Hawthorne Heights [Editing]

five [edited]

Milo Cooper Locke

     "I don't know, Warren. I'm just so tired of living here. My parents always want me to do one thing but I don't want to," I mumbled into the cellphone, wiping tears from my face.

I knocked my math textbook onto the floor and flopped down onto my bed. Shuffling sounded on Warren's end until his voice finally filled my room.

     "Then what do you want to do, Milo? I can see you playin' basketball professionally, you know, cause you go hard on the court," he whispered.

I sat up from the bed, staring at my face in the reflection of my window before flopping back down again. Purple hanging lights draped over my bed and lit up my room with a light pink hue. The time on my phone read nearly twelve in the morning, but after arguing with my parents hours before that, I was fueled with too much energy to even think about sleeping.

I waved my right arm around and groaned, "That's the thing! I don't know what I want to do, but I do know that I don't wanna do what they want. I can't see myself being happy, Warren, and that's all that I want. Does that make sense?"

His fingers tapped on his laptop keyboard for a few minutes and the conversation stalled for what seemed like hours.

     "They want me to be some sort of lawyer but that's not what I wanna do. You know I want to be a social worker," I continued after not hearing a response, "but my dad claims that I won't make a nice living from it. I don't care anymore. Like, I just want to get away from everyone because I feel like I'm gonna snap on someone."

My mom didn't care what I did as long as I avoided doing anything that would make me seem aggressive, or whatever that meant. She wanted for others to portray me as a simple teenager, one that studied hard, minded her business, and didn't have a collection of bruises on her calves like I did. It was as if after being surrounded by their coworkers and friends from their country club, they absorbed every single thing they heard,and tried to put it in my head.

And for the most part it worked. I grew up feeling as though I wanted a completely different body. I didn't want my complexion, my nose, my lips, or my hair, and until high school, I tried to change all of that. I learned to use contour to recreate my entire face, and I flat-ironed my hair so much that it was damaged beyond repair and needed to be cut off after severe breakage.

I found myself confiding all of my insecurities in Warren since Miracle could neither relate, or he never tried to at least. Warren talked to me every single day on the basketball court for years, picking away at everything my parents planted and helping me learn how to do the same.

I grumbled into my pillow, "I would run away but I'm broke and too sheltered. I'd die on my first night from starvation or fear."

     "Milo, what are you doing awake? It's almost one in the morning and you're on the phone." My mother stepped into my room rambling. "Who are you even talking to?"

My mom abruptly flicked on the bedroom lights and situated herself onto my stiff twin-sized bed. Her shirt smelled like a random expensive perfume that she wore nearly ever day, along with the rest of the decrepit apartment. Vana always carried the smell of green apples and paper on her neck and wrists.

I hung up the phone and looked at her expectantly. I already knew she wanted to start another argument.

She continued, "It's a school night and you're losing sleep talking on the phone. For what? Don't be tellin' everybody what goes on in this home, do you understand me?"

     "Mom, I'm seventeen," I retorted, "I don't need you breathing down my neck all of the time. I know that I have school tomorrow, but I need to vent to somebody because clearly you and dad don't like taking my feelings into consideration."

She flinched back at me with a frown that wiped away the sleep from her face. I watched as she rubbed her hands on her knees and crossed her ankles. Attack mode engaged.

     "Vent about what, little girl? Take what feelings into consideration? All you do is complain and act like you know everything--which you don't."

I looked down at my hands, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. She repeated the same prompts she said every single time I mentioned anything about being unhappy with my life.

She lifted a brow at me before pointing at the door to my room and pursing her lips as she thought of something to say."

     "You don't pay no bills, no taxes, and you still in high-school. All you gotta do is go to school. What do you have to vent for? I'm almost thirty-seven raising an ungrateful child; I should be the one who's tired."

Stress and depression, just like being gay and pedophilic family members, got swept under the rug in my family. Everybody knows that it could fully exist, yet claimed that their family was untouchable. My parents loved to invalidate my unhappiness with my youth and their struggles.

    "Okay, goodnight. I'm tired and I have school tomorrow."

☾

Loud murmurs filled the auditorium during an impromptu assembly called in before first hour. Hundreds of students milled around the place, some crying, others itching to get back to class.

Our star basketball player, Ryan Jackson, was found dead this morning on a street corner not too far from Hawthorne Street. I personally didn't know Ryan, but he must've meant something special if the principal rounded up the entire student body for a memorial service.

     "Why didn't they do this when Ahmad died last year?" Warren ran a trembling hand through his dreads.

     "Because half of the school was afraid of Ahmad. They all called him a terrorist," Miracle murmured.

A seat to the left of me soon creaked and my neighbor filled it His forehead wore stress lines and his jaw kept clenching as he scanned the entirety of the room. A small bead of sweat trailed down his neck and past his black t-shirt. He palmed his knees with his hands before glancing over at me with a slight smirk.

     "Are you gon keep staring or do you speak?" His words tumbled around in his mouth and came out low and careful.

Warren grinned widely and pinched the skin above my elbow, physically urging me to talk to the boy. I nudged him with my arm and smirked at his groan.

I stammered, "U-um, hi? I didn't think that you wanted to talk to me since you ignored my friend yesterday."

     "I wasn't feeling my first day. Being rude wasn't my intention, so I hope you not tryna cave my chest in or nothin'." He boy looked past me to speak with Warren and Miracle. "I'm Khari."

☽

«fireside chat: it literally just occurred to me that my chapters might not line up...haaa it's late and i didn't think this through oh my.»