Cemetery Backyards

Three Cuss Words

By seven am Saturday morning, Mikey is already wanting to go towards La Rõsa highschool two towns away. The game isn't till three that evening, but Mike always goes early to hang out with his soccer buddies. He doesn't forget me, though.

Mike doesn't forget me.

Mike doesn't forget me.

Mike would never forget me.

He creeps into my room before the sun creeps through my window and shakes me awake

"Hey brother," He whispers as I groan in annoyance "Do you want to come hang out with the guys?".

"No. No. No. No."

"Oh, come on!" He whines "You never go anywhere with me anymore! Plus, it's just me and Jeremy and Neil and Tony and some new kid named Jaime! It won't be that bad."

I start to perk up at the sound of Jaime's name.

"Ok, fine. Ok, fine." I act annoyed, but I can already feel the butterflies turning in my belly.

*

An hour later, and Mikey saunters down the thirty stairs in his soccer uniform, and I will say, my brother looks sharp.

My brother looks sharp.

My brother always looks sharp.

I've been ready for ten minutes. I'm adorned in a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a black tshirt. I also have a drawstring bag with my notebook and a small organised box of crayons slung over my back.

My brother grabs a pop-tart from the cabinet and yells at my mom that we're ready. Four minutes later we load into the car.

I have a thing with the car. Mike has to sit in the back seat behind my mom.

It all started last year. My mom thought I would be fine in drivers ed. She was wrong. I'm shocked she hasn't learned by now that I can't do anything productive with out freaking out.

I can't do anything productive with out freaking out.

I can't do anything productive with out freaking out.

I can't do anything productive.

I can't do anything.

It was the third day when they started teaching us about car crashes. They showed us horrible videos of head on collisions with trains and motorcycles and spewed out all sorts of gruesome statistics and facts about death and drunk drivers. There was one that stuck in my head, though.

In case of a collision, a driver's first instinct is to protect their side of the car.

So Mike has to sit in the back seat behind my mom so he doesn't die and get decapitated with his head through the windshield.

The ride there is quiet, with only the sounds of my crayons scratching numbers against my notebook paper so nothing will disappear into oblivion, sucking itself into the space-time continuum and opening a black hole for all of creation to be sucked into.

Eventually Mike stretches between my mom and I and cuts on the radio. He flips through stations until he lands on something he likes. He hmms under his breath and I count the beats of the over-played rap music as we drive.

About five minutes before we arrive at the mall, my mom reaches down and cuts down the radio. Mike huffs extra air through his nose in annoyance.

My mom ignores him and brings one hand off the wheel to pat my arm.

"Now Vic" She says "If you start to feel uncomfortable or panicky, you just call me. I'll come get you. If any-"

"Mom, he's fine!" Mike interrupts "He'll be fine!"

I nod, four times, in agreeance with Mike. I would be fine. I could handle it.

Probably.

I could probably handle it.

Maybe.

Maybe.

*

Thirty minutes later Mike and I sit at the food court with Jeremy and Tony, waiting patiently for Neil and Jaime to arrive.

"They live on the same street, so the little fuckers decided to ride together." Jeremy had said.

Jeremy uses an over excessive amount of cuss words. But other than that, he's nice. Mike must've told his friends about me, because they don't question when I don't speak and instead write numbers in my book with my crayons.

The food court has ten tables and forty four chairs and six different fast food restaurants. It's quiet because of how early it is, and the only other people that trickle through the five large glass doors are a mother with a double stroller, an elderly couple, and four men in buisness suits. I decide they're probably hunting aliens. And if I stare for too long they'll probably use their fancy mind-wiping pens to clear my memory. And then I wouldn't remember Jaime's eyes and how my stomach drops when he looks at me.

...I look back down at my notebook and draw a number four in turquoise blue.

"So" Jeremy says as we all munch on our chick-fil-a "I heard fuckin Kevin busted his damn ankle up 'cause he's a shit box and now we have no damn goalie.". I count the curse words. There are four.

I write another four in my notebook.

"Dude, that means I'm gonna have to take his position." Tony groans.

Tony is pretty quiet. I like him more than Jeremy, I think. He has dark brown eyes, I notice, like Jaime's. But they aren't as pretty as Jaime's. They don't have the same ability to captivate me like Jaime's.

I don't think anyone could captivate me like Jaime.

I don't think anyone could captivate me like Jaime.

I don't think anyone could captivate me like Jaime.

No one could captivate me like Jaime.

"Yeah, well," Potty-mouth Jeremy continues "Suck it the fuck up and get your fuckin' game face on shit brick. La Rõsa is going down!". This statement, containing three swear words, earns a "Hell yeah!" from my brother and a grunt of agreement from Tony.

I'm watching the door when he walks in.

Neil trails not too far behind him, sending a playful fist flying into his shoulder.

He's beautiful.

The light from outside the plexiglass door catches the black mass of hair, making it shine a deep raven purple for just a hint of a second. He laughs at something Neil says, and his dimples become prominent markings in his face.

"Aye, guys!"

My brother catches his attention and he smiles and waves and Oh god Jaime is beautiful.