pencil shavings

thirteen: matt

Carly is still talking, even when I get her a double-extra-non-fat-organic-chai-tea-frappe-whatever and a sugar-free scone that tastes like cardstock. And when I kiss her cheek and put my arm around her slim waist, there's this nagging part of me that's complaining about how Sam would never make me listen to her talk for this long. How with Sam and Peter, there was no selfish me-show, how they cared. And I can be walking with the prettiest girl that I have ever seen, but the doubt is still there, deeply there.

I run a hand through my hair and smile at Carly, trying to keep up with the conversation.

"Matt, oh can we do something tonight, please? I have a plan." Her lipstick smile sends shivers down my back.

"Of course," I say, and when she lays her head on my shoulder and we walk around our neighborhood, I really mean it.

I walk into my house to change, surprised as always by the vast space in the atrium. The high ceilings loom above, the arches and pillars grace the walls, and the sweeping staircase overflows its robust base onto the tile. It's beautiful, yes, but as I climb into the upper story in my overpriced sneakers with my rich-boy cologne, it just feels empty. Money is one of those elusive things - people always want more or feel uncomfortable with the amount they have... no one is ever happy if they fixate on it.

That emptiness gnaws again as I sit there on my bed to tie up dressier shoes, and the voices come from downstairs.

"Richard, stop it."

"The boy needs structure."

"He has enough structure. He's a boy!"

"Diane, this isn't up for debate. He's almost a legal adult. And I'm not about to throw out years of top-notch education and athletics because he needs to 'be a boy.' Do you realize how much Matt has had given to him? Now he needs to take on that responsibility and start earning it."

Pause.

"Let's talk about this later, Rich."

I whip my head down and pretend to retie my shoes as my mom treads upstairs.

The sky is turning a brilliant orange when we've cleaned up and met again outside her lawn. Carly kisses me lightly and pulls me toward her beautiful little convertible. I let myself get wrapped up in the way her smile just blooms with the ear-pounding music, and screw all those philosophers and thinkers - I believe that this - the sunset city, the lipstick singing - this is what makes all that living-crap worth it. This is poetry.

We skid into a parking spot and miss the painted lines by about a foot. It's our thing. We come out here, to the town park by the library, all dressed up, and sit on one of the benches to eat microwave popcorn and watch the sky and drink Martinelli's from the bottle. Dorky, yes, but it's the one outdoor thing I can get Carly to do, sort of the thing that combines our totally different lives.

I pass over the Martinelli's and sprawl over the green-painted bench. That morning with Peter rushes into my mind, how dead tired he looked with his stuff sprayed around the farthest bench, but I push it out as fast as I can, smiling at Carly.

Why do I never smile at them?

"So, tell me about that camp?" There's a snicker in her voice when she says it, but I just savor the fact that she asked me a question for once.

"Terrible, unless you like spending six hours with obsessive dorks," I reply with equal irritation at the subject, trying not to wince at my own words.

Carly laughs and takes a swig from the Martinelli's, leaning back into me. "I'm sure - was that little girl in your group?"

I bite my lip. Sam. "Yeah, yeah, the blond?"

She nods. "I'm sorry, she just reeks social-awkwardness. I know that's mean, but some people just... don't get it?"

I grunt a little, clenching my jaw. The pinks from the sky sketch the windows like stained glass, dripping a vibrancy I feel like I betray with every word against the two of them. Pathetic.

"And - the other kid... he's kinda cute," she looks up at me with a teasing laugh and I roll my eyes.

"Ha ha. So is your fellow barista, what's her name? Sabrina? Sarah?"

Carly slaps me playfully and I grin.

We sit there in silence as the colors are sucked down toward the horizon like a vacuum, out fingers laced together.

"Love you," she whispers into my shoulder as she closes her eyes, her breathing steadying into sleep. Pulling the Martinelli's from her hands, I kiss the top of her head and let out a shaky sigh.

My eyes find their way to the sky, now shifting quickly to black, and I wonder how long it will last. How much longer, before the blue is finally gone with the sun, before Carly slips from that place in my heart. Before I find a silver-decked knight there instead.