What have I done?
What did I get myself into?
What did I create?
There are so many complications with the little situation.
So I’ll just tell you the story.
there was a girl who fell for a boy
(isn’t that always how it goes?).
She fell for him in the spring.
She fell for his friendship.
Then his smile
and she learned how to make him laugh.
What a reward that was.
She fell for TV marathons,
and fort building.
She fell for brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles.
She fell for nerdy adorable.
She’s never been able to get over that type.
In the summer it continued.
She fell for their rhythm and sass.
In the fall it strengthened.
She fell for the idea of him.
That very idea kept her alive through stress and tears;
bitterness masked by sarcasm.
In the winter it faded.
That boy went
and turned his life to shit.
He drowned any pain or stress with copious amounts of
drinks and drugs.
He drowned the scent of those drugs with copious amounts of
In the spring he was the same.
And she knew better than to change him.
In the summer…
Oh in the summer it all crashed down.
In the summer she saw her chance.
In the summer he made a choice
and she would be there to make sure he kept his promise.
She tried so desperately to help him.
She spent her time and effort to wake him up to the reality that
fun can be had without the life he tried to leave behind.
Instead of taking the summer for a much needed cooling period,
she smothered herself with his dirtiest depths.
The ones he had only confessed to three people before.
And she felt honored to be the fourth.
She didn’t judge,
because she too had made mistakes.
Why judge somene for a past they are leaving behind?
No, she didn’t judge.
Instead, she fell even harder for that boy
and his scars.
She fell for evolved hide and seek in the dark
and last minute volleyball in the sand.
She fell for Saturday night board games.
She fell for healing.
She told herself that he could be healed
and it could be by her.
She read stories of heroes
and now was her time to be one.
In this story, her story,
for once in her life,
she was not the damsel.
She was there for him through his own low points,
and his friends darkest hour
that cast swinging shadows across his life.
Her boy shouldn’t have had to deal with that alone.
No one should.
But she did,
She dealt with everything alone.
He pestered her for those moments of truth.
She’ll tell you now that he was only trying to dig up her dirt,
because she knew so much of his.
She will tell you this because she can’t bear to acknowledge that
maybe he really did care,
but still left.
He had sent her songs that she ‘just had to hear.’
Introduced her to new movies and shows, videos and music.
They had learned from each other in such different ways.
Each had their strengths
and oh too many weaknesses.
But they had complemented each other.
He wanted to hang out at all times.
Of course only to distract himself from the cravings.
And of course she gave in every time.
But he never wanted her,
he only wanted a crutch.
And when that crutch left,
he couldn’t stand alone.
But that’s not her fault,
He never really needed her.
He was only under an illusion.
And illusions are made to be broken.
False mirrors that will eventually shatter,
good things she never believed in bad luck.
From the full hearted laugh,
to the bittersweet smile, to the tears in her eyes,
to the rage that now fills her voice,
on might even say she fell in love that over those seasons.
And she took far too long to fall out of it.
Instead she ripped herself apart.
She tore out the pieces that reminded her of him.
But she was unwise.
Instead of throwing those far, far away like she should have,
she kept them close to her chest.
She held them tight and crushed the life out of them.
When she finally threw them out,
they were crushed to ash.
Nothing left but the marks of destruction
because that was all that was left of her.
i guess i miss playing with your fingers,
feeling your warm whisper on my neck
but never have i missed
the feelings of your slap on my back.
or the bruises on my arms, for that matter
and while we’re at it, i don’t miss being begged for sex
or photos that would have dissolved my purity
like when the sun slowly merges with the earth, and all that’s left is darkness.
although i miss
I was the girl of your dreams, and you finally woke up
When you did, the thought of hurting me didn't even faze you
Your hand against my skin now leaving marks, not a ghost I would soon lay in bed and think about and smile.
I hope the shame of what you did to me burns your oesophagus when your next girlfriend asks what happened with me, and I hope you tell the truth. I hope you tell her that you let me go, that you touched me in a way no man should touch his
You carved your name into my skull with a nail and a hammer. I know this because whenever I think of you, my head hurts. Whenever I think of you, my throat closes up and my eyes start to burn. Then my vision gets blurry and all I can ask myself is why you did it.
I really hope she can tell that when you lie you scratch the left side of your head and put your left hand on your right shoulder. I hope she can tell that the sides of your mouth twitch when you know with all of your heart you aren't telling the truth.
