Tardy

Let Us Not Do What Hands Do

I can't remember the last time I've cleaned my room. It wasn't filthy, but it wasn't particularly tidy either. I just don't have the time. My evenings are taken up with homework, studying, and the occasional call from my grief counselor. There's no time to clean up the scattered textbooks, novels, shoes, and vinyl records that grace my mahogany floors.

I've been listening to vinyl's more often lately. It's something about having the pen scrap across the record. The bond they forge to create this beautiful music; this audible art. That if broken will ultimately be destroyed. It's so precious, they're connection. It reminds me of us; him and I. And believe it or not, it's soothing. It mellows me out.

Especially when playing Twenty One Pilots's album Vessels. "Car Radio" has been on replay for the past eight months now.

"I have these thoughts

So often I ought

To replace that slot

With what I once bought

'Cause somebody stole

My car radio

And now I just sit in silence"

Those lyrics have been on my mind in a never-ending loop. They speak the truth. My truth. And even though people keep telling me the truth, I'd rather hear it in a song. I accept it in a song.

Maybe I should tidy up the room. Dylan was coming over today and the last thing I wanted was for my parents to see us practicing Shakespeare in the living room. They would find some excuse to stay downstairs in the kitchen. My mom will ask, "Are you guys hungry?" and walk over to check on us. She'll try to stay long enough to get an understanding of what we're doing and then she'll find a way to stay and watch. She'll squeal and clap, and Dylan will never let me live it down. So in order to preserve myself, we'll just go upstairs.

That means I have to put away this pile of clothes that has been there for a week now. Laying in my bed I can see my green "I Love Nature" shirt with the white bird on the branch. The bird looks just like the one on the Woodstock poster that I nailed on the wall by the television. I see the tank top that's just as red as the stripes on the American Flag placed above my head for when I still believed in the good ole American dream. And on top of the pile was my black hoodie. Technically, I commandeered the jacket from him, but he doesn't have any use for it anymore.

I can see the holes on the left shoulder and the right abdominal area. I remember when there were no holes. When it was just another hoodie on a hanger in a line of hoodies on hangers. I bought it for him as a gift for his sixteenth birthday. He wore it all the time. Then I remember when he last wore it. On that day, the holes came.

When did Dylan say he would be here again? Right, he said 10o'clock. I turn over towards my alarm clock and look at the time. Oh crap, it's 9:45. I jump out of the bed just a little too fast and trip over my black combat boots. I think about sitting there to sooth the pain in my knee, but then I glance at my clock again, and now it's 9:47. I grabbed the pile of clothes and threw them in my closet.

I hop in the shower and I'm out at 9:56. As I brush my teeth, I walk over to my dresser to pick out something to wear. Maybe I should wear a dress for once. I have this purple crewneck body-con dress that really goes well with my green eyes. I'd look decent and Dylan would like it. Wait, what? Why the hell would I care if Dylan likes it? It's Dylan for crying out loud; he's no one special. Why am I even putting effort into my look today? It's a freaking Saturday and I'm not even leaving the house. What is wrong with me today?

Just as I spit the toothpaste out of my mouth, I hear the doorbell ring. I know what that means; he's here. I sprint back to my dresser and pull out the first thing I see: my light blue Tweetie Bird tee shirt and a pair of gray acid wash jeans. I throw them on and run downstairs to the door with my soaking wet tresses whipping behind me. As I approach the door, I force my breathing down. I don't need Dylan thinking I was excited to have him here. I pull open the door and there he is standing there with the dumbest smile plastered on his face.