Distractions (D. SWING)

60

454 Queen Anne Road

"We're all just a bunch of cinematic stereotypes," Alexis sighs, passing me a glass at the counter. Whenever she is in town, it is bible that she stays at my house. "You know that? Each and every one us. The good girl with dark secrets, the bad boy with a good heart, the troubled musician who struggles with human connections, the party girl who turned her life around. Stereotypes are based on the lives of real people, you know that, right?"

DeVante leans across the counter to squint in Alexis's face. She deadpans him from the opposing side of the counter, refusing to break eye contact as she sips her wine from the glass she poured. "You high?"

"No, but I should be."

Pulling back with a twisted expression of playful surprise, DeVante lifts his body from the counter. "Well if you need to roll one, Nel knows." He nonchalantly checks his watch. "I gotta' go handle some shit real quick. We still going out tonight?" He asks with a point at the both of us, one finger pointed at the each of us in search of confirmation.

"No doubt," replies Alexis.

Nodding, DeVante slides his pager off of the same surface he leaned against and tosses it into his pocket as he says, "Ai'ight, cool. I'll holla'." He shuffles to the left, tenderly pulling my body into his own for a warm embrace. He pecks my forehead, leaving my lips deprived of plush luxury and says, "Love you. I'll be back." I telepathically send my boyfriend my farewells and love with a smile. 

Soon, he has exited our home. Alexis and I are left alone with many of bottles of wine and my heavy heart.

"I need to talk to you about something..."

Alexis' skin of her neck tightens with a deep cringe. "Uh oh." She reaches for her wine glass immediately as I kiss my teeth at her response. "No, don't do that. You waited for him to walk out of the door to say that. Something's wrong. Who did it? You or him?"

"Nobody did anything, Lex."

"Yeah, okay. I'll revisit that question in another ten minutes." I pull the nearest bar stool close to me, sitting as I watch her pour more wine into her glass. "I'm listening," she says in an expecting tone.

A rough pair of claws drag themselves down the lining of my throat, filling the wound with vinegar before compacting the open flesh with walls of cotton. I don't know if I am physically capable to have this conversation. To imagine the feeling of hearing my thoughts aloud for the first time is horrifying. I talk to Alexis about a lot but I've always thought of more. The negative impact of my lackluster capabilities become a bigger worry the moment that my mind registers the fact that if I can't talk to Alexis about it, I know I can't talk to DeVante about it.

"The..." Clearing my cotton-stuffed throat, I exit her immediate presence to prepare myself a glass of water. "They didn't legitimately tour for the last album. Just a lot of spot dates, appearances, stuff like that. He was gone a lot though so it may as well have been the real thing, know what I'm sayin'?" I stick my glass under the ice machine attached to the refrigerator. I pull the glass back and press the water lever. "He went through a lot and I wasn't there to be with him throughout the process."

Alexis questions, "Missing him and being a little worried is normal, isn't it? Something's gotta' be wrong if you don't care."

Her laughter fades as I return, sitting down in front of her once again, this time with a refreshment. I take a soft sip of the water, cautious of its frigid temperature. "It's not that. It's..." I let out a sigh. There's no clean cut way to explain what I fear. "DeVante does this thing to purposely not focus on issues. He has a handful of things that he does when he can't comprehend his emotions and he just juggles them. He's always been like that and that's why he's always high." The higher he is, the less emotions he has to handle, the less distractions he needs.