Slutgarden

Cement Boy

Home is the underbelly of a bridge tonight. There are small fires attracting teenagers like moths and the low drum of music echoing from drooling speakers. Occasionally someone skateboards past and the scraping of cement wakes me. I can't tell if I'm alive or not.

The children begin to die out like the flames, some leaving and some curling up on filthy blankets and stolen sleeping bags. I like to watch them drink and enjoy themselves. I see a girl and every time she opens her mouth I can tell she's growing closer to me. Someday she'll share this. She'll know the paper bones and wiry skin that I live in. She'll know the pain of chopped memories and a leaking throat. But not tonight. Tonight she thinks she's having fun.

A boy sits in front of me but I didn't see him walk over. He offers a beer bottle that's already been opened. I know this trick.

"Do you have a name?"

I don't say anything. I take his liquid courage and swallow as much as I can, watching his eyes for a sign of weakness. I hope he's intimidated like so many young boys are. Before they get metallic and become the agressors.
He laughs instead. I can't tell if he's nervous or amused. "So you're one of those." He tells me his name is Eric. I don't care and he knows it.

"Are you mute or something? Deaf maybe?" He snaps his fingers near my face and I sit still. I used to jump when people touched me. Now I'm too tired to be afraid.

"Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He stands up and backs away a bit. "I'll get out of your hair. Which is nice by the way. Your hair. Very... Black. I dig short hair. Do you want some pot or something? More beer?"
"No."

"So you can speak. That's cool. You should come hang out with my friends. They're cool. They wear sunglasses inside and pretend to be poor but they've all got trust funds." He smiles and it looks nice. His teeth are all there and his eyes are clean. I haven't seen anything like him in a long time. I can't help myself from speaking to him. "Do they talk as much as you?"

He laughs and his nose wrinkles. I wonder if my brother looks as big as him now. "I won't lie, they've got some mouths on them. But maybe you can use some chatting."

"No thank you."

"Suit yourself. But the invitation's open if you want more beer." He turns away and the air feels colder.

Maybe I will stay.