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What kind of revolution? Just some kind of revolution; where he was pushing for something better. Something that would reach the complexity of beauty through the simplicity of evolution, him and a single idea that would grow into something beautiful. He could think clearly. Life became an easy choice, some days an unconscious one. His past dogma was erased. He pushed out thoughts of heartbreak, Dawn and even of all the things he could have been. The bad things stayed in his head, but now they pushed him. If he wouldn’t remember the things he did, he’d make sure other people did for generations. He would change lives. It was a simple thought in his head. Not a heavy one like it should have been. Being great was just a step in his mind— a to-do item to tick off. He just needed the idea. He needed to know what his revolution would be.

He thought Martin Luther King, Jr., and thought civil rights. He thought Gandhi, and thought independence for India. He thought Jonathan Gardener, and went blank. Jonathan Gardener he thought again, he then thought of gardeners not his family, then of trees, tomatoes, apples then wanted pie. His mind jumped from thought to thought until his mind was numb and stayed clear of everything. Until the thought of not thinking crept into his mind and ruined his brief moment of peace. He thought being dead must be like that and he thought it beautiful. Pie. He and Dawn used to make pies together. He put his hand in his pocket and rubbed the small pill container on his keychain and pushed away the bad thoughts without needing to take any medicine. He smiled and started to daydream of his revolution. It would be outstanding. He would be championed as a hero. He would change the world; make it a better place for people. What kind of people though? They’re so many people that struggle, so many places for improvements. Where to start? He thought about the things he was good at and could only think of serving tables. Then a dark memory came and led to an idea.

Maybe his revolution would be the homeless. He always felt sorry for them, but one day he felt more than sorry. He was working as a server and a homeless man came in and the manager allowed him to stay warm and drink water at the bar since that’s all the homeless man asked for. You could tell the man had been homeless for some time, he looked kind, but clearly the man was not sane. This was before Jonathan himself was medicated and he had a much harsher view of the mentally ill. The homeless man carried a doll with him. He overheard the man tell the bartender about the doll. He referred to it as his only friend for the past three winters; a donation from the kindest soul he ever met, a child. The child had won it from one of those claws machines that are sometimes in supermarkets. The child was proud of himself for winning it and the homeless man could tell that the kid loved the doll instantly. The child had gambled his money and won what he wanted. The child was kind though, and when he saw the man outside of the supermarket begging, the child gave him the doll since he had nothing else to give.

“The most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.” said the homeless man.

No one doubted it. It was clear that the homeless man treasured the doll. It was the only thing of any value to him. This is why Jonathan felt he left it after he swiped fifty dollars from the bar counter. Jonathan thought it must have been a hard decision and to the homeless man it was. The bartender was angry though and just threw the doll in the trash. John had hated himself for not fishing it out of the bin. It was a treasure after all.

This memory made Jonathan feel ashamed, if he offered the man some cash then maybe the man wouldn’t have stolen the money and would have been able to keep his only friend. He never looked at the bartender the same way again after that night. They were supposed to move in together and become roommates. Both had saved up money, but Jonathan was able to wiggle out of it thankfully.

He wrote that memory down in his book. He was ashamed of it yes, but it still was a memory that made him who he was and he wanted to remember it. He didn’t write it big, but he did write about it in long paragraphs. There are character defining moments in life and like the times he didn’t kiss Dawn this was a moment he passed up a chance the world gave him to be a better man.

He looked for the chances to be better every day now. Like a lot of things though, they never came around while he was looking for them. Girls, for example, never seem to be around when he was looking for one and this is exactly why one came around while Jonathan was looking for anything else, but a girl. Her name wasn’t important yet, but her body was. He first saw it from behind and it was beautiful to him. It had the right curves and moved the way he liked. He felt love but dismissed it as lust, which was probably right. He saw her when he walked into the pool hall, she was talking to Mike. It was a few days after Christmas and a couple before New Year’s Eve. He thought she might be Mike’s new girl, so he just nodded at Mike and grabbed a table you could see the bar from. It was early and if the girl left he knew Mike would want to play a game with him. The traffic was horrible getting there and caused John some anxiety, but it was better being in a house still full of relatives and holiday cheer. He looked up and made eye contact with the girl, they both smiled and he thought about how beautiful she was. Mike looked back at John with a smile too.

