Bruises

2

“Hey Dylan.” I say as he wraps his arms around me. Trying not to flinch at the sharp pain, but ultimately failing. “Why’d you flinch? Do I smell that bad?” He asks with a silly concerned and fake concerned face as he smells his grayish blue hoodie he is wearing. Not gonna lie, he actually smelled pretty good, kind of like smelling a new book that you just bought. “No, my shoulder just hurts a little.” I say simply, totally undermining the pain. “Are you okay? Let me see it.” He says, his face going from fake to real concern within a millisecond, as he reaches for my shoulder. “No! I’m fine. Really. It’s just a scratch.” I say hurriedly. “You sure?” He says with raised eyebrows. “Most definitely.”

“So, how was your night?” He asks as we make our way to our first class together. “Fine, I guess. Stayed up listening to music and searching for new songs, nothing too interesting. Just a normal Thursday night. What about you?” I say as we turn the corner onto another hallway. “Dad had to work, so mom made Chicken Parmesan. Pretty boring.” He says as we enter the classroom. I, personally, would’ve killed for a night like that. As we sat down, the conversation had ended, and class had begun. Classes were normal with no real interest. School went by rather quickly, perhaps a little too quickly for my taste.

“What are you doing tonight? I was talking about you at dinner last night and my mom was wondering if you would like to come over for dinner or something tonight. If you can’t it really isn’t a big deal.” He says as we exit the school building and make our way down the streets of downtown Wilmington toward my house.  “I would love to. What time should I come over?” I ask. “We, or I, can come and pick you up from your house. You don’t have to walk all that way on your skinny little legs.” He playfully bumps into my side, just barely knocking me off the sidewalk and into the empty road. After regaining my balance back on the sidewalk, I say “My skinny little legs will be just fine. It’s only like a twenty or so minute walk, I got it. So, what time?” He smiles a short while before answering. “Six thirty or so should be good.” “Okay, that’s cool.” I say as I kick a stone off of the sidewalk and into the road. “You sure your dad will be okay with you coming over to a boy’s house alone?” He says as we approach the front steps of my house, with that same goofy smile as before. “He’ll be okay with it.” I say as I look at my front door. “Okay. Well, you are home safely. And I shall see you at six thirty tonight.” He says. “Did you really just say ‘shall’? Really? Are we in medieval times now?” I say while laughing. “Yes I did malady.” Dylan replies as he does a silly little bow. “Of course we are. I thought we were in the twenty first century, but I guess not.” I say jokingly. “True. You’re right, I’m wrong. As usual.” He replies while slapping himself in the face. “I’ll see you later Dylan.” I say as I turn to open the door. “Bye Mixi.” He says. I give him a tiny wave of my hand before stepping inside.

My real name isn’t Mixi. It’s actually Margaret. Dylan is the one who came up with the nickname. He said that I was full of moxie and that I had an obsession with cassettes, mixtapes specifically. So moxie and mixtapes became Mixi, and it stuck. I’d never really had a nickname before, but I really liked this one. So, I started going by Mixi at school. But once I got home it was Margaret twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. My dad had picked the name because it was his mom’s, my grandmother who had died 6 months prior to my birth. And Margaret is the only thing my dad ever called me, not Maggie or Mags, just Margaret.

I enter the house to find the living room empty. I thought the house was empty until I heard a loud variety of retching sounds emitting from the bathroom down the hallway. I set my book bag on the bottom step of the stairs before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water and wet washcloth. I carried them both to the door of the bathroom and knocked. “Come in Margaret.” Came a raspy voice. I opened the door to find my father, Jeremy, sitting on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet. I handed him the cup of water and set the washcloth on the edge of the sink, before turning back to face my father who was gurgling water and spitting it out into the sink. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.” I’m fine. How was school?” he asks. “Fine. I’m going to go upstairs to start my homework, and I will start dinner in about an hour and a half.” I say before turning to leave the bathroom. “Don’t bother with dinner, I’m going to Roger’s house to hang out with him and some of the other guys at work. I may be home late, maybe midnight.” He informs me before I leave. “Yes sir.”

When I reach my bedroom I plan out how the rest of the night will go. Dad was going to leave and I would be free to go to Dylan’s without having to tell him. My father didn’t even know that Dylan existed and I really didn’t want to have to deal with it, so I would be safe. I’d go to Dylan’s for dinner and maybe hang out for a bit. Come home at around ten and be safe for the night. Perfect plan.