We were sitting cross legged on his bed passing a little joint between the two of us. The butt of it tasted how I imagine he must taste; a little bit like lemons, a little bit acidic. I watched him from under my eye lashes. I knew he was stoned because he was biting at the bottom of his thin lip. It’s a bad habit I’ve only seen him practice when he is high. He stopped talking completely and was watching me right back. I felt a little bit uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze so I started picking at the red nail polish on my fingernails. It seemed like a life time but finally he broke the god awful silence. I wish now that he would have kept his mouth shut and that we were still just sitting there staring at each other like a couple of dumb stoners. He asked me what I thought made me different from everybody else. I can’t recall now how I replied but I know I must have sounded so foolish. He gave me this look where the lines in his forehead crinkled. I think it must have been a look of trying to hide disappointment but I’ll never know for sure. His voice quivered a little and then he asked me what I thought made him different. I didn’t even pretend to think about it. It all spilled out of my mouth like I had no lips to hold it in. His smile, his hands, and his laugh in short his everything made him unique in my eyes. I saw for a second a flash a surprise then it melted into that odd look. That look that I will forever associate with disappointment. He jumped up to his feet, rubbed his hands on his blue jeans and yelled no at me. He told me how wrong I was. I was too much in shock to feel wrong. I just froze there with my mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. He, the peacemaker, he, the gentle soul was yelling at me over something I didn’t understand. I think back now and still can’t remember everything he said but did he ever look beautiful. His eyes were so full of energy. I wanted to feel them pressed against my lips. Yes, I was thinking about kissing him while he yelled at me about what defines us as individuals. He was trying to wage a war with me and I was thinking about ripping him out of that damn shirt he wears almost everyday. I eye fucked him while he explained it is only our choices that separate us; our choices to do right or do wrong. I just wanted to do him. He spat a little while he tried to enlighten me. I felt it spray lightly on my face. I flinched a little and he swallowed his voice. I could already see the sorrow in his eyes. I knew what was coming so I just sat there in his room on his bed. My eyes were already at the door waiting. I stared at his ass as it shifted up and down when he left.
He says now he did not come back until morning but I know he is lying. My guess is he came home about two in the morning. From what I can piece together when he came home I was jumping on his bed belting out the words to a Nirvana song. The one that Kurt wrote for Courtney about a heart shaped box she gave him. I am willing to bet I was using the empty bottle of tequila as a make shift mic. I must have jumped from the bed to the floor where his brother was sitting. I saw him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed on his chest. His face a massive blur. I don’t even know if I finished my song solo but I know one thing I woke up where I passed out; in his brother’s lap. When my thirst woke me I stumbled to the bathroom. I had a big line from a wrinkle or seam from his jeans marring my face. I had what looked suspiciously like puke all over my shirt and pants. I grabbed his shirt from the ground and changed into that. I looked and felt like a sack of shit on fire but I wanted to find him. I wanted to make sure he knew nothing happened. I just got loaded with his brother and passed out with my face in his crotch. It was almost humorous. I found him sleeping in the hallway to his apartment. I instantly felt a twinge of guilt that damn hallway always smells like piss and oil. His head was dropped to his chest and slightly to the left. He had a bottle of beer in his hand that had spilled all over the dirty carpet. He had drool down the front of his shirt. If I thought I had looked like shit then he looked like death. I poked him until he woke up stuttering something about choices. I told him it was time to make us breakfast.
He made only enough for the two of us. He told me he got home about seven in the morning. He told me he went to some house party. I told him he was too old for house parties. His laugh sounded like a gravel road. I told him I got hammered with his little brother. He said nothing just kept chewing on a piece of watermelon. I told him that it was all in good fun. I said I wished he was there. He said he didn’t want to hear about it.
His forehead crinkled and he wiped his mouth with his arm. As if on cue his brother walked into the room he stared at my bare legs openly, gave me a kiss on my cheek and mumbled a humble good bye. He left with a pat on his older brothers back and smiled at him cheekily as he left he yelled for all the neighbors to hear. “I fucking love that girl” It was all very surreal like a horrible car crash that you can’t tear your eyes away from. We just kept eating as if nothing happened. I wasn’t even hungry I just felt like I needed something stuffed into my mouth. He drove me home shortly after. We have not talked about it since. We just go on getting high and writing poetry. He keeps biting his lip to shit when he gets stoned. I keep eye fucking him when I think he won’t notice. I caught him peeking when I was changing once. I just laughed and called him a dirty pervert. His baby brother keeps calling my house and singing Nirvana songs to me. I keep hanging up and pouting my lips.
If our choices define what makes us different then what makes us the same; the inability to make the right choice or the inability to make a choice at all? What if all we ever choose to do is nothing. What if all I ever do ends with my head between his brothers legs? Does that outline me as a mistake? What if all he ever does is sneak peeks between his hands while I am changing? Does that make him a failure? Are we really that different at all? Is it love or stupidity that is tearing us apart on the inside?
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Submission Name: What Choice Do We Have?