Mike yelled, “Go get my cue, the office is unlocked. I’ll be right there.”

Jonathan had never been in the office before. He’d been in the back room to help get ice for the bar a few times, but the office was always off limits. He went in and grabbed Mike’s cue and when he came back the girl was gone. Mike was already racking up.

“So, is that a new girl?”

“Cousin.”

Mike’s answers weren’t usually short and John thought this meant she was off limits and tried to quickly change the topic, but before he could Mike offered him a beer.

“On the house.”

“On the house?” It’s never been on the house, it’s always been a “free water.”

“Yeah.”

“The old man catch you?”

“No.”

John looked confused and Mike smiled, “My dad is opening another pool hall.”

“Cool…”

Mike held up his arms and spent around, “All of this is my Christmas present.”

“What?”

“Yep.”

“He gave you his first pool hall?”

“Yeah, it’s still his on paper, but this is mine to run.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. You know what, screw the beer let me make us a real drink.” Mike motioned for John to follow him, “I think you should brush up on how to make drinks again.”

“Why?”

“You’re still certified to serve alcohol right?”

“I don’t know, three or five years right? I should still be good. Why?”

“Well, I’m going to need a new morning bartender. You like Old Fashions?”

“Yeah, I love them, but I can’t be your bartender, school starts back up soon.”

“Come on, screw school and just take night classes. I did, they’re easier to pass and they have nice girls in them.”

“Mike, you’re not going to be able to talk me into this.”

“How about just some days?”

“Maybe some days.”

“See, already talked you into it.”

Mike finished off the drinks and they were good, strong, too strong for eleven-thirty in the morning.

Mike smirked and said, “So I caught you checking out my cousin.”

“In my defense I didn’t think she was family. I just thought she was your girlfriend.”

“I love how you define off limits, Johnny boy.” He laughed and continued, “She’s got a job here and she’s single. Said you were cute.”

“She did not.”

Mike said sarcastically with a laugh, “She did get a job here, I hired her.”

“So she’s really single?”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m not attached to her to be honest. My mom wanted me to give her the job. I’ve only ever seen her at Christmases.” Mike stopped and suddenly became very serious. He took a drink and looked deep into John’s eyes and said, “But if I have to come in on my day off to cover for her because you broke her heart, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Mike broke and ran the table for a bit. He used every bit of skill, concentration and control but still lost. Jonathan wasn’t the better player he just always had the better luck. Luck was always something Jonathan always seemed to have. Some say luck is just chances that are taken by people brave or stupid enough to take them. Jonathan didn’t believe that though. He didn’t think of himself as brave or stupid. Lucky though, he thought he was sometimes. He came from a family that always had food and kept him in new clothes and that was lucky. He felt bad that he had so little suffering in his life and tried so hard and thought so many times about ending his own life over what most would think as petty heartache. Everyone has their own levels of pain though. Life is a bitch that way. It sets you up to expect things and with Jonathan it set him up to believe things would just be handed to him. Life stopped handing him things and that’s when the depression really started.

He never remembers himself as a happy kid, then again he doesn’t remember much of his childhood at all. Thinking about it leaves a dark, empty emotional after taste in his mouth. It also leaves him feeling sad, lonely, helpless and afraid. Still, some remember him as a happy kid, it was an act mostly. Not to say he was never happy. Children always seem to find happiness, even if it’s in the nooks and crannies of developing mental illness. He had happy times; he’s seen some of the videos. They we’re only videos though, he was missing the memories. That’s what the mind does though. It’ll take big pieces of sadness and push them out for you to survive. Jonathan felt bad about pushing so much of his childhood out. He was born into so much, but none of it was what a child really needed. He had things, just not the right things.

