LIGHT

Chapter 4

I couldn't stop thinking about lunch. Counting the dragging steps my feet took home, my eyes hung over each step. And Vince, ignoring my wishes for him to take the bus, insisted that he walk home with me. We only lived a few houses down from each other. But I needed the space to clear my head, even if that space was a ten block safari from my house.

"These damn trees are killing me, man, leaves pouring everywhere. I hate the suburbs."

I could hear Vince complaining, as usual, about the messy comforts of suburbia. He loved comparing our present to his past toddler years in New York, before he moved here to the middle of no where—Woodson Grove. His first six years spent in the Big Apple really stuck with him, I guess; even though his memory probably didn't kick in until the car ride here.

But I didn't have the energy to trade shots with him. I was exhausted, feeling physically drained. The blinding shine of the sun only mocked me. And the red-haired orphan from that one movie my dad made us all watch for Christmas one year appeared in my mind. She was dancing and doing cartwheels on my forehead, singing that awfully happy song, making my headache even worse. The sun coming out tomorrow never helped anything. Not today anyway.

Not when you're me.

The night walks had never been this bad. I landed on that name way back in the orphanage. It was kind of like sleep walking, minus the sleeping part. I use to think it was a game. Even cool some nights. What kid wouldn't want to be able to play when everybody else is sleep? So, that's what I would do.

I'd be the only kid excited, jumping for joy for bedtime; while the rest of the kids would be pouting and throwing fits. First one in bed—teeth brushed, flossed, and shinned—because I knew what I could do. I knew where I was going. A world where rules didn't apply. A place with endless possibility. A utopia. Of course I thought they were just really good dreams at first, until I started to bring things back with me: toys, treats, anything I wanted. The social workers thought I was stealing when they found my stash of goodies. But I was six, and heavily supervised at all times.

Regardless, this place was unbelievable. But the older I got, the less I was able to visit. After a while, sleep became just sleep. Until now. But that boy, the demon child from lunch, he was different. The creepy guy from the shower was too. Every single second of those nightmares was brand new to me.

Accept one.

"You're doing that ignore Vince thing again, aren't you?"

"Uh, what, man?" My response only fueled the fire.

"Bro, you've got to let this go. Everybody has a mini Britney Spears breakdown at one point of their lives."

"Real funny, Vince. Just pile it on."

"Don't be like that. It's your birthday"

"Happy Birthday to me. Yay," my words effortlessly slid pass his hope for my excitement.

"Sir, you better not act like this when we turn twenty one. I swear I'll leave your ass at home!"

A slight ghost of a smile actually crept up my face—just one side. I hated when Vince made me laugh like that. I wasn't in any mood to be festive, smiley, any form of happy. It was like a sickening super power he had. I guess that's why we've been inseparable since the first day he shared his Santa Clause theory with me at recess.

Yes, he's been a pain that long.

"Alright. Alright. I'll let it go," I lied.

But I watched as Vince accepted my ruse, knowing his best friend all too well. He released his piano fingers from the ropes of his backpack to comfort me, throwing his arm around my neck in a half choke hold. After a few more forced jokes and rough play, Vincent gave up trying to shake me loose of my worries. He realized he was doing more than enough by just being by my side.