Rooftop

16.

 "Hey Dad. Please call me back." I say, still not being able to sleep. I thought that calling him up would bring me peace of some kind so that I might be able to sleep. But, it's only making me more woken up. After I call him, I try to go to sleep, but completely fail. So instead of even trying any more, I just go and turn on some music on the lowest setting, so that I don't accidentally wake Brad up, because he usually opens his window up and night, and because I can't close mine. After that, I pick up The Outsiders again, and reread it. I grab a can of Diet Coke from my small stash under my bed, and chug it, even though it won't help out my predicament of not falling asleep. Then, I hear someone come into my room, and look up to see Ren standing next to my window.

"Couldn't sleep?" He shakes his head, and sits down next to me on my bed, "Me neither." I set down my book, and turn my attention to him.

"I had too much coffee earlier. Do you want to go to the Bean? I can pay." I don't really feel like getting out of my bed, but, regardless of how much I really don't want to do that, I put on a jacket, and brush out my hair. We climb out the window, and I don't bring my wallet, not wanting to lose it, and not actually needing it in the first place. But, I grab my phone and put it into my jacket pocket.

We walk through the streets into a completely empty shop, except for the barista, who was practically falling asleep on her hand. We ordered coffee, and then both left, walking back down the street. When we get to the road that I would go down to get to my house, Ren beckons me away from it, and we keep walking until we reach his house, which I have only been to once, when my mom went on a date with Ren's dad. We sneak into his room, trying to make sure not to make any noise that would wake either his dad or Franny up. We go in through the window and I'm completely in awe by what he has in it. There were pictures completely covering his walls, of everything. Some were of me, even though I don't remember when he took them, some of which were in the Bean, some on the beach, and some on the rooftop, while I was watching the movies, but most of them were of him and Brad. It spans from when they only look to be around eight or nine, to now, when they're seventeen. But some of them were just of sites, most of those were on his desk, rather than his walls, and were covered by empty coffee mugs, Diet Coke cans, and paper cups from the Bean, stained with coffee, as well as all of his homework, empty notebooks, and a world map, with different locations marked with a red pen, as well as various small globes throughout the room. We sit down together on his unmade bed, and I look to his bedside table and see a bunch of papers about how to come out to family members or others close to you. I quickly and subtly flip through the large stack of papers, and see that they are all articles talking about what to do, and stories from other people, who apparently went through the same thing. After my quick peek at the paper, I sit, with my back against the wall the bed is pushed up against, and wait for one of us to say something.

"Hey Columbia?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you believe in God?" I turn to him, seeing if he's joking, considering how serious this question is right off the bat. But when I see his completely straight face, I know that he's not joking doing anything else to pull my leg. He really wants to know if I do. But, what if I don't even know what I believe in. I don't really know anything about my beliefs. I don't know if I'm Christian, or Jewish, or Muslim, or Hindu or if I'm a mixture of everything. I don't know practically any of the differences between the first three and know almost nothing about being from the Hindu religion. But then I decided that I've just had way too long of a pause, and decide to finally try and answer his question.

"I don't know. It's kind of hard to form your own beliefs when no one in your family ever talked about religion, because they are all from different ones, and refuse to acknowledge that one of them could have a point, even though none of them ever seemed very different from the little bit that I would be able to hear while they were screaming at each other."