He remembered the night he decided he would lose his mind. His parents had been with his great aunt sorting out her life. That’s what they did with her life since her husband died. He never met her husband, but he heard good things. Her husband did everything for her and when he died she was helpless. A helpless old woman, but she still had her mind then. Everyone he knew did. He was younger and didn’t know that the bad things ran down both sides of his family. He found out that night though, and decided it would happen to him. He swallowed a milligram of lorazepam to help fight the anxiety he always had and tried to think clearly. In his mind it wasn’t a possibility, but a fact that one day he would lose all his memories. It wasn’t uncommon to forget about memories, to let them get dark around the edges, if you didn’t think about them regularly. There was something about losing them that scared him. He had lost so many of his memories already by then— all of his childhood. It was as if he was only a child for a few days, a teenager a few months, and in his twenties for only a few minutes even though he was four years into them. He wondered if this disproportionate interpretation of time was an early sign of the bad things. He wondered why he kept calling them the bad things when they had names; Dementia and Alzheimer’s. He found his answer and was scared by the irrationality of it. He was afraid by having the words Dementia or Alzheimer’s in his mind would rot away the space where they were stored in his mind. As if the words themselves were poison and had some kind of power. He took a few deep breaths and a few more milligrams of lorazepam. One day he would find himself with a mind that lost names, faces, places, smells, loves, hates, everything— except for language and the ability to control himself. He could never lose those. If he did he would have to kill himself, since pride, shame and guilt are things in the heart, not in the mind. He knew even if he forgot everything in his twilight years, he would remember that decision and hoped he would stand by it. He never wanted to be a burden.

He was a burden though, twenty-four and still living with his parents. He had no degree— only a high school diploma. He took time off to find himself and didn’t like what he found. Most people would have turned to drugs, but drugs were always too social for him. He turned to bad relationships and suicide. He was better by the night he decided he would lose his mind. Medicated and out of a mental care facility, under the influence of nine-hundred and ninety-two milligrams of different medicines. It was a strong, well mixed cocktail of psychotropics that he would washed down most nights with beer and most mornings with energy drinks— sometimes coffee. He always took them. Even though sometimes his mind would tell him it was okay, that he was okay, that he was better now and didn’t need those nine-hundred and ninety-two crutches. He knew that it was just the craziness trying to take over again. He wasn’t supposed to call it the craziness, or even to call himself crazy. He was supposed to distance himself from those words. They were comfortable and had a truth to them though. That’s what other people who didn’t know him would call him. He had a charm that he could work on people that met him. They wouldn’t call him crazy, at least not in a negative way, but if they only knew him on paper, they would call him crazy. They would mean it in a negative way and they would be afraid of him or for him.

His name was Jonathan and he probably should have had a few more or different milligrams in him. He wasn’t open with his psychologist or his psychiatrist, but they thought he was because of his charm. He didn’t tell them about the irrational fears; the fear of the bad things, the fear that there was something deeply wrong with him. A genetic switch flicked the wrong way, in a new way that’s never been seen before. Something a test couldn’t find. That he worried constantly about cancer, brain tumors, and aneurysms. Sometimes he’d feel twitching in his arms and feet. The doctors couldn’t ever find anything wrong with him. He was gifted. The only thing that really kept him together was his mind telling him how to act normally. He described himself as a bundle of problems tied together with loose ends. Every relationship and friendship wouldn’t be cut, but would fray and snap; and he would think about the ends and that would keep his mind off the bad things. It gave him something to analyze other than himself, even if he was part of the equation

Jonathan wouldn’t be a serial killer, even though he thought he might. He had a detachment from his emotions and he thought it would turn him into one. He was just a kid, afraid of what he would become, what he might have, when he would die, how he affected people… He was just a scared kid. A kid who thought he was going to lose the only the only thing important to him, his mind. He started writing down everything, not stories or anything, but writing everything down to remember it. He’d fill up composition books with his daily notes and file them away for reading when he lost his mind. He knew that it wouldn’t make everything come back to him, but he hoped some things would make it through. Those things he wrote big in the books. He chronicled everything and he became amazed at the things he missed before. He even missed some of his emotions. He didn’t have a distance from them. Sometimes they were just too complex for him to experience all at once without feeling somewhat numb to them. He became less afraid of being a serial killer, but he was still just as afraid of the other things and he felt how afraid he was when writing them. His hand would shake slightly and at first he thought it a symptom of something, but tests showed nothing and he figured out it was him just being afraid. This didn’t stop the fears though.

