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— ELMORE SKATE PARK . . . March 1986, 9:27pm.
IT'S QUIET HERE. it's much better than the shouting she dealt with in that old household. before . . . everything. it honestly left damage to ears that were supposed to be youthful and scratches to a throat that used to scream ferociously. it smells better here. the breeze carries a natural scent of rain mixed with stone and grass. sometimes it can be an ugly smell, but it's still much better than the toxic stench of smoke and alcohol that seeps from littered cans and cigarette butts around the trailer she's supposed to call home.
home. what did that word even mean?
she hadn't understood it since they left sunny california. in doing so, she had slowly lost her light. ironically enough, last summer had dealt the final blow. now trapped in a forever winter, she had no light left. falling deeper into the dark depths of grief, loss, and the overwhelming feeling of not belonging anywhere at all.
in theory, she could go anywhere she wanted. run far away and never be found. they could send cops after her, but they'd get bored of a fruitless chase eventually. her mom would stop looking and drink herself to death (she was already doing that). her friends would gradually move on. in fact, she had thought about it many, many times. she had even gotten as far as the bus station before realising the dangers of running away. california wasn't an option, what if when she got there, it turned out her dad wasn't waiting for her there at all? who was she kidding, of fucking course he wouldn't be.
nothing made any of these places home.
max wraps her arms around her knees, pulling her tired legs up to her chest to make herself as small as possible. sitting upon the ledge of a skate ramp, watching her skate swing back and forth down below her. it slows to a stop, but her eyes don't blink. they stare into night's natural darkness, which feels a lot more comforting these days than the sun. when the moon is out, no one expects anything of her. she doesn't have to go to school and avoid her friends all day. she doesn't have to keep on living a life like nothing's changed. like her whole life hasn't fallen apart since july fourth last year. like she isn't living in a stupid fucking trailer park taking care of her broken mother when her own pieces are shattering too.
but here, in the quiet night. she's away from all of that. she's alone.
alone in a lonely skate park, max is able to bask in the loneliness that's eating her from the inside out. she's so numb from her inner cold, she doesn't even notice when a tear rolls down her cheek.
max sniffs, bringing her sleeve up to smear the wetness across her freckled cheek. as a chill brushes over her neck, she flinches. glancing over her shoulder . . . to see nothing there. she sighs and bows her head, burying it into her scraped knees. she licks her cracked lips, watering eyes squeezing shut.
THE MIND FLAYER LAUNCHES ITS LIMB INTO BILLY'S CHEST, SQUELCHING BETWEEN FLESH AS BLACKENED BLOOD SPLURTS OUT. MAX'S EYES WIDEN, YET SHE'S FROZEN WHERE SHE STANDS. ONLY HER MOUTH CAN MOVE TO SCREAM:
"BILLY!"
the weaponised memory flashes in and out of her mind like passing a window. max opens her eyes and looks out at the empty scene in front of her. she doesn't have much of herself left. she can't watch horror movies anymore.
her life has been made up of cycles of abuse and cycles of losing. they spin around and around and clash into each other with casual cruelty. billy was gone, but at what cost? what was max without waking up to be angry at billy every day? in the absence of love was hurt. in the absence of hurt, came bottomless grief.
who was she? before july fourth nineteen eighty-five. she missed that girl. losing billy killed her and left max with a whole lot of breaking down to do, instead of growing up. when had she ever been able to grow up?
she'd fantasised about him. she wanted him out of her life so fucking bad, to be free of all the abuse and pain and anger and trauma. she fucking hated him, and the feeling was very mutual. she got what she wanted. but at what cost? to be stuck here, alone, drowning in feelings that she can't let go of? he still visits her in her nightmares. the fighting continues. she doesn't know peace. this was supposed to make things BETTER. instead, max is just an open wound. a wound that won't close.
he's dead. he's gone. if that was all she wanted . . .
then why won't this fucking die?
max shifts, letting her legs down so they hang over the edge of the ramp. they swing back and forth as the wind ruffles the cuffs of her jeans. she pulls her jacket tighter around herself. she rests her hands on her lap, tracing the violet bruises over her knuckles. regret chokes the breath out of her as she lets out an unexpected sob. it echoes through the isolation she's placed herself in. part of her wants to scream. the part that prefers to suffer in silence prevails.
she'll stay here for another hour or so, maybe. or spend the whole night in numb nothingness. this park is perhaps the closest thing she has to peace. to home? no, even skating is tainted by the roaring monsters in her mind that only growl louder. her skateboard still sits beneath her at a standstill.
max slides her hands over her face once more, before reaching out to her side. shaky fingers clasp around her walkman, and place it in her lap. she places her headphones over her ears, and then hits play. music is what drowns out those monsters. the familiar drums kick in and build up slowly. max has known 'running up that hill' was her favorite song since the first time she heard it.
as kate bush sings of a lack of understanding between people, and praying to do the impossible - swap places with someone to free yourself of the anguish, confusion and turmoil - the young redhead lays back against the concrete and gazes up emptily at the starry night sky. oh, to climb a hill and run from the pain. if she could do that too . . then maybe there wouldn't be so many problems. there wouldn't be so much mess, so much change, so many broken things.
she lets out an uneven sigh, eyelids fluttering shut as the music fills her unsettled mind. maybe max was the problem.
