House of Lincoln

5

Come Monday morning, Clyde and I went to school. This is the day that we're meant to hang out with Rusty. I don't know what we'll do. I bet we'll end up playing some board game that's collecting dust in Clyde's basement, or maybe we'll watch a terrible romance show that Rusty watches solely because he fell in love with the lead actress. Whichever it is we finally choose, I'm sure it won't be that exciting. I just don't look forward to it, that's all. Currently, while Rusty and Clyde pass notes next to me in class, I sit slouched over my desk scribbling on a piece of paper. Clyde takes a note from Rusty, looks at it, then laughs. Then he writes some joke down, hands it to Rusty, and then Rusty laughs. I'm still drawing on my paper and I'm getting very engrossed in it. I start to stop thinking, and now convert all my concerns into a mysterious energy that travels down from my brain, into my hand, into the pencil, and then released in the form of lead. Clyde looks over at me and then down at my paper. "What are you drawing, Lincoln?" I didn't answer him until I was finished drawing the last door. "A map of my house." He seems upset now.

I don't think Clyde likes that I'm always concerned with my house. He knows how much stress it causes me, and he knows that I exhaust myself running worries back and forth. Man, a coffee would be great right about now. There's nothing better, I've found, than the bitter black taste of an iced coffee sliding down, cooling your throat, and the freezing yet refreshing ice pushing against your lips. I've spent many of my recent hours dreaming about coffee. It's kind of become a comfort for me, and something that helps me calm down when I'm anxious. Though coffee is thought to do the opposite of "calm you down," I think it's more of a psychological consolation. It helps me think straight when my mind is scattered (and believe me, it's scattered a lot). Clyde receives another note from Rusty, and he returns his attention to the hilarity of their note-passing correspondence. While they're both laughing, I'm stuck looking down at my drawn map. It only begs the question: What haven't I found?

After school, me and Clyde leave Algebra to meet Rusty. We all leave in his mom's car and she takes us back to Clyde's house. When we get inside, we're greeted by Clyde's dads, who seem to be in a particularly good mood. After I spotted that the bedroom door was ajar, I came to my conclusion. Both parents laid out a line of old board games (as I suspected, covered in dust) that we were allowed to choose from. From "Roll the Dice" to "Make Your Money," the several dated board games wore their titles dramatically on their cover. As fun as "Spider Maze" sounds, I'd rather just sit and talk. I suggest to Clyde and Rusty, "What if we just go to the park?" Clyde asks back, "The one by your house?" I didn't want to answer that, so instead I excused myself to go to the bathroom. After I finished my business, I pulled up my pants and started washing my hands. Naturally, I looked up at the mirror which reflected my image. I don't know what came over me, but it was just so captivating. I couldn't take my eyes off of the mirror. Even though I was looking at myself, it felt like someone else was looking back. I couldn't tell if they were looking back from inside the mirror or from behind the wall. Somebody was looking at me so intently that it felt like it pierced through me. But I didn't see anyone. Nobody was there. It was all my imagination. I left the bathroom and made a cup of coffee in Clyde's kitchen.

We all did end up going out, but we didn't go to the park—Clyde wouldn't allow it. We went to the mall because Rusty mentioned a store that the "cute girls" go to and insisted on showing us. (Neither me nor Clyde were interested, but it was the only idea someone coughed up at the time). Surely enough, Rusty proudly marched us to the "cute girl store" (which turned out to be a clothing place) and when we got there, he was eager to pull out his wallet. He whipped it out and said, "Watch and learn, fellas." He walked up to a girl inside the store, handed her a twenty, and told her "I'll pay for it all, baby." Watching him do this was extremely uncomfortable—but watching him get hit over the head with a purse was incredibly entertaining. He walked back to us with a bump on his head, and we could tell he was close to crying, but he tried his best to mask it with a sense of optimism. "Welp, they can't all be winners!" Then Rusty chuckled and looked at me. "Your turn, Lincoln!" I didn't understand the first time. "My turn what?" His stupid face lost all sadness. "Go find a girl!" I remember thinking at that moment, "Dear God, kill me now. Kill me (or Rusty) right now in the middle of this mall." That wish was never granted. "No, Rusty. I'm not creepy like you." He frowned. Clyde said to me, "Actually, Lincoln... maybe it would be good for you. You know, to have someone to talk to."

Now I had Rusty and Clyde peer pressuring me to talk to a girl. It could've felt more like a 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎 than my 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎. After more painful persuasion from Rusty and some reassuring comments from Clyde, I decided to give up the fight and just go in. I went into the clothing store, and it wasn't until I walked in a bit further that I noticed this was more of a women's clothing store. As soon as I realized that I cursed Rusty under my breath. I was in the socks aisle (not purposefully) when I saw a girl who had a unique outfit on. She was a tall girl with black hair that came down and curled at the ends. She wore a small purple sweater and a black skirt. I dared not mention it to Rusty, but I'll admit: She was pretty. I walked over to her (trying my best to look like a sane person, but what sane person approaches girls in a women's clothing store?) The closer I got to her, with every single step, I got more and more anxious, insecure, and apprehensive. What was I doing? How could I let Rusty—of all people—rope me into doing something this dumb? It was too late now, I was right next to her, and she was looking at shirts.