First his journals filled his shelves then a foot locker his mother bought him to keep them secure, but it was really to keep the tattered things out of sight. His mother was the type who didn’t understand that framing a poster, then hanging it up ruined the point of having a poster. She liked everything framed, squared off, and in its place. She had things wrong with her too, but would never admit to them even though it clearly bled into her child. She was a nice lovable woman, even though a bit loud. She loved her Jonathan, but thought all his problems came from his father’s side and not hers. Even though her mother was medicated for some of the same problems Jonathan had. Denial is easy, easier than thinking you tainted your only child’s genes with bad code. She thought about it that way sometimes until coping mechanisms kicked in and the house was clean and the toilets scrubbed. She made him a nice orderly house to combat the chaos in his blood and in her head.

She did everything for her son. Worked long hours to give him the time alone with himself he needed. It scared her to leave him alone after the last attempt, but she had too or he would never get better. He would just crawl back inside of himself and break down again. She didn’t understand why he needed time alone, but that’s because she was made the other way. She was social and was a good networker. She’d always have more friends than her son at any age and that made her feel sad for him. She’d never think anyway else about it, that’s why she would never understand Jonathan.

Jonathan’s father was distant and never played with him as a child. He was a lot like Jonathan and required time alone. Unlike Jonathan though, he had a short fuse and a loud voice that always seem to yell. Jonathan would always be a little afraid of him. He could also remember every time his father said he loved him. Those didn’t make more than a dozen memories. Jonathan never let those memories get dark around the edges.

Jonathan was an introvert.

He could fake being an extrovert well. It gave people a false sense of him; he was so good at it. It came natural to him. If he’d been born somewhere else he might very well have become an actor. He thought about that sometimes, but would dismiss it. He liked where he lived too much and already felt too old for something like that. He liked his room and he rarely left it. If it wasn’t for school or the few times he wouldn’t pass on a night with his friends, his room is where you would find Jonathan. It was his world. He still imagined things. He would put himself into situations he wanted to be in. Daydream about being better than he was, but well in reason of what he could be— most of the time anyway.

Most people know a Jonathan. The smart kid in class. Quiet. Fidgety. Spaced out, but highly focused on something always. An over-explainer. Non-fiction book reader. A kid that believed in Santa Claus a little bit too long and stopped believing in God a little too soon. A kid that never really looked at the grades he made because he knew he passed, but didn’t want to know by how much or how little. A little ashamed of his intelligence and really ashamed of how much he never applied himself. Funny.

Yeah, most people know a Jonathan until high school is over.

He thought about high school a lot. He thought about it a lot because of Dawn. She was always a relief to him. He grew up with night terrors and so did she. They would talk on the phone all night until they fell asleep. They knew each other since middle school, when the calls started. It never got romantic even though both of them wanted it to. He was always too afraid and she wouldn’t be the first one to make a move. He would remember the times he swore that the world begged him to kiss her and in his room, in his day dreams, he would. They would marry and have children and everything would be perfect. Dawn was gone from his life though. She went off to college and forgot about Jonathan. Not completely, she could never do that, but her mind forced a lot of memories of him out of her. If it didn’t she would have always been stuck on him and never grow into the person she was now. He hurt her so much by never kissing her and what seemed perfect to both of them, what seemed like the best idea never happened. It would never happen, but in his mind, in his daydreams it did happen.

He felt like he was searching for who he could have been in these daydreams; the person who took more chances, the person who did something and made something with his life. Yes, Jonathan was only twenty-four, but he felt like his life was already over. He felt like he lost the one girl he was supposed to be with. He felt like he lost all the things he was supposed to be and that made living hard.

