Rooftop

18

I pull on my grey hoodie and follow him out the window, slipping on some shoes while I jump out. I'm still upset at him, but can understand where he was coming from. He never really had anyone leave him by choice, so it's just really hard for him to understand what it's really like. 

He pulls out his flask and I give him a very obvious look. I'm really not happy with how much he drinks, but more than that, I'm not happy with the reasons why he drinks. After he told me he got drunk on his father's birthday, I just felt that he might have a problem. Or at least something that could one day turn into a problem. He sees my look, and puts it away, never taking a sip. Then he takes it back out again, and empties the contents into a street drain, before smiling at me.

"It's a great advantage not to drink among hard drinking people." I smile at him. The happiness I'm getting is a mixture between what he actually did, and how happy it makes me that he quoted The Great Gatsby. I don't say anything for a while, because sometimes it's hard to really say that you're happy about things like this. It means so much more than words can really say, for some unknown reason. Maybe it's what's going on with my dad, or maybe it's something else. I honestly don't know. But, regardless of why, it's meaningful to me. 

Suddenly a thought comes into my mind that completely terrifies me. What happens when they all leave? What happens when we go off to college, or Junior year starts, and we all stop being friends. What happens then? I've had enough people who meant too much to me leave. I don't need any more. And then, right in the middle of the street we were walking down, because Carpinteria's a small town, and no one is out driving at night, I start bawling my eyes out. 

"What's wrong?" He asks, not annoyed, but legitimately curious, and ready to help. It's also nice that he doesn't ask me if I'm okay. Because I think it's pretty obvious what the answer to that is. 

"Will we still be friends after summer ends? When we actually have responsibilities and can't spend every free minute around each other?"

"Well, dear Columbia. There's a really old phrase. Well, it really isn't a phrase. It's just something people have told me. If you are friends with someone for seven years, you'll be friends with them for a lifetime. And I get that we haven't been friends for seven years, however we have spent a ton of time around each other, probably the same amount of collective face-to-face hours as two friends who have know each other for over seven years. So, yes."

"You never make any sense."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I make perfect sense." Despite how long-winded, and seemingly pointless his speech may have been, the sentiment was the same. And that really helps. I give him a really tight hug, and whisper a quick thank you into his ear, still crying, just not as hard as before. I try to wipe away the tears, but they still keep on coming, even though I'm not sad anymore.

We finally arrive at The Bean, and Brad notices that my face looks a little bit tragic. He asks me if he should just get some coffee, and then bring it out for me. I nod, and he goes inside to order me my coffee, which I notice he puts a ton of cream and sugar in, knowing how much I like it that way. He hands it to me when he comes out, and I take a quick sip, just to make sure it's made the way I like it. It is. 

"Let's go to The Spot, and get some milkshakes." I nod, really needing something super sugary in my system right now. We quickly walk down there, and see a young girl, most likely in her early twenties, reading out of a huge textbook, and nearly falling asleep on her hand. She doesn't even notice us coming up to order.

"Miss," I as in a soft voice, trying not to scare her "could we please have two vanilla milkshakes."

"Of course. I'm so sorry, homework's been pretty overwhelming lately. Just trying to catch up on my Sociology assignments." I get a good look at her eyes, and see huge, dark bags, and redness all over in them. She doesn't look like she's slept in weeks. She hands us our milkshakes, which we pay for, as well as leaving a really large tip in the jar. The girl, Suzanna, smiles, then goes to the back of the store to brew up a coffee, after which, she goes back to her homework. 

"You were really nice to her," Brad observes quietly, so that she isn't able to hear him.

"Yeah, she just really reminds me of a lot of the girls my dad would see a lot. They were almost all prostitutes. I was pretty common that they looked like her. It's almost like they never got any sleep. I actually would make them coffee on their way out." I laugh a little at the memory. Brad looks horrified.

"You made coffee for your dad's hookers?" His eyebrows are scrunched together, in obvious disbelief. I laugh at his expression, and take a sip of my milkshake, shivering a little from the cold breeze that blows on the back of my neck. I look up and see a window right above my seat. I decide to move over to the other side of the booth so I can sit with Brad, away from the cold. He looks at me a little strangely at first, but I then point to the window that was above me, and he seems to understand why I decided to move. After getting comfortable again, I decide to respond to his horror towards my childhood.

"Yeah, and if they left early the next morning I would make them pancakes or toaster waffles." He looks as horrified as he did before, and opens his mouth to respond, before closing it again. He repeats the fish-like motion of opening and closing his mouth a few more times before stopping, and starting a new conversation. 

"Why do you think your dad got in touch with you, if he never ended up calling you again?" He tells the question slowly, probably trying to make the wording sound as gentle as it could. But it really wasn't. It was a harsh question, no matter how you worded it.

    "I honestly don't know. My running thought was that he thought he would like, and would want to talk to me, until he actually did, and found me disappointing," I respond, equally slowly. He takes a minute before responding.

"Do you think you mom could have had anything to do with it?" That's something I haven't thought of yet. My mom knew how hard it hurt to have a dad that didn't want to keep in contact with you. Maybe she told him to call me at least once, even though he didn't really want to.

After a few more minutes of silence, while I thought about the possibility Brad brought up, I finish up my milkshake and throw it into the trashcan out near the front of the structure. I look over to see that Suzanna finally fell asleep, which makes me a little happy. Anyone could have seen that she needed it. Seconds later Brad comes out after me, and throws his empty plastic cup away too. We start walking back home, finishing our coffee on the walk back. And we talk about everything, from our parents to ice cream. 

Then, we plop down on the beach, and stop talking. Instead, we both look up at the stars. The Big Dipper isn't visible tonight. All I can see is the Strong Man, which used to be my favorite constellation before I really knew all the bad things about him, and how he killed his family. It was so much easier to believe in before I knew all the bad. I used to always think that I could make a wish anytime I saw it, and that wish would just magically come true. Now I don't. I think about a lot for a long time, some thoughts weaved together, but some seemed like they were just random spurs caused by a lack of sleep or caffeine. Eventually I start falling asleep on Brad's shoulder, and he carries me back to my room somehow. I'm about to fall asleep, when I notice that he slipped something into my crossed arms.

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I'm so sorry I've been MIA for so long... I honestly have no excuse except for stress and writers block... which I still am on. I'm sorry. 

Q. When's your birthday?

A. April 12th