Someone Willing to Stay

One Day

When I lived in Florida, I had a routine.

     Wake up. Crawl out of bed, stumble out of my room, and find a shirt somewhere in the pile of clothes downstairs.

Then I go find my dad. He's either passed out on the living room floor or slumped over a toilet in the bathroom.

He doesn't have enough energy to do laundry, but plenty to get drunk.

I'd get him up, help him to bed, and pray that he stays there until I get home. No more having to pick him up at the station for causing trouble at a bar somewhere in town.

Then I sort through the bills on the table, hospital and home. Find the ones that I can pay for, maybe two if my paycheck was good.

Every morning, the same things happened over and over. No change in Dad's condition. No change in my hope of going home.

I'd leave the house, meet Dylan, and we'd haul ass to school together. He'd always smell like smoke and the ocean. 

We hated it there. He hated listening to his parents fight all day. He hated having to go to school every morning instead of doing what we both loved to do; surf. Surfing was his home. Every free hour he had, he was on the water.

I hated my dad. I hated his tumor, and his lack of will to live. I hated the people. The stuck up, tan assholes who prided themselves in tearing apart my very existence.

Being back home, it's surreal. 

I have a routine.

I wake up, crawl out of bed, stumble out of my room. I go downstairs and see my mom, who's yelling at my brother for eating all of whatever she's made for breakfast that day.

Here I have a family.

I walk out of the house with a sappy smile on my face today. I'm grateful. And I know I shouldn't be. I should be sad and angry, hating God for killing my dad. But I'm thanking him. For sending me home. 

"God dammit, stupid piece of junk."

   Looks like you're the only one thanking him.

I throw my bag into my car and then shut the door, walking around it and leaning against the passenger side door.

Mel is standing with her car's hood open, looking at it with a confused frown.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing." She groans.

"Car trouble?" I call out as I start walking over to her.

She nods, "It's been doing this for two weeks."

I walk over and playfully shove her out of the way so I can take a look. After scanning under the hood for a few minutes, I smirk triumphantly.

"The battery terminals are loose." I conclude.

Mel looks at me lost.

I wave her over.

"These wires," I explain to her, "Aren't connected to your battery right. They aren't screwed on all the way. I can come over after school today and fix it myself."

"You can't fix it now?"

I raise an eyebrow, "We have school. It'll take me a while to figure everything out."

"I need it to be fixed now." She's adamant, glancing up at her house and back at me like she's weighing out her options.

"Mel, we're gonna be late." 

I turn to walk back to my car until I'm stopped. Her fingers wrap around my arm. They're small and warm, and gentle.

She rips her hand away almost as soon as she touches me, like she's afraid.

"I need a ride." She whispers.

I smirk, "Just can't stay away from me, huh?"

"Forget it-"

"Wait, Mel, I'm kidding." The words rush out of my mouth.
      W- H- I- P- P- E- D.
She stops and looks at me, then looks back at her house. She's running through scenarios in her mind, like getting in a car with me could end her life.
"One ride."
"Let's hit the road."
We get in my car, she's clutching her book bag to her chest.
      I know what I should do. Respect her wishes of hating me and ignoring me for as long as I'm back home. I should take her to school and let her ignore me until seventh period.
      But I find myself curing under my breath and doing doing a U-Turn.
      "Mason, what are you doing?" Mel screams, holding onto the handle above her head as her body falls to the side.
      "We're ditching today." This is out of character for me, and for Mel I'm sure.
      But I need one day.
      "Mason, take me to school right now." She demands.
      "One day," I say, hoping my voice doesn't sound as shaky to her as it does to me, "Give me one day to make up for lost time. Let me be your person again."
      "My person?"
      "Your person. The one you come to when you're crying. The house you crash at when Adam's being a dick. Let me be your friend again."
      She pauses, "Nine years is a lot to make up for in a day."
      I know that. God I know that. Because I'm a dick. And instead of smiling and catching up to Mel the second I saw her face, I acted like I barely knew her.
      Dylan is gone. I'm home. It may be selfish, but I need Mel. I need my person.
      "Give me one day."
      There are a few moments of painful silence and so many scenarios are running through my mind.
      What if she says no? What if she asks me to take her back to school? I'll never get my chance. I'll never get to hear her laugh from my jokes, or ride in laundry baskets down my stairs again.
      "You have one day. Twelve hours," she takes out her phone and presses the screen a few times, "starting now."
      Why is it so important to me that Mel and I make things right? Maybe because I left her just like I left my Dad and Dylan. With no explanation. No care about how they felt. I couldn't make it right with them. But I can fix everything with Mel.
      No more leaving. No more running away.
      Today, I stay.