See, living is a choice. Everyday Jonathan didn’t kill himself he was choosing to live. It was getting harder to make that choice. Even on the medication it was hard. There would be sad people if he died. He knew that it would even crush some, but he’d never have to deal with those consequences. He could die young or die old, broken and without his mind. These new bad things he learned about where pushing him closer to suicide and he could feel it. He didn’t want to lose his mind. He felt past his prime. He took a milligram of lorazepam and when he felt it kick in he took another to make sure the thoughts would go away. Of course they never really did.

He needed to get out. He called Robbie-Bobby and pretended to be an extrovert.

Robbie-Bobby was born Robert and raised as Bobby. Then freshman year he started to refer to himself as Robbie thus, Robbie-Bobby was born out of mockery.

“Robbie-Bobby!”

“What’s up John?”

“You working today?”

“No, I’m off. Why? Want to do something?”

“Pool.”

“Beer and billiards?”

“Hell yeah, I’ll buy the first round.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, let’s keep it small.”

“Meet you there in fifteen?”

“Done.”

Jonathan loved that about his age and gender. A phone call that lasted less than a minute could set up something that would be two hours of fun. For a moment he thought about how hard it was to set up things with Dawn or any of the other girls he was just friends with, this moment only took a few seconds since that’s all it took for him to process all the memories and thoughts. He took off his hoodie and put on a shirt then put his hoodie back on. He could get away with just wearing a hoodie when he was eighteen and in better shape, but now with beer and the medicine he couldn’t.

The pool hall had the normal pool hall set up. Bar in the front, tables in the back and smoke everywhere. It was early, but not early enough for the bartender Mike to play a game or two with them. The regulars were already there drinking cheap beer and needed constant attention. They’d be there for hours drinking. Alcoholism must be a hell of a monster to fight Jonathan thought about without a hint of irony. He did drink most days and some days too much, but he didn’t drink to get drunk, he drank to cope with things and he thought that made him different. It did not.

Mike greeted John and Robbie-Bobby. He’d seen Robbie-Bobby around, but seeing John was a treat to Mike. He was the only one that made him laugh after his last big break up. He’d only seriously dated three women and when he told John this, John held up three fingers and said, “You know which one she is?” Mike looked at him confused till Jonathan dropped two fingers and flipped him off with a smirk.

Mike rang up two beers as water and didn’t start a ticket for the table they were playing on. Jonathan and Robbie-Bobby both have served tables and tended bar and tipped more than the two beers and free table would cost. Mike knew, this but he didn’t do it for a bigger tip he did it because he liked them. Mike was older and was the owner’s son. He’d been working there since John and Robbie-Bobby where in high school and would come in after classes. They and one girl that used to be around them all the time were the only people Mike has ever served alcohol to underage. He felt responsible for their good taste in beer.

At the table John racked and Robbie-Bobby broke. John always let people go before him. He was a strong player and didn’t like the stress of running the table for so long, so early in the game.

They sipped their beers and took a few shots in silence.

“John, What’s wrong?”

“Nothing… Just needed to get out you know?”

“I know what that’s like. Most people know what that’s like, but you don’t know what that’s like.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and sunk a ball.

“Do you remember the last time we played pool Jonathan?”

“Yeah.”

“Two days later you tried to kill yourself. Is that in your head again?”

“It always will be.”

“Is that why you needed to get out?”

“No…” John shook his head, “I just miss all the people I could have been.”

Robbie-Bobby didn’t say anything.

“You know, I had so many choices of what I could have been, and they’re all missing now. I’ve waited too long for them.”

“You’re only twenty-fucking-four. Stop acting like you’re on your deathbed, do something with your life.”

“Like?”

“You? You could start some kind of revolution.”

Jonathan smiled and wrote that big in his composition book.

She always smoked in bed, using the soap dish from the bathroom as an ashtray. I was glad it could get some use as something other than do-not-touch-decoration.

“Are you writing?” She asked.