You sit there
In the corner of my too neat room
Arms crossed behind your head
While I shoot daggers at you
The memories of what we used to be sear the inside of my eyeballs
And I remember how when we would touch nothing else mattered
When we were together we were unstoppable
And I wonder how you ended up in my bed room
After 8 months of having you out of my life you’ve somehow wormed your way back in
After 8 months of living oceans away from you you’ve somehow convinced me we should be friends
After 8 months of recovering from the tornado called you that wreaked havoc on my life you’re back
And you’re sitting there like you own the place
You’re sitting there and your confidence and sense of self fill the room
You look up from your iphone
I’m practically huddled in the corner of my queen-sized bed afraid of what you may do and you ask
‘So there’s no chance of us having sex tonight?’
That's all you have to say?
After the tears
After the fights
That’s what your interested in
I shake my head no
And I hope that will be enough to make you leave
This is my safe haven
This is my home
This is the place I don’t have to hide, usually
I hope you’ll go home
Just stand up and walk away
Tonight you want to talk
You ask me why
Are you serious?!
Did you seriously just ask that?
You drank me up like you were dehydrated and I was the only fresh spring in miles
I opened up to you
I gave you my soul
I shared with you my emotions (the bits and pieces I don’t generally give away)
And you drank them up
You gave me nothing in return
I was empty
All that was left was useless mud
The way I feel about you is not the way you feel about me
So why should I do this to myself
What’s between you and me, it isn’t healthy for me
So, no, we aren’t going to have sex
Finally you get up saying it’s time you should leave
I’m silently thanking God
And as I’m walking you out from the corner of the basement where my room is you grab me
We’re on the dark steps and you hug me
You hold me so close
And for every bit of that closeness that you're holding me next to your body I’m holding my happy dolphin pillow pet
And you hug me
And I touch its soft fur
And you breathe into me
And I remember just how blue my dolphin is in the light
And you’re breathing in my ear and I’m thinking BLUE BLUE BLUE
And you say in my ear that I was wrong
You feel the same way
When we’re together we can move mountains
We can do anything
And you whisper it
Even though no one’s around
And I’m focusing on my breathing and just how blue my blue dolphin is
And you kiss me
And you kiss me again
Then you kiss me once more and I…
I kiss you back
In a hospital with glass walls they can't hide their problems
as the newborn screams and the cancer depletes
the cycle of life is witnessed like a dream
vivid in this reality the harshness of their insanity,
purely demographically calculating each catastrophe
Anxiety and depression, broken bones and unlearned lessons,
overflowing pediatric wings and incomprehensible fallacies
how many angels have to fall before they finally change something?
the way it is just isn't working
genetically modifying the health and well being of humanity
is devil-like control that we've given out freely
each one of us is just as guilty
of giving in without even thinking
they've designed it not only to be easy,
but required, legally
prepared for the community
to not take it so peacefully
"You can't make me" becomes a felony
and a ticket can be written for anything
don't get caught with your hands in your pockets day dreaming...
you silly dreamer human being
theres laws against speaking free, although the constitution disagrees
the law wasn't given it's own set of wings
and jealous was he so he created a scene
and made it seem like a city was their dream
when it never really came close to being
handing out medications and monthly vaccines
instead of homegrown natural remedies
With a clamor of disorder a raised voice heard,
pompous and prig it begins to emerge,
he starts with,
"I don't understand this obsession with television
you're numbing your brains with perfect precision,
vegging like zombies consuming mind corrosives
numbing your senses with cabbaging explosives.
You are passive and dull clapping like a seal,
have a word with yourself, IT'S NOT EVEN REAL!!
It's nonsense intended to diminish your soul
makes you pliant and supple, never breaking your mold"
He pauses and sips then gleefully splurges,
"My head would never be satisfied with the basest of urges.
I spend my free time reading or immersed in the arts,
i cleanse my essence and strengthen my heart.
I visit wonderful worlds full of joy and compassion
where people love well what's front and what's past them,
the flaws and the soars of the human condition
are painted out in strong and perfect position,
So while you glaze your iris with images galore
and turn your mind's eye from vibrant to snore
i have beauty coming out of my pores.
But you stick with your idiot box"
he knowingly mocks,
swings down his drink
and finally stops.
There is silence for seconds but then somebody says,
"I disagree with your there in quite a few ways."
