graffiti (completed)

Twenty-Four.

Her hand flew over her mouth, eyes watering as soon as she opened the door to my face. And, for the first time in years, somebody hugged me.

It was tight, warm; you could feel her tiny sobs, lost in her smooth strawberry blonde hair, freshly washed. 

She held me there for five minutes, maybe longer, as though she was afraid I'd run off again if she let go.

I patted her back slowly, unsure of how to feel. I hadn't expected it, and now I was almost trapped.

"I thought I messed up again," she spoke in between sobs, breath smelling if fresh toothpaste. She let me go and laughed, wiping her eyes with the bottom of her palms. She walked into the house, and I looked back behind me.

Ricky's Jeep was still there, and he was still inside, looking at the door. He was a bit too far to see any expression, but I assumed it was a bit of a smile.

The house smelled exactly the same: wood floors, vanilla that Melodie managed to get in every single inch of the house. It felt brighter than before, wimdows peeking light in. Maps fell onto the table in different directions, laptop closed and charging.

I closed the door behind me.

"There was nothing I could do," she plopped onto the couch, cradling her gace with one bamd, "I don't know what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why did you leave? Without a note, or some clothes left, or anything?"

"It was easier that way."

She took a sharp breath and a big sniffle, grabbing tissue from a nearby box to properly wipe her eyes.

"It's because of Mike, isn't it?"

I had nothing to say.

She walked to me, who was still awkwardly standing by the door, and gave another tight embrace. I wasn't sure how to feel.

"I told him that is was a lot to process, and you'll take a while. I didn't realize you would go away."

"I couldn't stay with him being here."

She gave a nod, like she was trying to understand.

"But why? What's the point?" her head was slightly tilted.

I couldn't look at her for too long."It's a long story."

"I'm here for the rest of the day."

There was a long pause. She went into the kitchen and grabbed poured coffee from the machine, sliding me a mug. I'd had enough coffee to keep me up for three days by now, and after a few respectful sips, I let it rest on the coffee table.

"I went to call them, just as like, a hypothetical situation. They said if I didn't find you in three days, and they did, you'd be sent to a detention center or something." She took a giant gulp from her own cup before crinkling her nose and getting a few more packets of sugar, " I remembered your freedom thing, and--"

"I just want to live alone somewhere," I looked at my hands, "that's all I want."

"You would live alone," she said, "in two years."

"I couldn't wait two years."

"What about the people you're leaving?"

"Why does everyone ask me that?" I mumbled quickly under my breath, "Everybody moves on. They'd forget about me."

"Not quite," she said, "You affect everyone you interact with. In a way that, if important enough, they won't forget."

"Aristotle, I haven't done anything worth remembering."

"You got suspended for spraypainting a school."

"But in a few years, would they remember? Or would they just recall some kid who changed a rule or two?" she watched the stean curl off of her mug, gulping down the rest," Maybe you'd be upset, but you'd try and get a new foster kid, wouldn't you? Try to treat them different? I'd be a passing memory, something you think of under laughing gas at the dentist or something."

"You can't go on with life by yourself."

"But I can. Every relationship is just a series of favors, and when we're done helping each other out, we leave."

"So you did all your favors for me? And me for you?" She held the empty cup like it would break any minute if she let it go.

"You seemed stressed out by me, and I didn't mean for all of that other crap to happen. I figured it was one last favor."

Her eyes were glassy. I looked at my own cup, which was starting to get cold.

She didn't return to the couch from the sink, rather, she looked out the kitchen window, arms crossed, hands around arms.

"Is that what's happened with every other home?"

I kept my expression as neutral as possible.

"Yes."

She didn't move from her spot, eyes glassy. I brought my coffee cup to the sink slowly, then took my backpack and started on the way to my room. The entire day felt like taking one step forward, then stepping backwards into a ravine. The room was as it had always been; eerily quiet, baby birds chirping outside. The sun had barely peeked through the window, seeing as it was still quite early, and the dust danced in the light like I'd just woken up, and never left.

I threw the backpack on the bed before momentarily lying down, watching the dust and listening to the birds and absorbing the odd idea of what home was. Of home possibly being a place like this.

I sat up with a sigh when a heard a knock.

Maybe my bedroom doorway was Melodie's idea of home.

"Yes?" I said.

She sat down next to me, but didn't get any closer.

"If you told me about this," she said, "maybe I'd let you live in the garage, or the basement. I would've never talked to you unless you wanted me to. I'd work all the time, go out with friends."

She gave me another hug, and this time I didn't tense up. "I would've supported gour choices, no matter what they were," and then, she got up, tapping the storage door, "most of them, at least."

She added nothing more, took away nothing less, simply exiting and closing the door behind her. Leaving me in a clean room, with a mind even messier than before.