smoking by eleven : the 1975

An Encounter

Where do you go when your house isn't home?

I was walking in the middle of a dark and empty road. 2 am. Alone and Lost.

Tonight has possibly been the worst night of my entire life. I've been dropped by my best friend and kicked out of my own house. Everything just kept adding up, non-stop.

I don't even know where I am. It's dark, silence and I felt incredibly lonely. Even wondering around this small town, I thought I knew every inch of, I find myself completely lost.

My only chance of comfort, was to get to George. I knew he would take me in after I've been left dry and alone on these streets. After strolling around in my drunken state, I managed to find myself standing on George's front porch.

Blaring music leaked through the walls from inside, and I silently begged for there not to be a party. I raised my bruised fist to the front door, and knocked. Immediately, the door swung open and a new face emerged.

"Hey," the new face shared the same accent as George, So I figured he was a friend from back home. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, where's George?" I asked, clearing my throat. I peeked over the boy's shoulder to look into the crowd of people.

"Somewhere in there." He replied, waving his hand around.

"I really need to find him."

He shrugged and opened the door for me to come in. "I'm Matty, by the way."

"Charlie," I replied.

"Try upstairs," Matty nodded towards the staircase. "He's probably in his room with some random girl."

I ignored his snide comment and weaved through people to get upstairs and into George's bedroom. Luckily, he was alone. Sitting on the side of his bed with his hands wrapped around those notorious drumsticks of his. George's eyes darted straight to my bloody knuckles and his face went pale.

"What happened?" He asked, jumping off the side of his bed.

"I've had the worst night of my life." I scoffed, wincing as he took my hands in his.

"Come," he said, leading me to his bedroom. "I'll take care of you."

I knew he could fix me.

Last night, after George washed my wounds, we joked about old times. How he wasn't surprised when I showed up with bloody hands, a black eye and bruised lips, he said ever since we met in grade four, I was always looking for trouble.

Now, its was nearly noon and we still hadn't gotten out of bed. The sun shun through the curtains and I nuzzled my head into the crook of Georg'e neck to block the light. I counted his heavy breath against my temple, to consume time.

"Morning," he exhaled, placing his lips to the top of my head.

I lifted my head to meet George's green eyes, "Do you think people are still here?"

"Probably," he smirked. "You know what they say, George Daniel's parties run 23/7."

"Well," I started, lifting the blankets off my body, "I'll have to cut this one short."

I stood from the bed and walked out the bedroom, heading downstairs. The boy from last night was sprawled across one of the sofas in George's family living room.

Matty immediately sat up at the sight of me and asked, "What's going on with you and George?"

"Just friends." I shrugged. To me, there really wasn't anything else than friends.

"You two seem a little more than, 'just friends" he smirked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Not like its any of your business, but George and I will never be anything more." I spoke, confidently. By now, Matty had made his way into the kitchen where I stood.

"Good,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I questioned.

As if we weren't speaking the same language, he slowly repeated. "I said 'good.' I mean, wanting to fuck someone else's girl is slightly frowned upon, right?"

During my walk back home, my mind was filled up with too many mixed feelings. Thinking about what Matty said, caring about George's feelings, and wondering if my parents would even let me back into the house. I now stood in front of the door in which my parents had kicked me out of last night.

I knocked once on the door, and straight away, it flew open. "Dad. I -"

"Charlie, I was worried sick. Wh -" my dad started.

"Do not talk to her that way." my Mother growled, coming up behind her husband. "Get your stuff, and leave."

My Father kept his head down as I walked past my parents and upstairs, making my way into my former bedroom. Stuffing my clothes and books into a trash bag, I looked around the room, knowing that this was the last time I would be here. That this time, I really fucked up.

After I walked back down the steps, I attempted to talk to my parents once more, but my Mother shooed me out the house.

"How am I supposed to get around?" I yelled, from the other side of the door.

It flung back open and my Dad threw me my car keys, closing the door afterwards.

-

The next morning, I awoke in my car. My back stung from sleep across the hard seats of my tiny car. I sat up and looked in the mirror, my eyes were the same shade of bloodshot read, maybe worse and the circles around my eyes have only gotten deeper.

I started the engine and drove down the street, heading the my favorite store, which held vintage vinyls. I opened the smudged glass doors and walking into the shop, making my way to the rock isle, letting my fingers run above the dusty records.

The bell above the door to the shop rang and footsteps entered the room.

"Pickup, thanks." a familiar voice spoke.I peeked around the corner and spotted Matty standing at the cashier, holding a record in his hands. "Charlie? What are you doing here?"

"I come here all time," I could no longer hide my guilty please of visiting this store almost everyday for comfort.

"How come I never see you here?" Matty asked.

"I tend to come here at odd hours," I laughed, looking at my watch. "like six in the morning."

"Nice." he laughed, fidgeting with the record in his hands.

"What's this?" I asked, pointing to it.

"Oh, nothing." he said nervously.

"The nineteen seventy-five." I read from the top, "Who's that?"

"Its, my band." He chuckled.

"You're in a band?" I scoffed, snatching the disk from his hands.

"Its kind of just George and I, but yeah, we like to call ourselves a band."

I flipped over the record repeatedly, "Can I listen to it?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Matty mumbled.

"George has never told me about this,"

"Yeah. It was kind of supposed to be a secret."