"Although i think reading reveals amazing truth,
enriching life with strokes drawn loose,
conveying love with all that it brings,
grief and stillness and magical things.
And i concur that art is a window into the soul,
running with life and filling the holes
but telly can also tell the things that they told.
He guffaws with derision and says with pride grown fat
"pray do tell what TV show could do that."
"There's a show where a girl is given a tremendous burden,
her present hectic and future uncertain,
she stands between the world and inevitable doom
while going to school and being sent to her room,
she worries about hair and being the object of mirth
while still being scared but saving the earth.
She has people around her who are courageous and clever,
and stand by her side whatever the weather.
One would feel useless and small
but then buy the dress so you can go to the ball.
The other sent to watcher and keep his distance
but for the pull of affection there is no resistance.
Red held the fate of the world in her hands
when her world ended and crumbled like sand,
but she used all her magic and not to float a pen
but to stand back up, to love again.
Her sister was a key and her duties a lock
sometimes she began to rock
she had a day that we will all have
where something is lost and will never come back,
outside it's sunny with hoots of oddity
inside it's seconds from mommy to body,
and this happens,
unlike her it will not be gentle,
it will invade everything
and evade courtesy
But this is because of love,
and what it does.
everlasting and there to see,
and in a show on TV."
She has a slight pause and then remarks
"It could be drenched in sadness and resplendent with larks,
many vampires slain and demons destroyed
moments of weakness, feelings to avoid.
She could plough the fields and never till them,
admit her mistakes...i'm sorry William.
She could be class protector
she could be surprised
she could lie with you until sun rise
she could die for the world and take out the glory
she would run from her problems but always finish the story,
she'd get you down from a tower
with words not her power,
her screams send the bad gentlemen away
because she is stronger then them, everyday,
she has kindness
and a best and a worst
can burst into song and be effulgent in verse,
told she's a a hell of a woman and the one
and returns the i love yous on the day that he's gone,
and through the screen and this TV plot
is written with love how she saved the world...alot.
You might like books
but Buffy is great
an endeavour of joy, an affront to the hate."
The man composes himself and then says without regret
"It sounds fucking brilliant, i'll get the boxset!"
as the minutes passed on, I felt my sanity slowly depleting.
all of a sudden I felt numb almost.
like I didn't exist.
I felt unreal.
it was quite a strange feeling.
there was a point where I felt completely distant from everything.
that was one of the darkest times of my life.
I had never felt so disconnected from everything around me.
I'd never been so empty.
I remember at some point realizing I had lost my sanity altogether.
I knew that I was no longer normal.
my mind was no longer functioning properly.
and I believe I'd realized this when I found my skin itching to be
torn open once more.
soon after that,
I found myself trudging to the scale I had in my bathroom.
every morning and every night.
it became a daily routine.
in the morning, I'd mentally record my weight.
in the afternoon, I'd restrict my food intake.
and finally in the evening, I'd make my way back to the scale and
scold myself for not being the weight I wanted.
even as a child I remember not being happy with myself.
I remember looking down at my stomach in my Cinderella costume
and thinking I was fat.
at the time, I was six years old.
I don't know if I ever really was "sane."
but I do know that I wasn't always so mentally fucked.
and everyday I regret letting the cold darkness invade my soul.
I hear you say:
Ignorance and Apathy
Are the way to be.
(the following responses in parentheses are points I can't bring up to you because you're my father and you're perfect in morality and your sense of reality)
As evidenced by these points you brought up:
(Because Screw caring for people
Or even using logic. What?)
Suicidal thoughts are normal. (Only because of people like you that don't care to understand what depression is... 1 in 3 will experience depression in their lifetime... I did. You only noticed after the worst of it was over after more than 6 months of screaming silently to myself in my room, crying myself to sleep and soaking my pillow. After that, you finally noticed and put your hand on my neck and simply said "I know" and never said another word.... but you obviously don't "know" or care to understand if this is how you respond to me telling you the signs of depression and desperation in a girl I'm trying to help. You implied that I'm stupid because I'm trying to fix someone's problems without a stupid fucking piece of paper that costs $80,000 and says I know what I already know... You don't have a degree in business but you've decided that you know best with that... And you do... its called learning from experience you jackass)
You have no knowledge on the matter that you speak. (But I've more experience in this area that you refuse to understand. I know more than you do. I just can't argue because you're in charge and you're perfect and you're always right.)
I know idiots like you. (Fuck you dad... thanks for the support.)
