Me, Myself, and I

he remembers the hot blonde girl

I knocked first, Alex and I having journeyed up Ben's carpeted stairs to his small bedroom. Kyle's room, beside Ben's, was dim with sunlight, the door cracked open. I imagined myself rummaging through there. Maybe he left that document behind? So typical to just grab it and disintegrate.

I'd meant what I'd said to him. Things get hard. He disappears. I didn't doubt he cared. But he wasn't reliable. Then again, neither was I.

No one answered Ben's door. We heard muffled voices. Alex's eyes, resembling crystallized clouds against a gray sky, locked into mine. He sighed, creaking the door open. The handle gave small resistance before the door slid against the carpet, giving a small hiss.

"And here's you and Austin at the barber shop. He said your mom literally paid him to get you there."

Val was slung over the bed, swiping through her cell phone. Ben, wearing a navy blue baseball cap, stared at her with empty vessels. His face had returned color, normal clothes already filling him out more than those ghastly hospital robes. But his mouth was stuck in that permanent frown of his. My mom did always say that making your laugh rare just made it more special. I suppose she was right, because what I wouldn't give to hear him laugh or see a smile right then.

"Sorry, I don't remember," he said.

It reminded me of when Dad would try to make pancakes, and they'd make a crisp cracking when I tried to break them. No amount of syrup or Ghandi quotes could make those taste good. Their sweetness was nothing but a hard, burnt coat.

"Oh, come on!" My heart jumped. That wasn't Valerie. That was my roommate. Brooke shoved Val aside and stared at him. "You seriously don't remember her? She gave you the best two weeks of your life, Stupid."

"No," he said. "Sorry."

Val wiped her eyes, slipping her phone into her pocket. She never turned the screen off. "Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. I think we should take a break."

She pushed herself from the ledge, catching a glance at my hand (currently inside of Alex's) before dropping her head and skimping out the bedroom door. Her steps grew louder then fainter again as she made her way down the stairs to the living room.

Ben opened his mouth, but froze when Alex bumped into his bookshelf. I bit into my lip hard. My fingers had lost circulation, but he didn't make me let go of his hand. Guess he was glad to have it again.

"Who're you?" Ben said.

Alex's pulse throbbed into my hand as he let it go, took a few steps towards the bed. He knelt to his level, speaking as if he were trying to talk a bomb out of exploding.

"Name's Alex."

"How do I know you?"

"Met once or twice. We went on this road trip to a carnival once with some friends." He paused, pulling out his wallet. "You sat next to this guy on a rollercoaster. Joey. He threw up after. Then we headed out after the paparazzi found us at a photo booth."

Ben blinked. He was listening to a stranger's tale.

Then his frown lightened. He pointed towards me. "Her. She yelled at me on that trip. In a van."

"Yeah," Alex laughed. "She yells at everybody. You know her name?"

I sat on the edge of Ben's bed, neutral colors, like the wall, the shades, everything but the books and his punk rock records on the floor. I studied his face as he straightened his baseball cap. He was searching for something.

Alex stood up, taking in the room.

"Well, this was fun. Glad you're doing better." His cool hand rested on my shoulder, and I felt his lips on my forehead. "I've got to catch a lecture."

Val came back one more time, attempting to rejuvenate his lost mind with every photo, printed and digital, she could show him. Ben eventually sat up, occasionally glancing at the door. He was so done with us. But Val was insistent. Sat close beside him, revisited, asked questions. So many questions. Brooke and I watched the show. I was in a lost haze. Brooke just turned more and more red. I was about to intervene, tell Val that she better knock it off before she made his brain explode. Go on a coffee run. Anything to get out of that room.

"I'm sorry," Val wiped her eyes again. Then again. "I c-can't. I'm gonna..." And she was gone again, leaving the door cracked.

Brooke and I were on the other end of the room, and the silence was heavier than her hair extensions. She whispered something to me, sure it was harsh, or maybe it wasn't. I just watched Ben's face stare at the empty spot where her presence had been. I wanted him to look up at me. Maybe he was about to. Or maybe I would sit next to him. The silence was uncomfy, not like the soft moments of peace we'd find in my car. It was stretchy, wrapped around my chest like an elastic wrap for preserving a casserole.

Then the door swished wide open. I figured it had to be Ben's parents. There were two teenage girls in their son's bedroom after all. And a crying Valerie downstairs.

I heard the squeaking of a leather jacket.

"Wow, you're really pale," Paige said.

She marched in, grabbing Ben's chin, moving it side to side. Her gum popped inside her mouth as she plopped beside him, smirking up at her sister.

"I told you to wait in the car," Brooke hissed.

She popped her gum. "And I told you five minutes. It's been forty. You know this isn't a funeral home, right? And what the hell are you staring at?"

Ben jerked his head back straight. But glanced back at her anyway.

She frowned. "What, you mute or something?" He shook his head. "Could've fooled me."

Paige had opened her cellphone, trying to find a Snapchat filter to make her blond hair look platinum. I stepped towards the door, about to make a dumb excuse for my awkward departure, when Ben's voice cut through the air.

"Your voice just sounds familiar," he spoke to Paige.

That caught her attention. She dropped her phone. "Well, congrats. Enjoy it while it's free." Brooke snorted, and Paige turned around, putting her feet up on the wall, head flat against the mattress.

"What do you mean?" Ben said.

"I'm a performer," she smiled. "A singer. I'm gonna make it, too. My vocal coach—"

"Is paid to tell you what you want to hear," said Brooke.

Paige spread her legs, threw her head back. "Was I talking to you?" She checked her watch and swung around to her feet. Her smile deepened. "You going to Wildwood next year?" Ben shook his head. "Shame. Coach Starr was asking about you."

The basketball coach?

Brooke checked her bare wrist. "Well, Paige, I think we should—"

"What do you sing?" Ben asked.

Her face lit up. "My own stuff, mostly. I like the acoustic vibe. Makes my voice more present than that pop crap." She eyed his CDs on the ground. "You have a guitar?"

He shook his head, then stopped. "My brother Nick used to play. I think it's in the garage."

"Can I see it?"

"Um, y-yeah. Might be in the attic though."

She grabbed his hand, yanking him off the bed and out the hinged door. I swear I heard him laugh at the end of the hall. No, not laugh. Giggle. Howl. I could hear him smiling.