Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 16: Escalation

When I recollect the days I spent away from home, a few brief memories stick out.

Memory one: I was on the couch with Ezra. We drank God-knows-what beer and watched God-knows-what cooking competition show while Lynette showered Millie's God-knows-what off her body.

I stood up to get another beer, at which point I noticed Ezra's arm hanging over the spot where I'd been sitting. How long did he have his arm there? I wondered, finally feeling drunkenness sink in.

"How far's your school from here?"

I glanced over at Ezra. "Random," I replied.

"How far?" he asserted.

"About five hours. Four and a half if you drive like I do... er, did."

"Damn. That's far."

"I got used to it."

"Yeah?" he said distantly. "I won't."

I paused in the middle of opening the fridge. "Did you just admit you're gonna miss me?"

"Nope. That's a sign of weakness. Wait, are you saying you aren't gonna miss me?"

"Let's see how I feel about you when I finally fuck out of here." I offered him a beer. He finished the one in his hand before accepting it. I sat beside him again, now aware of his arm looming behind me on the couch.

Memory two: Ezra, Lynette, and I were drinking whiskey in the kitchen when my phone buzzed. It was lying out on the counter, so Lynette lovingly scooped it up and read the text from my mom out loud for all to hear: "'Having a great time in Florida with your big bro... here's a pic of us on the beach. Hope all is well.' Since when do you have a brother, 'Lo? Oh, he's kind of cute. 'Ra, come look."

"Hey," I grunted as Ezra slid over to peep at the picture. "Shouldn't I get to see it first, since, y'know, it's my family?"

"Wow," Ezra said. "He is good looking." My cheeks flushed on the spot. I snatched the phone from Lynette's grasp.

"He's got, like, this innocent charm to him," commented Lynette. "A virginal glow, almost."

"The light's still in his eyes," Ezra agreed, ignoring my dramatic groans.

"You're fucking the wrong brother, 'Ra," said Lynette.

I opened my mouth to correct her, but Ezra intervened. "Who says I can't have both?" And then he smirked like he expected me to get off on what he was saying. I didn't.

Memory three: Ezra and I were crouched by his open bedroom window smoking cigarettes. We blew smoke in a cyclical fashion, one cloud getting chased away by the next. I think we were drunk; we must've been, I barely remember a moment of that week that wasn't spent in some state of intoxication.

Feeling too lazy to hook up his sound system, Ezra played music from his phone instead, which made the songs resonate in my ears with a tinny hum. The sky was gray and the air was warm and wet. Thunder rumbled like it was rolling lazily in the air.

I checked the phone to see what was playing– some lilting tune called 'Mocking Swing'– and when I looked up, Ezra was gazing at me with parted lips. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned his eyes back to the open window and took a drag, humming a little. We were quiet for a long time, but I didn't notice.

Eventually Ezra broke the silence. "Talked to my dad earlier."

My eyes widened. "You did what?"

"In case you were wondering, yes, it's all your fault I felt guilty enough to call him back." Ezra pushed his hair away from his eyes as he ashed his cigarette. "We're meeting up later to talk. I didn't promise forgiveness. But I promised to listen."