I don't support you. (Oh wait... never mind)
Your dreams are out of reach and you know it. (You haven't lived my dreams so you have no knowledge on the matter that you speak asshole)
You won't survive in society if you don't do things the way I learned them. Jesus didn't learn the way you did and He lived a better life. I haven't learned the way you have and you're a terrible teacher when it comes to relationships and psychology anyway... because you don't try and you still won't have the same experiences as people of our age have and will.)
You MUST submit to society (because you have no hope to change it. What? Who are you to imply I won't have the power to change the world some day?)
(And for some reason you WONDER why I don't listen to you... You put me down and make me want to cry... I've counted on one hand since high school started 2 and a half years ago that you've said "I'm proud of you" and that was because of a good report card... I think that's when I realized that was the first time I can EVER remember you saying something encouraging to me... and I haven't ever heard it since. So forgive me if I hate the arrogant part of you that thinks you know best and that I should submit to your authority.)
I never knew what true pain was
Until I was seperated from you, the one I love
By many many miles
I never knew what true happiness was
Until I saw you walking towards me
And I running up to hug you
The day I was anticipating
I never knew what true love was
Until I spent those nights in your arms
Lost in your eyes
Time was nonexistent
I never knew what true caring was
Until you sat with wide eyes
Listening to every word I had to say
Until I had no more breath in my lungs
I never knew what it felt like
To feel safe
Until you held me and shut out my
Roaring demons from within
My deep dark soul
I never knew what true
Until you promised me
Something for me to finally
I never knew
true meaning of living
Until I realized
I'd gladly die for you
So that you can live
I never knew.
I never knew
I never knew
Until I met you.
Tell me about how that one person became your pearl
how you were an oyster simply going about your life
until you got a taste of that one little grain of sand
that sand that never left your lips
and it became almost irritating
how much one little grain of sand
could affect you
how you kept building up saliva
to cover up this grain of sand
just like your thoughts for this one person
kept building up
layers upon layers
until it hardens
it solidifies into something more magnificent
it becomes this beautiful and rare being
something that you never wanted
but everyone seems to wish for
tell me about that one person who became your pearl
how they took forever to finally be yours
yet a second to be taken away
you tried to put up a resistance
sealing your lips together tightly
before they pried open your jaw
and stole your prized possession
tell me how in love you were
with that tiny grain of sand
that became your pearl
tell me about how you once had love
and how it was robbed from you
His Funeral was today. Well, his wake rather. It was in his old colonial home on Elm Street, a bought of irony that Paolo would never get. Anyway, it was an odd set up at his house. Family and friends downstairs in the living room, acquaintances and honorable mentions meandering through the hallways clearly more interested in the intricate little floral patterns that adorned the wallpaper than how his family was holding up. The company of the house was split, everyone either legitimately full of sorrow, or completely full of shit. In everyone’s grasp either handkerchiefs or hand grenades it was as if the invitation read “Come see it to believe it!” In the study across the hall a small memorial was set up. Big cards, tons of photos, some flowers, anyone who actually cared stayed there and stared at his once happy face, who knew what it looks like now.
He had died of some sort of overdose, one that destroyed his heart, so he would have looked fine in an open casket. The doctors say it was cocaine. I don’t believe them. Paolo had his fun in college, pot, booze, sure, but coke? There’s no way. The services weren’t to take place for another two hours, so his family rolled him onto the second floor balcony. It was actually his dad’s decision, something about a “disgrace” and not wanting to look at his face.
Apparently his mom had felt bad letting her dead son chill on the porch for a few hours, so she rolled him across the hallway to his own room him and kind of laid him out on the bed, as if letting her baby boy take his eternal sleep where he’d have had most of his shorter ones.
Picturing him lying up there was the first negative connotation I ever had with the image of him on that bed. He had that kind of headboard that when we started getting at it the bed would hit the wall with each rhythmic movement. Steady and almost tribal as our bodies danced to the ever increasing beat of a talking drum. Our clothes off and our skin glazed with sweat it was like my own personal method for getting high. Now don’t get the impression that our relationship was based purely on a physical connection, we’d been dating for three and a half years, the love was there all right.
We had met in the strangest of ways, through a mutual friend that I was kind of, almost, sort of, but not really having a “thing” with, you know? Cisco was his name. So we were together one day and he, being the adorable spaz that he was, had forgotten that his own birthday party was that same night. He asked if I didn’t mind tagging along, it was a celebration for him and two friends whose birthdays followed his in sequence.
