The Book Shop

Left Behind

My mother was out drinking again. It was a Saturday night and I was immersed in a Jodi Picoult novel. My phone was on loud but I knew better than to expect anyone to text me. Piper was at her dad's trying to bond with her new family. She was the only one who texted me. Nathan, my older brother, never communicates since he's busy at college parties and football games and my mother's probably drowned in her fourth glass of Chardonnay. I tuck myself under my huge comforter and sigh. The television plays downstairs because silence creeps me out. My body aches from running five miles, or attempting to anyway, and my eyes droop. At ten thirty, after I've read the same sentence thirty times, I decide to hit the hay. My mother wakes me at one in the morning when she stumbles in with one of her coworkers. I cover myself completely with my blanket and pretend I'm in Miami with my younger sister. I make a mental note to send her a card and care package.
That next morning I mail my letter and get ready for work. At two in the afternoon I arrive at Barnes and Noble to start my six hour shift. The day slowly goes by and few customers actually come in to buy interesting books. When I get home I finish my AP Lit homework and watch reruns of Gilmore Girls and Parks and Recreation. Then at eleven I go to bed. If it isn't already obvious, I like to live in routine. I wake up, I make my own coffee, drive myself to school and learn all day etc. I like my plans but I often find myself bored. It's a comfortable bored though, so I don't protest. Piper invites herself over and we lazily hang out watching chic flicks. When my mom comes home I go rigid and Pipe gives me a look of understanding. She leaves soon after and I lock myself in my room, away from my mother. I hear dramatic sighing but tune it out. I don't care.
************
I smile as I finish my history homework, reminiscing my teacher's rant about feminism in the flapper era. He was so passionate about his subject, it made me actually pay attention. In previous years I normally slept through and paid no care to social studies. But United States History was different, because Mr. Hanson shredded through dates and focused on the significance of events. He opened my eyes to points in history where I thought my country was doing the right thing. I always left his class laughing to myself. One day I even conversed with a classmate after Hanson's lecture. We gushed about Margaret Sanger and debated on whether she was insane or a genius. The guy, Stanley Gibson, walked out of class with me adamantly defending The Child's Era speech. We reached my car, a beat up old Jeep Cherokee from 2000 and he halted the conversation. I stared at him nervously, hoping he wouldn't ask to hang out. I didn't know him, and I didn't hang out with anyone from my school except for Pipes. Stanley stared at me and stated nervously, "I'm gay."
I paused and looked at him confusedly.
"Okay? I'm strait?" I said with a frazzled tone. Was it state your sexuality day or something? Was today the day you talk to a stranger for the first time then explain your sexuality. This was the only explanation for why he was actually talking to me and telling me this about himself. Stanley smiled at me with gleaming teeth. His happiness was palpable, while I only meekly grinned back.
"You're the first person I've come out to." He admits shyly. My eyes widen in surprise. I mean I wasn't surprised he's gay, but, like, I wouldn't be surprised if he was strait. I didn't really think about what people's preferences were, unless they wanted me. This never happens of course. No guy has ever looked twice at me, the fact that Stan's the first and that he's gay makes perfect sense. I didn't care since I don't want to date. I'm perfectly fine with being alone, being independent. Stan twiddles his thumbs anxiously and I realized I spaced out.
"Um, well congratulations for coming out? Why did you tell me?"
"I don't know. It feels good to tell someone I don't know." I nodded. I understood what he was getting at. It's easier to admit something to a stranger because their opinion doesn't matter. There are no attached feelings, so if they reject you it doesn't hurt as much.
     "Well you should probably tell your friends and family who you are. It's your identity, they should probably understand you." He winces and shakes his head. I shrug in response and move to go into my car. Stanley grabs my door before I can shut it.
"Do you want to hang out? We could get ice cream or something."
My hands sweat and I stutter. "Um, I-uh, I can't I have plans. Maybe another time?" My cheeks burn and my heart pounds. Man, I suck at lying. Stanley only grins and hands me his phone, which I stare at blankly.
"Put your number in. We can study together for the US test on Monday this weekend." I smile and do as I'm told. He waves goodbye and I pull out of the lot. When I'm at a stop light I text my mom telling her I'm on my way home. I don't expect a response. I don't get one and see a text from an unfamiliar number. Stanley's text makes me smile. When I get home forty minutes later I find a note from my mother.
Gone for the weekend. Robin says hello. I'll call when I'm coming home.
I crumbled the the note in anger. Fucking Robin. Piper texts me to see if I'm around, knowing that I am. However, I tell her I'm going to see my grandparents. Another lie today. For the rest of the weekend I lay in bed watching my shows and reading my books. All alone, just the way I like it. My mom doesn't call or come home on Sunday. So I just finish studying for my test and go to shower. Before I put myself under the scalding water, I notice the kiddie scissors I use to cut my bangs on the sink. Walking over, I stumble. Then I take them in my hands and open them. I press the dulled edge against my wrist lightly. Angry puffy pink lines mark my pale skin. I tremble a little but stay numb. After a few moments I go back and shower. Right before I fall asleep my phone blares and I jump to quiet it. I see a call from my dad and quickly decline it. Tears come immediately and I notice it's midnight. Without really thinking I click Stanley's contact.
"Hello?" He yawned.
"Hi." I whisper.
"Layla is that you?" His voice gets stronger as he wakes himself.
"Um, yeah."
"Are you okay?"
"No." He stays silent. I continue, "will you come over? Can we talk?"
"Yeah. Where do you live." I rattle off my address and he says he'll be here in a half hour. For once I'm happy to not be alone.