“Yes”

“That makes me happy”

“It makes me happy too”

“Share it already”

“It’s too simple”

She groaned and tore the little book of paper from my hands and read the poem.

What did I do to make you breath through a filter?
Whisper it in my ear
I’ll do it again

She grinned then started nibbling my ear.

When Ella walked in, the part of her that wanted to be happy ignored the smell of sex in the air and called all the other parts of herself paranoid. She kissed me and we were instantly happy and would be until she left. She had no power over me if she wasn’t in touching distance. I didn’t think about her unless she was there or if I was horny. She always made me want to make her happy. I’d do or be anyone for her, as long as she was around. Once she left though, I was just me again. She didn’t have presence. She didn’t leave anything lingering. Some guys wouldn’t even take a second look at her. She was beautiful but not in the new way.

She was five nothing and weighed a buck ten on a bad day. She was Italian with a long neck. When she was naked she looked like she belonged in centuries old painting and when dressed like she belonged in the ’60s.

We would talk to each other in lyrics. It was a game for us.

“I don’t want to be your other half, I believe one and one makes two”

“Easy, Alanis.”

“Yep.”

“Just you and me. Now won’t you tell me true. Ain’t that the way it oughta be?”

“Dylan”

“Right-o”

“And for you I keep my legs apart and forget about my tainted heart.”

“Lykke Li”

“Good guess, what song?”

“Little Bit. My tongue’s the only muscle on my body that works harder than my heart.”

“Bayside?”

“No, Brand New you lose”

“I think I’m going to win anyway”

I picked her up and took her to the bedroom.

I caught the answer blowing in the wind. The sea breeze had freedom in it. It let me think, yes, about her. Who else could I think about. She could have let me go softer, but I guess there is no soft way to let anyone go. Maybe if I was a better man I would have seen it coming or perhaps it would have never came at all. It did though and now she was yesterday. Maybe even last week. I don’t know when I stopped feeling time with her but I did. It took months but the beach had helped. Wearing no shoes had helped. The drinking had not helped at all. Time made me agree with her. She had every right to let me go. She might not have known the names or even that there were others but she did know that I was an artist that was not selling. I refused to be anything else. I took no jobs. Not even the fake ones that were offered to me by my parents and their friends. To be a sixty-thousand a year cog in a machine that did nothing but turned by itself.

She wanted me to be a cog but I couldn’t do that for her or to myself. At least I still had Ella, she was my best lover and only friend. I had acquaintances and other people I’d hang about with but they were all broke artist and would only love me till I had success and leave me then. Ella was different she could be my entire world. She had a level head and curved body. Only if she would talk to me.

She’d get over how I reacted to the break up. She had too. She loved me too much. Which I took advantage of, most of the time without knowing. I still did it though and I should feel worse about it even though it already made me miserable. When Mary left me I self destructed even though I was planing to leave her once I could do it softly. Leave her for Ella. That was the truth of it all but somehow it was also a lie.

Mary was my world for the longest time. She made me feel safe and she made me feel like a man. I made her a woman. I wasn’t the first there. Far from it, but I was the first to make her go mad. She could lose herself with me. I hope she finds that again. She deserves to be happy no matter how much I still hate her.

The beach house wasn’t mine. It was my parents. My mother heard about Mary and offered it up to me as a place to go hide away from everything. I got the need to run from things from her. She cleared the house’s calendar of weekend renters: families and teenage boys who pooled their money for a place right on the sand. This place has always felt more like home than anywhere else. I was here all summers, some Christmases, and prom night. In high school I helped redesign it. My girlfriend at the time was hired to do it and since then it’s always reminded me of her. There had been enough time without her to only remember the good times. The times my mother reminded me about. She still loved April, who still did interior design and still talked to mom. I still loved April a bit, but I still loved Mary and all the others too. My heart would never fully give up on any girl it had.

The house itself was beautiful, the rooms looked like they came out of new magazines even though they haven’t been changed in years. That made it comfortable to me. When I lived with my parents things constantly changed and when I lived with Mary we kept getting new things for that house we always dreamed of. I couldn’t stay here forever but I had no place else to go. I didn’t want to move back in with the folks. This was temporary. Maybe Ella would have me. Maybe I should take one of those jobs. That’s what everyone I knew did anyway. Maybe this was my time to give up.

