Impossibly Certain [dan howell]

t h i r t e e n

I turn around, my eyes falling on a stranger. I draw my eye brows together in confusion, and he nods, coming to sit next to me.

"We met at the club last week. I'm Matt." He said, and it clicked. He was the guy I was dancing with before...Dan and I kissed.

"Oh yeah," I said, kind of uninterested.

"I thought we were having a good time, well until you ran off." He said, warmly smiling.

"Sorry," I said, looking away, "That night was a mess." He looked at me, and I could tell he felt some sympathy.

"Are you alright? I don't mean to pry," he said, tilting his head to meet my gaze. I sheepishly looked at him, then back down to my drink. I saw from the corner of my eye his light smile. It wasn't impolite or anything, it was warm, comforting.

"Sort of, I seem to be making one mistake after another these days."

He nodded, and looked over at the bar tender, ordering a drink for himself. "Can I buy you a drink? It looks like you need one."

"Sure," I said, "Something hard."

Matt nodded, talking to the bartender. He looked back at me and smiled again. I knew what was happening here, I wasn't stupid, but I honestly couldn't find it in me to tell him to go away. As much I deny it, I need someone right now. And that someone isn't going to be Kayla, or Phil, or Dan.

"I wouldn't feel too bad about making mistakes," he said, looking over at me.

I half-heartedly laughed, "I should when they are ruining my life."

He fiddled with his drink, quiet for a while. I took another swig of mine, not minding the silence. I was lost in thought anyway. Next to me, Matt tapped the glass pensively before speaking.

"When I was little, my mother used to smoke a lot. Don't get me wrong, I loved her. But my clothes and my hair and my bed all smelt like cigarette smoke, and I remember scrubbing myself raw in the shower trying to get the smell off," he smiled, nostalgically. I looked over at him and watched his lips as he spoke.

"You know, and kids at school would tease me about it, they would sit away from me at lunch and when I sat down the girl next to me would scrunch her nose at the scent. Anyway, I got fed up one day, and I asked my mum, I said 'why are you always smoking?' and she held a little smile on her lips and said, 'I don't want to, it's just a mistake," he laughed.

"As a little kid my idea of a mistake was spilling paint on the carpet or tripping in the mud, I didn't really understand how chain smoking all day ways a mistake. And I don't think she did either, she was just trying to explain to me that sometimes in this world people do bad things or whatever. I asked her if she thought she could stop, and she told me, and I guess herself too, 'the thing about mistakes is, Matthew, tomorrow is a new day, mistake-free, and you can make whatever you want of it."

He looked to me, finally, after his long story, and his eyes shifted between both of mine, trying to gauge my reaction. I drew my eyebrows together, looking back at him. He is right, despite my many mistakes, I do have the power to change them. The bravery is what I need.

He smiled, "That was long winded, but hopefully you understand what I'm saying."

I smiled back at him, tucking a few strands of hair behind me ear. "Did your mother ever stop smoking?"

His smile dropped, and he looked back at his drink, "No, she died of lung cancer when I was in high school."

I turned back to my drink, taking a large swig, finishing it. I was getting tipsy. I got another drink, and another, and Matt kept talking, and I kept drinking.

"Matt," I said, clutching onto his shirt. "You're mother."

"What about her?"

I closed my eyes, the room spinning, "Every day is like a, shit, like a new day or whatever. But she made the same mistakes every day," I said.

Matt frowned. I felt bad.

"Don't be sad," I said to him. I tried to smile, but my cheeks felt heavy. "It's just, fuck, like would if I just spend the rest of my life making mistakes." I felt like he couldn't hear me, I talked louder. "So why—why does it matter if I make fuckin' mistakes?"

He didn't respond. I moved towards him, and I could smell the beer on his breath. Or maybe that was me.

"Kiss me, Matt."