This had been going on for several weeks, and I know we weren’t dating but I still had a feigning interest in the guy. So we arrive to this girl, Cristina’s, house and I noticed this other boy almost immediately. In a backwards cap and pair of boot cut jeans he was jumping around, tossing his arms, right in the middle of reciting some hilarious anecdote to any of his friends who hadn’t heard it yet; even those who had seemed riveted. He was so full of charisma and with such assurance. Besides that he was kind of cute so, though pathetically, I tried flirting with him for the rest of the night; he didn’t really catch on. We left that night without having exchanged more than ten words between each other, I thought I’d never see him again, turns out I was wrong.
“Broadway CAREols. Show others that you care by enjoying a night of with your favorite blend of Christmas ditties and Broadway biddies” And before you ask, Yes, I did come up with that title, I think it was great and it was at the top of each flyer in big red and green letters and if you asked me “If you could do it again…” I would do it the same each and every time don’t judge me.
It was a show I had to direct for a community service project and of all people he played the piano for my show. Only me and several other girls made up the cast, and I knew how easy it was to mistake a positive attitude for flirtation when it comes from a handsome young man. He ran the music over three or four times individually with each cast member before the night of the show, but when Paolo and I worked that night he stopped me and just sang. For me.
Each night after rehearsal I had to give him a ride home, I was a year older and thus had my license a year sooner. I’d never mind allowing myself more time to bask in the glow of his perfectly understated confidence, so I was happy to oblige. Technically Connecticut state imposed a law forbidding new drivers under the age of 18 to be on the roads past 11 at night. My mom, being a government employee, really stressed this one. His house was a solid ten minutes drive from our rehearsal spot, and my mom often warned me to allow myself enough time to get back home before 11. What started as me beginning to drive faster and faster during the trip home ended as a routine each night, where I would finally allow him to step out of my car just as the clock read 11:00 PM.
Our first kiss was in that car, my first uncontrollable breakdown was in the car, hell the first time he told me he loved me was in that car…right at the lip of the driveway. I learned to ride my brakes perfectly to the point where I could park just beyond the edge of the sidewalk yet just before the point where the porch light would flash on, reminding his mother that his son is out past ten on a school night. It was so warm. I’ll never forget the cadence of his laughter as it trailed off, seamlessly merging with that next statement “Anna, I love you”. I could have sworn the porch light went on.
Now I know it may seem like I don’t care for his being dead right now, but the thing is, I did something. I did something really bad.
You see, I had mentioned that he was up in his room, right? Still, stiff, simply waiting to be brought down in a few hours as the catalyst to another round of tears. Now don’t get me wrong, I did my share of crying the night before. He’d been in the hospital for only a few days and when they told us he was dead…God, he was just so young, two years into college, the friend you have who was chasing his dreams down with a brand new pair of sneakers. That kid the whole town knew because of the multitude of silly town functions he attended. He would always insist. Every other weekend was one silly thing or another “Oh you’re gonna love this. Two words – ‘Poetry showdown’. If you can’t take the heat, don’t stay in the kitchen”
The day of the funeral I just had to see him. I snuck up the two floors to his room on the third floor. As I neared his door at the top of that final flight of stairs each creak of the floorboard seemed to resonate through the house, followed by the hollow silence of my stillness. I paused with each step as if stepping in larger spans of time would make what I was doing seem less suspicious, should someone hear me. Upon touching his doorknob I felt an immediate chill. I couldn’t tell whether it was some ghostly feeling of being in the presence of a dead person, or the fact that the thermostat had been turned down to keep his body prime for viewing.
I held my breath as I opened the door, and blinked a couple times when I saw him. He was wearing what everyone else was in downstairs, black tuxedo and a dark tie. I know he would have scowled had he known he was going to be buried in a constricting penguin suit. We had a conversation about it, you know? Out on Academy Hill, right in the middle of a picnic. We were in enough shade that his transition lenses were only half tinted, and when he sat up, it was abruptly. Pushing my head off his chest he kind of leaned in to the cemetery in the distance and pointed out how sad it is that no one really ever gets the chance to choose how they want to spend the rest of eternity dressed in. He would have preferred his puma sneakers, still white after seven months, his striped green and blue socks, his only pair of ripped designer jeans and that express shirt he loved so much because it showed off his natural physique.