With that thought I took a nap.

#

I woke up to April knocking on the door. I knew my mother had called her.

“Mom sent me, we’re both worried”

She still called my parents mom and dad, still, after six years of being broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Lindsey, just mom and dad to her. Something no one else has done. We knew each other since elementary and went to the same summer camp twice. It wasn’t till high school when we were separated by social constructs of cliques and cliché that we finally got together. I remember us walking around my block. She was wearing a jacket that said money and I was wearing a denim jacket that said poor but cost twice as much. She grabbed me by it and she kissed me first and that’s not how its supposed to work. So I kissed her back hard. That was our first kiss. She’d remind me that I kissed her first on the last day of fifth grade. She was sweet and remembered things like that. I’d argue that it was only on the cheek. She’d have none of that argument and just say it took her almost a decade to kiss me back. She was a good girl, the all American girl type. We were together throughout high school but college tore us apart. Sometimes I still think of winning her back and making her Mrs. Lindsey. This wasn’t one of those times. Maybe I should have answered at least one phone call from mom.

I wanted her to leave. I wanted to drown in more sorrow but for some reason I was happy to see her. She was a head shorter than me with true dirty blonde hair and what my own mother called a fuck-me body. She was my first and she was still the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Pale blue eyes and secrets I still didn’t know.

“Come to lunch with me.”

I looked at my naked feet and she rolled her eyes before she turned them to the floor looking for my shoes.

“We’ll go to that old ancient place you used to love.”

“It’s closed down.”

“Liar.”

“Why would I lie?”

“It’s your nature, I still eat there.”

She pushed my shoes into my chest with a smirk that made me wish she pushed me onto a bed.

We would be doing shots at a little Mexican place that wouldn’t care about my shoes.

#

After food and a lot of drink, and a walk back to the beach house we slept together. It wasn’t making love and it wasn’t fucking. It was like we picked up somewhere before we left off. We fell asleep together, woke up around seven and had sex again. This time it was sweeter, it was slower, and it made me think of Ella.

We stayed in, had more to drink and each other again. The morning came softly. I woke up first but went back to sleep holding her tight. I woke up again and she was gone. She left a note that called me, sleepy head and not much else other than she had to get to work picking out wall textures and wished she could have taken me and my eye for color.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened and it’ll be joked about and treated like it never happened. That’s what Ella would know. She would know it never happened.

#

My phone rang and it was her. It was Ella. Her voice was soft and sad. I knew she was still hurt and I knew I couldn’t hurt her anymore. I told her I didn’t sleep with April because I couldn’t get my mind off of her. I told her how I loved her more than ever and more than anyone. That I didn’t love anyone else but her. I lied. I lied a lot, but every lie made her happier so I kept telling them. The part of her that wanted to be happy believed them. I would do anything to make her happy, I loved her in that way; that unsustainable way.

“So this is real now, it’ll be us and only us?”

“Yes, I don’t want anyone else, can’t think of anyone else, I’ve tried.”

“Why did you try?”

“Because I thought I lost you, I thought my life was over. I thought I lost my future.”

“I’m your future?”

“You my everything, my only thing, the only thing that matters. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I washed the smell of April off of me with a long shower and waited for Ella. I wouldn’t know she was here till she knocked on the door. Everything about her was quiet. She even drove a hybrid car That didn’t make a sound when it pulled into your driveway. Some would call her bookish and have every right to make that mistake. She loves to travel, going places, finding new things and fucking. Dear god did she love fucking.

“So this is real now, it’ll be us and only us?”

“Yes, I don’t want anyone else, can’t think of anyone else, I’ve tried.”

“Why did you try?”

“Because I thought I lost you, I thought my life was over. I thought I lost my future.”

“I’m your future?”

