Violence is the Answer

Part 1: Moving Requires Pizza

                                                                               Breanna

                         A bead of sweat rolls down my face and my arms shake from the effort of hanging the black, 200-pound punching bag. I peer down and see that my best friend Josh is red in the face and struggling as well.

"Just. A. Little. More." I grind out. Josh grunts and lifts the monster two inches higher. I slip the hook onto the metal ring that I just bolted to the ceiling.

I hop off of the ladder and wipe my face of the drops of perspiration, letting out a loud sigh.

"Thanks Josh. And not just for helping me hang this monstrosity." I point to the long black punching bag now dangling from the ceiling. "For all of it. The time, patience, hard labor..." I drop my eyes to the scuffed and battered red converse that match perfectly with my faded red Coca-Cola T-shirt. Josh bought the shirt for me a couple years ago as a joke. I don't want my best friend to drive away in the giant U-Haul we rented to move here. I do not want to say goodbye. If I say goodbye, I might cry and I do not like to cry. Ever.

Josh, knowing me better than I know myself steps close and pulls me into a hug. "I'm all sweaty Josh. So are you." I mumble into his shoulder. His only response is to hold me tighter and rest the side of his face on top of my head. We stayed like that for a while, but when I finally pulled away, it wasn't long enough. I looked up into his kind brown eyes and something wet trickled down my face. I swipe it away and, realizing it's a tear, I break down. Josh puts a hand on my shaking shoulder as I slide down the length of the wall to the floor. The hardwood floor is cold against my athletic shorts.

Josh knows better than to try to hold me when I cry. I helped him learn the hard way once. I pushed him away so hard, he stumbled and sprained his ankle. Instead, he sits down on the cold floor beside me, close but not touching. Josh has such a soft heart. I know he hurts when I'm upset and knowing that I won't accept his comfort hurts him. This makes me cry all the harder, so we sit against the wall, knees pulled up to our chests and arms wrapped around our legs. I cry and he waits. When my sobs have eased into sniffles I scoot closer and put my head on his shoulder, leaning into him as he puts a strong arm around me.

"I hate to see you cry." Josh says, reaching over to trace the tattoo that starts at my left thumb. He does this a lot. He seems to take some comfort from tracing the lines etched on my hand and arm when talking about something that bothers him.

"I hate seeing me cry too." I say, trying to lighten the mood. Josh shakes his head and looks me in the eyes, his fingers falling still. "You don't like to cry because you think it makes you weak." He pauses briefly, "I don't like to see you cry because," He resumes tracing my tattoo, "I don't like seeing you hurt. Especially when there's nothing I can do to make it better." I pull away slightly, sitting upright again.

I hear the front door open and the pitter-patter of a small person running fills the small side-house. My little brother, Tyler rushes into the room, light brown hair tousled and eyes brimming with excitement. "Bree, Josh, come see my room! I finished putting all of my toys away and I helped Mom make my bed." He comes close and pulls on my hand.

"Alright little man, we're coming." He gives me a big toothy smile and runs out. As soon as he's gone, Josh gets smoothly to his feet and offers me a hand. I reach out and take his hand and he pulls me not only to my feet, but into another hug. "I'm gonna miss you Bree."

"I'm going to miss you too Josh." I take his hand, "Come on, let's go find my brother before he comes back to drag us away." He nods in agreement and entwines his fingers with mine. Josh is the only person outside of family that I allow to touch me. We've known each other since I was eight and he nine. We've been there for each other through everything.

We are the other's loudest cheerleader, closest confidant, and unwavering supporter. He is the only person who can truly calm me down when I get wound up. I am the only one who can tell when he has an idea for a story forming in his head. We balance each other out. I fight, he talks. In our case, opposites have not only attracted, but have stuck together for nine years. Growing up together has allowed us to be comfortable enough to hug, hold hands, and even sleep together. We have a rule that every time someone mentions the two of us as a couple, we take the largest bill in our wallets and put it aside for later use. Over the last couple of years we've been to three concerts and a UFC match with the money. When he leaves this evening, we will no longer be able to walk to the local coffee shop after school or go on our morning runs together.

After the house is filled with our belongings we got out our painting sheets. Mom takes Tyler to the grocery store for food for the week, while Josh helps me paint the crown molding and baseboards with new white paint. When Mom and Tyler get back, he asks to go out to dinner.

"Can we get pizza?"

I look over at Mom who shruggs. "Sure Tyler, let's go get pizza." Josh speakes up, "There was a pizzeria I saw on the drive in. Maybe we should try it," he suggests. I smiled at him. "Yes, lets to that. Want to come with us Mom?" She shakes her head and says that she needs to finish unpacking her clothes. I grab my keys and walk out of the door behind Tyler. I pause with the driver side door open, glancing over at Josh. After catching his attention, I toss him the keys. "Find us pizza, good Sir." I'm rewarded with a big, goofy grin as I hop into the car and slide over the center console to the passenger seat.

***Tracklist  for Part 1

Halestorm: Hate it When You See Me Cry --------------------------------Lyric Video Shown Above

Jessy McCartney: We Can Go Anywhere

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