Long-Distance Calls

35

Dear Future,

I'm sad.

Dr. S says I shouldn't get caught up into emotions from the past. He says it's good for the novel, but bad for my health.

And, dear Future, I want this novel to be good. It's all I have. If I can make a good novel out of a bad life, then I don't care about my health. That's long gone, anyway.

Dr. S says I'm stubborn. He says I'm fighting him, by damaging my health. He thinks that's bad. I think that's good. I'm finally fighting again, and, this time, I want to win. I don't want this fight to be pointless, like the last time I fought for something.

"I know you want a little trip on my bike, Petey," Tyler said, petting the bright red gas tank of his motorcycle, "come here," he extended his hands towards me.

I ran, or rather bounced, right into his arms. The bike seemed huge, from my point of view. He lifted me into the air, the sun appearing from behind a small tree blinding me for a second, and he placed me on the very front of the seat. My legs almost too small to spread on that seat.

The bike was hot, from being just recently turned off, and from the raging sun of that summer. Tyler put his helmet on. "Grab the tank and don't let go of it," the voice inside that dark helmet announced, before he climbed on the bike, right behind me.

His arms surrounded me as they reached for the handgrip. I leaned on his chest, still holding on to the gas tank. Tyler's left hand turned the key around. I was startled by the engine's noise.

I turned to my left, under Tyler's massive arm I found my mom, smiling at us from afar. Tyler did something and the annoying noise lowered, it became pleasing, as the bike moved.

I looked around, the trees merging into one green line, the road scrolling under us. A breeze I'd been craving for the whole day graced my face, my hair dancing in the wind. I could hear Tyler shouting joyously, and laughing. And I laughed along, careful not to keep my mouth open for too long.

Over the course of forty-eight hours, everything fell apart. My only friend in school, my first and only girlfriend, a panic attack, and, now, Tyler.

"Wh-- Th-- No-- I--" is all that came out of my mouth, as the desperate crying eyes of mom wished for words of comfort she knew she'd never get.

I gulped, and when I opened my mouth, I realized it was shaking. My teeth repeatedly hitting each other. I saw tears pouring out on mom's face, never ending. Tears I couldn't find in me. The shock seemed to have taken them all away from me.

"That's not--" I kept mumbling, "it can't be-- he said-- no--" Eyes wide open, not blinking even once, I ran towards the door. A feeble sun still wasn't enough to make me blink.

My father was standing outside, his hands still holding his head. I walked by him, I didn't want to look at him, but I glanced anyway. No sign of his strong features anymore, though his eyebrows still furrowed. His eyes were red, begging for some hope they wouldn't find in me.

That was enough to make me blink. And, as soon as I blinked, tears ran down my face. Lots and lots of tears.

I ran away. Walking in the neighborhood, feeling underwater, in the search of a more isolated place. A place where I could sob soundly, causing more tears to come out.