thinking much about the story, Adam turned to the Lifetime Channel. He'd memorized the times of his favorite shows; he knew what was on every channel and when. Now playing was a repeat episode of Unsolved Mysteries, a show that used to give him vivid nightmares. His favorites were the stories about ghosts, aliens, demonic possession—anything paranormal. Today's broadcast was about wanted fugitives, lost loves, lost heirs.
He turned the television off. Though wide awake, Adam laid back and shut his eyes. Nothing better to do.
A knock on his bedroom door woke him at four o’ clock. Chris' knock. Loud, fast and repetitive.
"C'min," Adam called.
Chris entered and shut the door. "You just waking up?"
Adam sat up. "Yeah. I can't believe I went back to sleep. It's almost supper time.”
Chris, a truly animate person compared to the slow bear on the bed, sat beside Adam, pulled a pack of Liggets from his pocket, and fired one up. "Smoke?"
Adam flipped him the bird. Chris always offered, knowing Adam wouldn't take the bait, but he liked to get a rise out of him anyway. "You're sick, aren't you? Not going to school, the straight A student overachiever that you are—" Chris began.
Adam cut in, "Yeah, right. Maybe in another life, or dimension, or a billion years."
Chris took a hit and blew the smoke purposely toward Adam. Adam coughed and brushed it away.
Chris laughed. "Remember the time I blew smoke in your face and you blew chunks all over the brand new rug your mom got?"
Adam laughed. "God, she was pretty mad, and you actually thought for a while that the cigarette smoke was the reason I threw up, when it was because I ate way too much pizza."
“ We had fun that night—"
"You remember us playing the Bloody Mary game? Jesus, you and Josh rigged that mask with the light in the corner—"
"—And you screamed more like a girl than I've ever heard."
They shared a laugh. "Oh, guess what?" Chris said. "Your woman was crying again today."
"That fucker. Why does she like him when he treats her that way? I just don't get it."
"It don't make much sense to me either," Chris said, finishing his cigarette. Adam, noticing this, handed him an empty soda can off the stand. Chris dropped the butt inside.
"Why is it that Erica goes out with him—that fucking idiot who has even cheated on her, calls her names, does God knows what else to her, makes her cry almost every day in school, and yet, she stays with him?" Adam asked.
"It's the social classes, man."
"Yeah, but I'd treat her like an angel, y'know? She's beautiful as hell and she'd rather be with him, with that . And she looks at me, a nice guy, like I have fucking antlers growing out of my head?" The pain was rising to the surface. Adam often thought, had life been better to him, he could have been the next Casanova.
"It hurts to think about it," Adam said.
"Then stop thinking about it. I tell you, you think too damn much. Try smoking or something. I go a day without a smoke and I start thinking in overload."
Adam did not show it, but he was insulted. He felt like Chris was indirectly pressuring him into smoking—something he would not do in a million years. Both his parents smoked, and his uncle and grandmother had both died from lung cancer. He'd learned their lesson.
But he could not verbally stand up to his friend. Or friends. What would he gain if he lost what little companionship he did have by standing up for himself?
"So," Chris said, "am I still staying this Friday?"
Adam was lost for a moment. Then he replied, "Well, since I skipped school, my mom said no, but that'll change. I'll get her to agree."
"Your mom's pretty cool."
Adam believed that, agreed to it, then completely denied it.
He did not like her.
The sorrow was mounting, shifting, shaping, building like a snowball plummeting downhill, strengthening itself into a monstrous, complex, hideous hellbeast that seemed in every sense invincible. Only one of those past therapists had the ability
He turned the television off. Though wide awake, Adam laid back and shut his eyes. Nothing better to do.
A knock on his bedroom door woke him at four o’ clock. Chris' knock. Loud, fast and repetitive.
"C'min," Adam called.
Chris entered and shut the door. "You just waking up?"
Adam sat up. "Yeah. I can't believe I went back to sleep. It's almost supper time.”
Chris, a truly animate person compared to the slow bear on the bed, sat beside Adam, pulled a pack of Liggets from his pocket, and fired one up. "Smoke?"
Adam flipped him the bird. Chris always offered, knowing Adam wouldn't take the bait, but he liked to get a rise out of him anyway. "You're sick, aren't you? Not going to school, the straight A student overachiever that you are—" Chris began.
Adam cut in, "Yeah, right. Maybe in another life, or dimension, or a billion years."
Chris took a hit and blew the smoke purposely toward Adam. Adam coughed and brushed it away.
Chris laughed. "Remember the time I blew smoke in your face and you blew chunks all over the brand new rug your mom got?"
Adam laughed. "God, she was pretty mad, and you actually thought for a while that the cigarette smoke was the reason I threw up, when it was because I ate way too much pizza."
“ We had fun that night—"
"You remember us playing the Bloody Mary game? Jesus, you and Josh rigged that mask with the light in the corner—"
"—And you screamed more like a girl than I've ever heard."
They shared a laugh. "Oh, guess what?" Chris said. "Your woman was crying again today."
"That fucker. Why does she like him when he treats her that way? I just don't get it."
"It don't make much sense to me either," Chris said, finishing his cigarette. Adam, noticing this, handed him an empty soda can off the stand. Chris dropped the butt inside.
"Why is it that Erica goes out with him—that fucking idiot who has even cheated on her, calls her names, does God knows what else to her, makes her cry almost every day in school, and yet, she stays with him?" Adam asked.
"It's the social classes, man."
"Yeah, but I'd treat her like an angel, y'know? She's beautiful as hell and she'd rather be with him, with that . And she looks at me, a nice guy, like I have fucking antlers growing out of my head?" The pain was rising to the surface. Adam often thought, had life been better to him, he could have been the next Casanova.
"It hurts to think about it," Adam said.
"Then stop thinking about it. I tell you, you think too damn much. Try smoking or something. I go a day without a smoke and I start thinking in overload."
Adam did not show it, but he was insulted. He felt like Chris was indirectly pressuring him into smoking—something he would not do in a million years. Both his parents smoked, and his uncle and grandmother had both died from lung cancer. He'd learned their lesson.
But he could not verbally stand up to his friend. Or friends. What would he gain if he lost what little companionship he did have by standing up for himself?
"So," Chris said, "am I still staying this Friday?"
Adam was lost for a moment. Then he replied, "Well, since I skipped school, my mom said no, but that'll change. I'll get her to agree."
"Your mom's pretty cool."
Adam believed that, agreed to it, then completely denied it.
He did not like her.
The sorrow was mounting, shifting, shaping, building like a snowball plummeting downhill, strengthening itself into a monstrous, complex, hideous hellbeast that seemed in every sense invincible. Only one of those past therapists had the ability
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