“You my everything, my only thing, the only thing that matters. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

My phone rang and it was her. It was Ella. Her voice was soft and sad. I knew she was still hurt and I knew I couldn’t hurt her anymore. I told her I didn’t sleep with April because I couldn’t get my mind off of her. I told her how I loved her more than ever and more than anyone. That I didn’t love anyone else but her. I lied. I lied a lot, but every lie made her happier so I kept telling them. The part of her that wanted to be happy believed them. I would do anything to make her happy, I loved her in that way; that unsustainable way.

After food and a lot of drink, and a walk back to the beach house we slept together. It wasn’t making love and it wasn’t fucking. It was like we picked up somewhere before we left off. We fell asleep together, woke up around seven and had sex again. This time it was sweeter, it was slower, and it made me think of Ella.

I woke up to April knocking on the door. I knew my mother would have called her.

“Mom sent me, we’re both worried”

She still called my parents mom and dad even though we have been broke up over six years ago. Sometime I still think of winning her back. We knew each other since elementary and went to the same summer camp twice. It wasn’t till high school though when we were separated by social constructs of cliques and cliché that we got together. I remember us walking around my block. She was wearing A jacket that said money and I was wearing a jacket that said poor but cost nearly two hundred dollars. She grabbed it and she kissed me first and that’s not how its suppose to work.

She wanted me to be a cog but I couldn’t do that for her or to myself. At least I still had Ella, she was my best lover and only friend. I had acquaintances and other people I’d hang about with but they were all broke artist and would only love me till I had success and leave me then. Ella was different she could be my entire world. She had a level head and curved body. Only if she would talk to me.

I caught the answer blowing in the wind. The sea breeze had freedom in it. It let me think. Yes, about her. Who else could I think about. She could have let me go softer, but I guess there is no soft way to let someone go. Maybe if I was a better man I would have seen it coming or perhaps it would have never came at all. It did though and now she was yesterday. Maybe even last week. I don’t know when I stopped feeling time with her but I did. It took months but the beach had helped. Wearing no shoes had helped. The drinking had not helped at all. Time made me agree with her. She had every right to let me go. She might not have known the names or even that there were others but she did know that I was an artist that was not selling. I refused to be anything else. I took no jobs. Not even the fake ones that were offered to me by my parents and their friends. To be a sixty thousand a year cog in a machine that did nothing but turned by itself.

Every word of this may seem like a lie. Most things about love are. My dealings with it have always been with the artistic and deep thinking. As much as we yearn to be normal the need to be different is strong enough to make us a group of creative types different to date so many opinions on love could and probably are stuck to be agreed with by people who already know all of this from fucking an artist of any kind. Love is allotted as many chances as needed for that what love is: understanding, commitment, and timing. wish I could win votes from the normies with this but love is allotted as many chances as needed for that what love is: understanding, commitment, and timing.

His mind went blank and she fell in it. Her body jumped like she was falling in a dream. She felt like a child. Ignorant child. She knew nothing of this and that has never happened since it always happened before.

My grandfather would say the niggers have taken over everything and the Italian fraternities have lost all fucking self respect. I agree with it, even the profanity of it. There was a time when this kind of life was proper and I’m part of the bit that still is. My name is Addison West. People call me Addy. I’ve been educated on the streets and in the halls. Not that any of that maters, you don’t learn how to be a conman you’re born one. You don’t like to hear no and will learn to get what you want without hearing it. You learn a few magic tricks then stop talking about them. Cheat at cards during lunch and palm a cookie there too. If I ever got caught I might have stopped. I never did. With my friend Pick, I steal art. It’s not like in the movies. Mostly smash and grab. Sometimes we use help, this is Cat, born Amber Thompson she got the name because cats have nine lives and by our count she’s on Fifteen.

These are costumes, they are ridiculous but the mustaches are fantastic. We have extras, not enough for everybody but I’m sure we can all share though. This is a cell phone jammer I bought it online for $299 with some stolen copper wire it works even better. This is a gun, what kind doesn’t matter does it? This is a heist. Keep your purses and wallets. We’re here for the art.