Boys Don't Cry

Welcome to Camp Evergreen

"Lottie, Lottie, honey, calm down! I told you, I'd have the numbers in tomorrow! Oh, oh- Wait, wait!"

She mussed her son's hair and gave a kiss from her lipstained mouth before trotting out the door- she had a train to catch. Specifically, the  8 o'clock to Grand Central Station. It was a Saturday, and Mail kept the house on his own. Mom always had to work.

Some days, before Mike moved out, they'd go play at the park or go visit one of his friends. But, Mom said that she didn't want a "faggot" living under her roof, and he left as soon as he could. He didn't even visit for Christmas.

Cassandra had died a couple years ago. Mom didn't like to talk about it.

The scent of strawberry Eggo waffles drifted up from his plate and tickled his nose, taunting to be eaten in whole. Mail ripped them apart, and dipped the ends delicately into the squeezable jelly he had in a corner of his plate. He ate each strip before gulping the milk he had and setting each of the dishes in the sink. He was nine now, and could reach it with minimal straining.

Usually, he'd sit and watch daytime PBS, and today was no different. As Mr. Rodgers faded off and some gardening lady came to regale him on pansies, he was hungry again. It was 11:32, lunchtime.

Thus began the long-standing ritual of calling the pizza man and getting the money from the couch, or the refrigerator if Mom left any. Each place was exhausted, but he dug enough from his piggy bank to pay.

Then , the firm knocks at the door, and the pizza man had to look down to see who had opened the door.

"Hello... Is this your pizza?"

"Medium with cheese?"

"Yeah, kid. Are you paying?"

"Yes..."

He handed the man the crumpled bills- exact change with the collection of nickels and dimes that followed.

"Heh, you've done this before... Say, forgetting something?"

"No sir."

He did manage to find something in the couch- a flattened five dollar bill.

"Oh, thanks kid. Have a nice day."

He handed over the pizza and walked back to the car as Mail shut and re-locked the door. The pizza was very hot, and would be very gooey in a few minutes with some additions. No sooner it was plopped onto the counter than Kraft singles were dropped on half, the fluorescent orange goop blending into the lines of the mozzarella given proudly by Dominoes.

Pulling up a slice, cheese dribbling and stretching all over, he bit into it. It was thick and luscious, exactly as it should be. Mom tried to make homemade pizza once, and she ashed all over it. He ate it anyway to make her happy, but the grit and the taste of the smell that haunted him everywhere was a life-ruiningly bad topping on the depressed, hardly cheesy pizza. Not even the pepperoni wanted to be on it, they kept slicking off.

Really, he didn't think it was such a big deal until he went over to his friend David's house. His Mom made weird spaghetti with white sauce on it when he came. At dinner, he inadvertently smelled his sleeve, and somehow he really smelled cigarette smoke on him. But, no one in the room was even smoking!

The afternoon continued with him laying on the carpet, watching a soap opera. He never really watched, but he'd absently play with a G.I. Joe he got for Christmas. He kinda missed getting to watch Mike's friend play video games- he really liked to watch, even if they said he couldn't play. It just seemed so... neat, he guessed would be the dorky word.

Laying his head onto the rug, he decided to take a nap. Why not?

 When he woke up, his mom mwas standing over him, glowing and fading ashes drifitng down from above. Her pump nudged his shoulderblades as she spoke too loudly.