television buzzed on in the background.

Zombified, I dragged my feet back to my room. The window in the wall was cracked open, sweet summer air drifting inside. A light tinkling of the wind chimes outside echoed from the front of our trailer.

Sifting through a horde of albums, the Just As I Am vinyl caught my eye. I watched myself sluggishly stick the grooved disc on the record player, slipping the needle to my desired song.