"Spend forever asleep because life pales in comparison to living the dream." - #Deep
. . .
Los Angeles, California, 2013
Why?
I stare at Bo after he asks. The look on his face is one I've never seen before: some sort of mixture of sorrow, confusion, and disgust. Tears slide down my cheeks and around the contours of my mouth, leaving the salty aftertaste fresh on my tongue. My heart is pounding, and I can't see.
Bo, please... I think, praying he doesn't just leave me. It's me, Justine. It's still me... I'm still the same...
But, just thinking the words makes me realize I'm lying. I'm lying to him and myself, and guilt clenches my soul. I don't know what to say, what to do. I just stand there like a scolded child, shoulders shaking with sobs. I can't look Bo in the eyes.
Say something... just say something.
He doesn't. My shoulders fall, and I turn around to walk away.
He doesn't call after me.
I can feel his eyes on my back, but then I hear him turn around and step away as well.
Silently, I start to cry even harder.
I guess this is goodbye, Robert Burnham.
. . .
I can see Bo in front of me, but I can't reach him. He's some sort of mix from when he was younger and now, his slouch is obviously more prominent than it was before, and he's dressed in a plain white t-shirt rather than a tie-dye shirt. He's wearing black jeans instead of the normal baggy khakis from before. I'm not sure which is the real one, but they seem to be superimposed on each other, 17-year-old Bo and 22-year-old Bo. His older eyes are more broken, more thoughtful. His younger eyes are bright and cheerful.
"Bo, it's me. I'm sorry you had to see that earlier." The words rush to my mouth before I can think, but I'm glad they do.
His eyes fill with forgiveness, and I sigh in relief.
"Justine, I'm sorry too. I was speechless, confused. I'm not mad. I still love you." His arm reaches out, and I take his hand.
His younger self now opens his mouth, and his older self stands, silent. "I love you." He says.
The words sound like an empty echo from the past.
. . .
I wake up suddenly, but I let the last strains of the bittersweet dream fade away. Before I know what's happening, the world seems to crash down on me. My life is now this, where dreams are the only escape from this living misery. I cry for the fourth time today, praying to be back in that dream. It never happens.
I want these feelings to go away. I want to fall asleep peacefully, to forget about Bo and continue my life of selling my body in the Los Angeles streets. After I've calmed down a little bit, I reach for my cellphone in the dark.
A text message displays on the opening screen. My mom. I ignore it.
I pull the scrap of paper out of my pocket with Bo's number on it. I try to control my breathing and dial.
It rings twice before Bo picks up, sounding fully awake at 3 AM.
"Bo." I say, trying to control my frantic breathing. I can feel anxiety gnawing at my insides, but I try to breathe.
"Justine?" His voice is slightly hostile.
"Bo, I can't..." My lungs start to seize up. No, please. Not here and not now. "I can't..." My lungs refuse to fill with air, and panic starts to set in. I claw at my throat, but I can't fight it. I start to wheeze frantically, trying to force some words out. I can't do it. I can't.