I moved closer, inching toward him at first, then quicker as I broke through a place where I just relaxed, and for a moment he wasn’t dead. For a moment he was just sleeping, all ready in his fancy get up simply waiting for me to wake him up. I found myself sitting next to him, my eyes cast downward, half expecting his gaze to meet mine, and while stroking his hair I got an idea. It happened quickly, and I kind of have a problem with acting upon my impulses, it’s something he used to criticize me on that and I never really improved. Without thinking I threw open his drawer and pulled out what I knew he’d have wanted to be dressed in, should he have gotten the chance to create a will concerning his death-wear. As I pulled of his starchy shirt my hand brushed against his chest, chilled as the room was, eerie as nothing else. I finally got him down past his pants and saw, of all abominations, that he was outfitted in a fresh pair of tighty whities. God, it’s as if the funeral home was asking to be haunted by his tormented soul. I found his single pair of silk boxers and reassembled him in the way I knew he’d have wanted to be.
So great, now everyone will think I’m a loon for having desecrated his body. Well what do they know; I’m the only one who ever really knew him! But how the hell would I explain it to his parents when the pallbearers march in and there he is, laying face up in his street clothes?
This wasn’t right. He didn’t belong here, he needed to be somewhere comfortable, someplace he enjoyed, not sitting upstairs in a suit with the lights off and the air blasting. He hated the cold! Certainly he would have hated a hundred people staring at his dead and lifeless shell, and he would, without a doubt, hate being six feet under, pushing daises at the Nichols Road cemetery.
I wrapped my arms around him, and as the building adrenaline made my breaths deepen I inhaled several moments of ecstasy off his clothes that still clung to his musty scent. I lowered him gently to the floor and took care as I dragged him across the carpet to his door. After fumbling, for what felt like several minutes, on his door handle I got him onto the awning introducing the stairs. I even made it down the first flight of stairs without freezing up at the tiniest creak when I heard someone coming my way. Dammit, they must need to use the bathroom, why couldn’t they just use the one downstairs like any normal person? Without hesitation I throw open up the window near bottom of the stairs, heaving myself and him, sending us tumbling onto the garage roof. Ignoring my probable bruises I spring up and slam the window behind me while taking special care to hide us both as far away from the bathroom window as possible.
Sitting up there, my heart racing, I felt his hand in mine and it was probably because my palms had gone clammy but I swear for a span of time he was alive again. I closed my eyes and felt the breeze in my hair and was transported to a place where I spent a single moment in each day we ever shared. Each beach side sandcastle, each afternoon spent cloud gazing, those same afternoons turning into evenings of star gazing, each and every night spent utterly and irrevocably lost with this silly boy that chose to love me.
I was torn from my oasis as I heard the bathroom’s occupant exit and continue downstairs. Knowing that my van was parked on the other side of the street I pushed his body as close to the edge of the roof as I could without his falling off and let him be. I hopped back inside and ran downstairs, but not before flying through the doors of the memorial and interrupting his mothers eulogy. In an act of sheer brilliance I mustered a few tears and tore out the back door. Everyone figured I was just so taken away by his death that I couldn’t stand to be there anymore. Who knew anxiety could be mistook for remorse so easily?
I ran down the driveway, losing the grace I had composed in my dress in high heels the moment I slammed that door. I jumped into Emmet, my van, because only crazy people drive around in un-named vehicles.
I pulled out of my spot, nearly ruining the paint job on both my and his Uncle Ed’s car. I flew my trunk door open and set the third row down, the general idea being his landing securely in my back seat. I reversed up the driveway with the precision of a surgeon and the speed of a leopard right back to the edge of the garage where I had tossed his body. I jumped out of my car nearly forgetting to put it into park before I shut off the engine. I barely got halfway around my car before becoming transfixed on his hand, hanging off the gutter as if reaching for mine to grab hold and pull him to sweet salvation. I jumped up a few times, unsuccessfully before I took off my shoes and got a good running start. I flew up, grabbed his arm and jerked towards the car in a sideways downward motion. He nearly cracked his head on the pavement coming down, he would have too if it wasn’t for my body breaking his fall. I got up, too distracted by the sheer volume of my own heart to realize the pain I felt. I shoved him into my back seat, slammed the trunk, stumbled into the car, stuck it in reverse and stepped on gas without even putting my shoes back on.
I told you I had done something bad.