Sunday, July 31, 2020 -through- Saturday, August 6, 2022 - roughly 5 AM
written amongst many bitter thoughts sporadically over two years. this story felt like vomiting to write: painful, yet sickeningly satisfying.
<I was sitting behind the wheel of the car staring at the rain pouring down the window, droplet by droplet, remembering how I used to pretend certain individuals of the thousands of raindrops were racing. I was still wearing my uniform hat, but my polo was now off, with my favorite tight tank on instead. Lately, I hadn't driven home till late, because of Damio. He had been growing worse and worse lately. I hated him, and I only wanted to go home when I knew he was asleep in the upper bunk. He was hateful, but I couldn't fight him. I was too weak, and he would eventually break my arm someday.
I watched the rain. My eyes went slowly out of focus, and my wrists drooped off of the wheel, and my head slowly lowered, to finally rest on the cool window. It wasn't too cold tonight, and I wasn't wet. My Prius had lots of fuel. I felt strangely euphoric, somehow. I was completely alone. It felt heavenly.
***
About two sleepless hours of this went by. It was now very nearly ten at night, and the car was growing pleasantly chilly, and my forehead could feel the multitude of tiny impacts from the rain, which didn't seem like it was planning on stopping. I was considering just not going home tonight. Just sitting in my car in the parking lot of work instead of going home was something I'd never done before. It felt like the perfect kind of night for something like this. Nobody else in the parking lot, rain, Friday, full from leftovers that were just going to be thrown out, and nothingness. It felt good.
In the corner of my eye, I saw a pinpoint of light in the rain. Way off in the distance, down the long empty rainy street. A cyclist, I assumed, since there was no motor noise. My eyes lazily watched the point of light, now visibly reflecting light off of the wet asphalt. Who would be riding out in this?
It reminded me of Jas. Every week I would drive up to college and as I passed the bike racks, I would always see Jas' bicycle, locked up in the same precise way each time, with Jas first to class every week like a cool, unbothered machine. I think they came from money, which always confused me. Why would anyone so well put together and priveleged spend time with someone like me. I'm barely able to afford community college alongside a car, and my parents are either drunk or asleep.
I felt like it was unfair to Jas. They always show up to class very well presented; with an iPad Pro for notes instead of a cheap notebook, and clothes that were at once easy to ride a bike in, and attractive enough to wear to after-class drinks. I think Jas works too, but for what reason I can't discern. They smell like money, but not like money's stench.
The light grew brighter. I soon saw that it was merging into the turning lane. Maybe I'd get to see this person. It might be interesting.
I turned my head as they entered the parking lot. Their hair was streaming with rain, their clothes were sopping wet, and the gears of the bike looked like a mechanically-augmented waterfall. It was Jas.
I stared for a moment, then realized that they were approaching my car rapidly. I braced myself, then opened my door.
"Jas! Jas, what are you doing out here?" I called out through the rain.
Jas panted and put out a leg to stop their fall. They panted roughly in the rain as I looked for some kind of shelter for the bike. "Julio…" they breathed. "I thought you'd…" They coughed wetly. "Rain- down my throat… I'm fine."
"No you're not," I said, and took their arm as they threw a leg off the bike and gripped the drops, panting. "Jas… how did you- how far did you…"
Jas pushed the bike ten feet, under the awning of the pizza shop. "I've had pizza here, I had no idea before tonight you worked here."
I stood in the rain and felt my face fall. I tossed out my arms helplessly and mumbled ascent.
They turned, bike locked firmly to a pole, face suddenly concerned. They peered into my eyes. "Why didn't you go home tonight, Julio?"
"My brother," I said, confused and ashamed. How had Jas found all this out? Had they been spying on me?
"Damien?" Jas cocked their head, and my eyes popped up in accusatory shock.
"How do you know-"
"We went to high school together, didn't he tell you?"
This was a lot to process.
***
We found ourselves sitting in my car. Jas hadn't told me because he'd assumed Damien would like me enough to tell me instead. When I asked whether Damien had ever beaten Jas, Jas looked at me sideways, as though awkward memories were flooding their head.
"Damien… never beat me, no." Jas looked out the front, hair dripping rainwater onto the unusually plain black tee-shirt and jeans they were wearing.
Jas looked at me dead in the eyes suddenly. I saw unexpectedly just how electric grey their eyes were, and exactly how nice their face and shoulders looked slick with water and with strands of hair wetly framing their face.
Jas said, "I love you."
***
The next day at the college, Damio shoved me as we walked from the parking lot together. I walked toward my class and he walked toward his. I breathed again. Feeling in my pack for my notes, I ran over them again.
Just Now, by Peter Campion: refers to a ladybug as coming from wind, shit, jasmine leaves and ra-
Wind, shit, jasmine leaves and rain. Shit, I was late. I started running, wishing I'd packed water today, when I suddenly realized that Damio was only a few feet behind me.
I fell in confusion, tripping on my pant leg, and my papers went everywhere. My chin hurt from the impact of the grass.
Damio towered over me, his hands like hunks of generously cut meat, his neck as wide as his head. "You know Jas?"
I turned my head away, expecting treatment worse than I'd seen before. My gut clenched, and my eyes screwed up tight.
"Jas like you much?"
I rolled away, hoping it would hurt less on my back than my front.
"Do they?"
I gave a muffled assent.
Damio didn't do anything. I didn't move my arms from my head for five minutes.
I heard the noisy gears of an unwashed bicycle. I looked through the folds of my jacket, and saw Jas looking at me from across the grassy area outside the classroom, concerned.
I didn't move, but tried to move my hand without moving it, yelling for help without yelling for help.
"What's wrong?"
I turned my head a fraction, then let out a long held breath and sobbed out.
I went to class, and my brother never beat me again.
© Thor Smith, 2022