word count: 35,000+ slow burn.
Seven years ago, Sam pointed to the moon. What followed was France, A Firefighter, London, A Balcony, and a townhouse with peach-coloured walls and an upstairs kitchen.
Lyla didn't expect to ever see "someone" Kiszka a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sam was pointing to the moon, but all I wanted to see was his hands.
Amelia wanted to throw a gathering although it quickly got out of hand. It was supposed to be just me, her, and some other girls from our school. It wasn't supposed to be a party at all but a party it was. We were 15.
I watched people go from politely knocking at the door every 10 minutes, to just walking themselves in with large groups of people holding booze and other possible substances. Although it was scary, I was thrilled. I actually felt like some sort of accomplished adult.
Most of the people attending that night assumed it was Danny behind the party. He was older, by 5 minutes, although he was more outgoing and rebellious against his parents. He was the one in the band, which was rumored to be terrible, so I never investigated it further when I was a teenager.
There were people in their 20s with facial hair and bags under their eyes, smoking cigarettes and joints in her living room. Passing around drinks and as I said, other potential substances. These people, all recognisable, didn't realize that the person behind this was the 15 year old girl who hides in her brother's shadow.
Looking back at it now, maybe she meant for it to get out of hand, so she could mean something to the town. Yet still Danny got the blame.
Amelia didn't mind in the end because once her parents eventually found out, no matter what Danny said, they assumed he threw the party.
I had never been to a party before. I came to the false conclusion in the first half an hour that I wanted to go to every single one I could find. I was running around telling everyone I'm a newfound party animal. Looking back at it now, I'm glad no one could remember what happened the next day. My town was small and quiet, north-west Michigan, Frankenmuth.
That's probably why it got so out of hand. Everyone knew everyone.
For me, I was incredibly shy as a teenager. Therefore, most of the people I saw, I had never spoken to. Although I knew what family they were in, I knew what jobs they did. For example, standing by what used to be the clean, organized mantlepiece, now cluttered with cups, was Josh Kiszka. He worked at the local market, he had a booming voice. Looking over at him, I could hear him shouting
"Apples and pears! Melons and grapes! Fifty cents per pound!"
I knew he was in Danny's deadbeat band. He was loud and didn't stop talking about it. I could hear him shouting from the other side of the lunchroom. At the time, the only conclusion I made about Joshua was that he gave me a headache.
I laughed as I looked around the room. The only time I would see so many people together, from all different families, was at town hall meetings and school basketball games. I had never seen them so entertained.
I turned the corner from the living room to the kitchen, lost in thought about town meetings and basketball games, when I was met with the eyes of the quiet boy who I had never caught a glimpse of in such low lighting, in such a done up way.
