Portraits of The Songs | BON IVER

VII. Wash

"The coast is clear," I exclaim, pointing afront up to the sky. The sands beneath try to swallow my feet but I won't let it. "Prepare to sail!"

I order, trying to make my voice sound deeper because that's what Mr. Parker do when he was mad and tried to intimidate me.

"Aye aye Captain!" The chirpy voice of Claire's responds, but I realize I must have done something wrong because she didn't sound intimidated at all.

I watch from my available eye as I stubbornly keep my other eye covered with my hand, because duh I'm a pirate. All pirate needs an eye-patch on. She moves her hands in certain motions, mimicking as if she were paddling there, sitting by the edge of our sandbox ship.

I hope there are no other pirates to battle with, because today's school was already tiring me out and I don't want to get into a fight.

...

Kids at school said you'll get a girl pregnant if you hold their hand. But I don't believe it. Will it?

All the grown ups hold hands all the time, shouldn't all of them be pregnant then? The girls.

I don't understand why anyone wants to lie. Lying is a bad thing. I hate lying. I never lie.

There.

That emo big guy is holding emo girl's hands and they're okay with it. Walking slowly together, side by side.

I look at Claire's and I didn't stop to think twice.

"Run!" I yell.

I grasp her hand, clasp it tightly in mine and sprin away through the endless sands. Jumping into the rocky cement, to the grass, running and running.

My short hair barely slapped the side of my face as the wind plays with us. Moving and moving. Blowing away the front of our shirts, ridding the leftover sands that once sticking to our legs.

We go round and round.

She laughs, and I laugh. We laugh. We throw ourself to the willing bed of grass and rest. Chest heaving, air in and out. Oxygen and carbon dioxide, just like what Mr. Frederick once told me in bio class.

"Tommy, time's up!"

I glance up and turn to my Mom, nod once and get up.

Her hands still in mine, she also get up, and I found it warm. Clammy, but warm.

Mom's didn't feel like that. Dad's never held mine.

Would others' hands feel the same? Or different? How would it be different? Why?

Why everything feels differently?

Why is anything different?

I let go of her hand and reach for the other one. I shake her hand in one strong shake, and then let go. Dad did that when the tall man with suit and tie came home, they shook their hand together and part ways.

So I did too. And I turned to Mom, reach her hand that was cold.

I glanced back and see her waving, smile too bright, but I don't wave back.

I shouldn't wave back. Because you only need to shake hands once and then part ways.

Business is over.

...

We go inside the house and I met my Dad's eyes.

"Go straight to your room and stay there," Mom says, and I don't like the sound of her voice. "Don't come out."

It was like Mr. Parker's and I hate why every grown ups like to intimidate everyone else other than him. Even more often than not, Mom was trying to intimidate herself everytime she looked into that mirror, and then suddenly something was shattering down the floor and I was watching and scared.

I shake my head, erasing the thought. But then noticed that Mom thinks I was saying no, so I quickly nod.

I nod. It's always like that.

I did what I was told to do. I went inside my room just as I hear Dad screaming something about bills. And then Mom screaming, but I don't understand what they're talking about.

It's loud and getting louder and getting louder. I stand alone inside my room. Buzz Lightyear stand by my bed, left untouch.

I don't wanna play anymore. I wanna grow up.

I wanna do something.

A door slams shut, then it's all quiet.

I get out of my room, to the kitchen.

I reach my box of cereal from up the counter, I throw it to the ground and its content splatters. I throw the bowls, the plate, I shake the table and chairs.

Because that's what they do. So why can't I do it now?

I wanna do something.

I scream and I scream and I scream. But I'm alone so that's okay.

I wanna do something.

I wanna grow up.

I stop and I smile.

I'm gonna be okay.

I run to my room and grab my bestfriend Buzz Lightyear from the floor by the bed, go outside to the backyard and play.

It's raining then but I don't care.

It falls down in heavy droplets, washing everything like the washing machine did to my clothes when it was washed. But now my clothes get washed along with me.

Run and run and run around with the rain, and I scream. I laugh then I scream.

"I wanna grow up!"