Coincidences

Act XLIII

I woke up. The sunlight was peering through the window pane. I must have slept like a bear; the bed was a complete mess, since the blanket was about to fully fall on the ground, barely hanging onto my resting leg, a pillow already did end up there, floating on the lava (the floor is lava, such nostalgia). The only pillow remaining was below my head, the only cloud supporting my heavy cranium.

I sat up, and, the first thing I did, I took my phone and checked it. Still no messages, everyone was mute. I didn't send the text last time. The words vanished one by one, as I held my thumb on the backspace.

My slippers felt warm when I put them on. I slid across the hallway and saw that Dad had locked himself in his office. I could hear the fax machine roaring inside, its papers rustling along the electronic melody.

The kitchen was lifeless. I decided to run the coffee machine and brew him some joe. I could settle with just a Pop Tart and some apple juice. Or cookies and cream ice cream, but it won't be a healthy breakfast. It'd be a delicious one, though. I had just that, a Pop Tart, juice, and brought a cup of java to Dad's office. I rapped his door and left it on the floor. The lava should heat it up.

I changed my clothes, carried my backpack, and slipped outside without leaving a trace. As I walked out of my porch, Zoey appeared. We stopped at the usual waiting point, suffering from a long awkward silence which seemed like forever.

The bus arrived, this time with our driver from before. As it turns out, when I flicked the television on, the news mentioned about a retired stuntman recently fired from "scholastic transport services". It was our driver, at least, the bad one anyways. We climbed aboard and sat down on different seats, thankfully, actually, avoiding the incommodity from earlier.

The bus sped to a more heavily dense population. The bus halted a couple of times, until it reached number 729. Two familiar identities stood under the shade.

Ty and Rocky mounted the bus, although they didn't go for the usual seat. They sat at the one beside, kicking out the former users of the seat. The "cool kids" gunned it to the back seat, claiming it for themselves and making the most of it while they can. While that happened, I overheard Rocky whispering, "Morons."

We were back on the road and headed to the school, hoping to forget yesterday. Hopefully. All we can do is wait and hope.

Hope. That word takes me back. Back to my birthday. I haven't told you yet, huh?

The day before my birthday, I was searching for Zoey; couldn't contact her back then. Found her by the pier. Around that time, Ty must have scurried off already. The main reason why I wanted to see her was to tell her about my birthday. "I was hoping if you can come to my house to celebrate," I wanted to say. I must have forgotten, due to exhaustion.

The next day, I was hoping to tell her again, but she wasn't home. She was at the mall, celebrating, along with her mother. She must have forgotten to tell me about a special day of hers. Her birthday.

The moment I realized it through the phone, I couldn't make out the feelings I instantly encountered. She said, "Oh, it must have slipped off my mind," but it's her birthday we're talking about, not just any other ordinary day. Then again, what right do I have to argue about it? I forgot to mention mine as well. Sure, I was able to make out at least one feeling, and that is hopelessness.

The day after that, I brought her the giant gift I planned, though it's not really giant and, at any circumstance, grandious. It was a notebook Dad gave me, along with other presents he managed to provide, since he's really all that generous to me. It was supposed to be a future replacement for my old "coincidence" book, but, as I said, I gave it away to her. She appreciated it, but I don't know if I should be grateful that she liked it or not. Besides, it's just a notebook, it's past her birthday (not really, it's not leap year), and I'm that stupid to forget everything. It's hopeless. I'm hopeless.

"Martin."

Hopeless.

"Martin, you stupid fag," whistled Rocky, smashing my head with a fist, as if I were a whack-a-mole.

My head grew hotter, and a bump erected from my scalp. I yelled, "What's your problem?"

Ricky glared at me, giving me a menacing look, but it didn't last long. He wasn't up for doing anything too precarious, at least, at the moment. Ty looked the same. They must be still thinking fresh about the unexpected reunion outside the street, the one they were on a few minutes back.

Ty wanted to say something, but his throat stopped dry as the bus screeched to an idle position. We arrived. And it was gonna be a long day, I guarantee that.