The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

32

CADEN LEE

I have fallen in love with a white pill.

I live and breath, die and grieve over the taste of bitterness on my tongue. That rush of disgust you get before washing the aftertaste away is exhilarating beyond relief.

I don't know how I ever enjoyed those hydros. Now, they have a dull-enough effect to where I can barely feel them. Acting sober is a breeze.

What has caught my attention—and never let it go—starts with an O and ends with an E. Wonder and euphoria in a 30 milligram pill. A whole new world created just for me.

I spend nearly all my time thinking about it—Lately I've noticed how it never seems to be enough. Nothing compares to that first high. My life's been caught in a fishnet; and I keep falling for the bait.

Three weeks ago I met Eden, he's all peace and prosperity, keeps his cool and never melts. He is the key to my control and I unlock the door every time; keeps my source of escape locked away until confronted with a wad of bills.

I'm back from work now, pulling off my black long-sleeve button up and straight khaki pants. Last summer I worked as a lifeguard at a community pool and it was the tannest I've ever been. But not this time, I needed a job with a bigger wage, and applied to a tacky cafe ten miles away.

Fortunately for me, I got the job, and now work fifteen dollars an hour to brew coffee and plate pastries. Scarlett comes over every Wednesday on my shift to hang out while im on break. She says to tell her when there are any job openings, I say I will.

"Caden?" Sounds foggily through my mind and pierces my daydream in two. I turn around, startled, only to find my mom leaning against the doorway.

"Yeah, ma'?" I turn back around to the full-length mirror resting against my bedroom wall, and rub my hands over the wrinkles on my shirt in a baseless effort to flatten them.

"What time did your father come home last night?" She asks, shifting from her slumped position and migrating into my room.

How am I supposed to know?

"I don't know," I turn around, "why?"

"Just didn't hear him get back...must've fallen asleep before I could."

"Well is he here now?"

"Yes, in the guest bedroom sleeping."

She starts to rummage through miscellaneous items on my desk, humming to herself. I try my hardest to keep my eyes on her; to not set sight on my bathroom door. It's stupid, that I'm scared she'll look in my bathroom too, because she obviously wont. But paranoia thrums my heart and fills my throat; a lump so large it feels as if I cant swallow.

"I'm worried over nothing, im sure. Don't let this bother you, okay?" She speaks through the stiff silence that has surrounded us, her tone reassuring but her face destructive. She assumes I give a shit about him, care, and I wish I didn't—but I do.

It's hard not to forget the bad memories over the good ones when my past has merged with my present. He'll ask if I want to do something—like go ice skating, and I'll be there, back in 2013 when I was seven years old and we had gone to an ice skating rink. It was March, so the rink was predominantly empty, and I fell so many times on that ice that I had bruises for weeks.

I run a hand through my hair. It's overgrown and gets in my eyes constantly, but I can't find the energy to care most days.