Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

double eventful.

"You've been here almost two hours," Ms. McKinnon smiles down at me sympathetically. "Don't you need to use the bathroom? I can hold his hand for you while you relieve yourself."

I shake my head at the incredibly strong woman standing beside the bed.

"You can't stay there forever, Damian. He'll still be here when you get back." She slips a ten into my sweaty palms and I allow her to replace me at my task.

The hallways are slick and stick to the bottoms of my shoes. I can almost watch my facial expressions within their polished surface.

Why do they need such clean floors anyway? As long as there's not disease crawling around, there's no need for the overkill.

"You're a cynical little fuck," Damian, the voice states. "Can't you ever just lighten the fuck up?"

Could you go back into hibernation please?

"It's not winter, dipshit. It's almost summer. Bears love summer."

Not only bears hibernate, dipshit, I spit its insult back at it. It's not something worth being creative for, just a voice in my head. If it wanted to get a true rise out of me, it knows what topics to bring forward.

The lady at the gift store drifts between sleep deprivation and having taken shots of five-hour energy. I place my bag of chips on the counter anxiously in hopes that it won't set her off onto another seizure of random energy. Luckily it doesn't. I hand her the money and receive my change in silence.

Outside, I light up beneath the no smoking sign and open my purchase. There's less than ten pieces in the bag, and I pour them out onto the concrete. The birds will enjoy them more than I will. My cigarette is crushed and the tobacco falls out the end, but I don't mind. It lets off enough smoke to calm my mind and steady my fingers.

It's too bright out to be six o'clock. I'm not used to the seasonal transition; I don't like it. It's not cold enough to wear a sweatshirt comfortably. The summer's the worst. Justin and I talked about running away to Canada where it was always cold, but research proved us wrong. We figured we could live in an igloo, trap bears for food and warmth, maybe hike down to a little town where they didn't know our names every once in awhile. I think that's every kid's dream; to get away from it all. Somewhere where you have to grow your own tobacco and roll your own cigarettes. We're all too angsty for our own good.

I'm interrupted by a strong male voice. "You shouldn't be smoking, you know. Especially not at your age."

I look up into the eyes of a nurse. I can't be bothered to exhale in order to breathe and answer him, so I respond with a grunt.

He sits beside me. "I miss it though, the smoke." The man smiles. "I quit because my girl said it was unprofessional to be working in a place of health with the smell of death on your breath."

"She's right." I tap the end of my cigarette on my knee. "I wouldn't trust anyone who smelled like death."

"Must not trust yourself, eh kid?"

"Not as much as they expect me to, no."

"Ah. You're clever. Why kill yourself off?"

I shrug. "Habit. Cigarettes taste better than the truth."

"You're pretty young to be making such bold statements."

Leaning back into the wall, I take another inhale. The nurse's expression is almost one of envy, as though he wishes it was he who was killing himself in the worst way possible. The smoke answers his accusation better than a string of my letters ever could.

He taps his feet on the cement. "Who are you here to see?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean, what's a kid like you doing at a place like this unless you're here visiting. Who is it? Who's the lucky person?"

I laugh. "Lucky?"

"Any person who's got a kid spending his afternoon in a place like this is lucky. That takes some dedication."

"I'm not a kid," I tell him. "I'm seventeen."

"I remember being seventeen." The man stretches out his legs towards the main road. We've got a parking lot between us and freedom. "Just wanting so badly to get out of the town where I grew up. Didn't matter where I was going, as long as it was away from Illinois."

I nod, but say nothing.

"It's nicer out here. Don't be in such a rush to grow up, okay kid? Being an adult isn't much fun."

"Damian."

"Hm?" He stands and turns, crushing a chip in the process.

"Damian," I repeat, slowly. "And I'm here to see Timmy McKinnon."

He purses his lips, and manages to smile sympathetically at the same time. But it's not the kind of sickening sweet sympathy, where you want to drink an entire bottle of bleach to even it out. It's genuine. Not overdone. Something about his mannerisms are familiar and comforting. "I hold to my previous statement. He's a lucky boy. When he comes to, he'll realize it."

"What's your name?" I cough out, suddenly desperate for him to stay. Desperate for him not to return to his duties helping people who wear their problems in their bodies, rather than their minds.

"Cody."

And then he's gone, his quick stride taking him in through the automatic hospital doors and into a place I'm dreading return. But Timmy's there. Choices are never easy as you grow up. There's always compromise.

Cigarette, or Timmy? I rephrase the question. Death or life?

I extinguish the smoke on the brick planter box and toss it among the roses. After quick thought, I reach back and disconnect one from the rest.

"You were gone for awhile," Mrs. McKinnon comments as I re-enter the room, de-thorned rose in hand. "Did you get lost?"

"The kind I needed to be," I tell her, and drop my possession into the cup of water by his bedside. It's nowhere near as extravagant as the bouquet from earlier this evening, but more sincere. It's humble.

"I'm glad. I'll give you two some time then." She stands and starts to exit.

"Mrs. McKinnon?"

"Yes, Damian?"

"Thank you." I bite my lip.

She lets out a kind sigh. "No need to thank me, Damian. I'll leave you to it now."

The room seals with a soft click of the lock. Every thing's so beautifully polished. There's no such thing as a squeaking door hinge or a faulty toilet in this facility. I remember being surprised at the way the sink gleamed even though I'd just filled it with my lunch only minutes before. They couldn't afford to take chances. Things can't be left unfixed or else they might never be repaired.

I lower myself onto the wrinkled sheet beside him, clasping his fingers between my own. Once again, I'm careful to avoid the needle providing my everything with nutrients and fluids and probably even semen if that's what they thought he needed.

"Hey, gorgeous. Aren't you getting tired of sleeping?" I squeeze my eyes tight to stop the tears before they can start. "You're missing all the sunsets while you're all caught up in there. Won't you come out? Won't you come say hello?"

Nothing. Just me and the beeping of the machines.

"If this was the movies, you would have woken up right now. If this were the movies, you wouldn't have kept me waiting so long. Just please wake up already, okay? I miss you. This isn't a joke anymore."

Still air. Nobody breathing on their own besides the hopeless boy in the Drop Dead jacket. Pretty soon, not even he will be.

Closing my eyes, I rest my head between his neck and chin. From there, I drift off to the scent of vanilla and ever looming death.