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paldeanbooper · 3 months

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hi :3

also brooo its so good >:00000

i rlly liked Question Everything: “Wil”, the second i read ‘you ever feel like your being constantly watched?’ i just went ‘😮👍’

bro you need to keep writinggg its good and i love ittt

ok byee

So i revised it but also added some more. after this update the next chapter is 'an epiphany'

*spanish and protuguese is in red like always*

*text conversations are in blue (yes i changed it yellow is hard to read*

GHOST STORIES

By Unt1t3d

Position for Hire: “J”

I don't like offices. I don’t know if it's because they mean that something uncomfortable is being discussed or that I didn’t organize anything myself, knowing that contents are probably where they don’t belong. This tossed here, That cast aside there. Papers unfiled and wrecked, a sea of words spilling out across the desktop. Pencils and pens scattered amongst filing cabinets and drawers. But this office I hated the most. Not only was I uncomfortable, I was being pestered about “How I felt” and, “What I should do to get on a healthier path in life”. I’ve never liked the ‘this is a safe space’ shit they rant.

I didn’t need to get healthier mentally, I needed to get better physically. I needed money. “Justice, are you alright?” The Therapist was nagging me, I noticed. “Huh? Oh, Yeah. I agree.” I spaced off a lot so I just pretended I knew what anyone was saying in a conversation. “I was just saying that you should get your work papers in order. I think a job might be just what you need to get yourself in the right headspace.” She said like she was talking to a toddler, writing notes on her notepad. Wow, I’m touched, she’s concerned. Aren't they all? I’ve had enough of the sympathetic ‘Are you alright?’s. Honestly, a ‘you're a crazy mother fucker’ once in a while is perfectly fine to balance out the chaos.

“So is your medication working? Do you still see…them?” Oh she's talking about the shadowy friends of mine! Yeah, I still fucking see them even though you have me on enough meds to call me a drugaddict. In fact, I saw one on Tuesday, SUSAN. I’ve always been able to see them even when I was younger, and they blamed it on a very rare, very young case of dementia. It was the reason I didn't have a lot of friends as a kid. But these…things, aren't just figments of my imagination. They have minds of their own, taunting me all the time. I hate to even think of it.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen them in a while.” I said with a smile, so that she won’t prescribe me another pill. “Don’t we end in a few?” I say to hurry her along. She taps her skull, as if she’s just now remembering I have a life. “Oh, you’re right! Then we’ll pick this up next week.” Ew, I didn’t want to pick this up again next week. “Um, I’m going to get my papers organized, remember? I’m getting that job. So, if I just notify you, I don’t think meetings will be necessary as of right now.” I said impatiently with a weak smile, tapping my foot at godspeed. Man, she’s slow on the update. Maybe if she's smart enough she’ll realize what I’m trying to say.

She gathered her things, clearly not in her right headspace as she threw it all recklessly in a tote bag. My hands twitched. “Oh, wow. Yeah, that is right! You have a way better memory than me!” she said over-enthusiastically. No wonder she was alway re-scheduling. “I suppose that’s alright, but if you're ever stressed, or need someone to talk to, call my number.” She said with a deeply concerned look. To be truthful, I lost her number, but that’s just between you and me. “Yep. In fact, I’ll have you on speed-dial, just in case.” I told her, my enthusiasm was weak and my social battery was draining fast. “Okay! You have a good rest of your day then!” She says with a cheery smile. Right, like hell I will.

Yup. Sure will. Time to go home to Mamá and step-daddy and scrub the house clean. I hate to be brutally honest as I always am, but they’re half the reason I’m in debt for these damned medical bills. I walk down the long flight of stairs and out of the building. Ugh, finally, I’m free. Almost…

-X-

I hung my keys and walked into the kitchen and shouted, “I’M HOME!”. No response, of course. I opened the door to my room and took a deep breath. Now I’m home. I closed the door because, privacy ya’ know? I hung my messenger bag on a decorative rung I had 3-d printed in sophomore year of Computer Design. I glanced at my neat wall of vinyl records with bands like “Nirvana” and “Los Campesinos”, right next to the picture of me smiling with my father. On my desk was a loose stack of books, things I was borrowing but now belonged to me, a cup of pencils, and my PC setup I made myself, stickers plastering the rough frame. I liked my room, I mean why wouldn’t I? I just never got to show it to anybody besides Elijah and Hoodie, my two friends from high school. Hoodie went to college in the area while me and Elijah bounced from job to job. But it was to have friends who actually hung around.

I flopped on my bed, tired as hell. I pulled out my phone and selected a playlist, closing my eyes and drifting in and out of sleep. I fall into sleep fast, the exhaustion draining me. I dream of the shadows and VHS tapes changing and a loud static in my head. Everything is so unilluminated, and I’m scared, frightened out of my wit at whatever could come out of the wispy darkness. “Jay '' someone says. I looked into the darkness, trying to detect where the voice was ringing from. “Jay” I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jolt awake and rub my eyes. When my vision focuses and my head stops throbbing, my mom is standing in the middle of my room, cigarette in hand. “You were screamin’ again. Did you take your damn pills?” Mamá spoke a heavy accented English, rolling her r’s and vowels. No, I hadn’t. I was supposed to take them even if I took a two minute nap. Or else I screamed like a madman when I dreamed.

“David isn’t coming home tonight.” She said, taking a drag of the cancer creator. “ ‘Work’?” I said, not looking at her, spacing out and staring at the small torn threads in my crocheted rug. She breathed out. “Yeah, ‘work’. I figured you could use the stove tonight then.” She took one last look at my room and walked out, her shirt askew across her small curved shoulders. She’s not the same anymore. After my dad died in that plane crash, she’s been doing all the wrong things with all the wrong people. I don’t understand why she would want to be in a relationship with that abusive fuck ‘David’ or whatever anyway.

But she still does little things like that, letting me know if and when David’s going to be home, and letting me use the stove to make my empanadas and arroz Rojo or ‘foreign food’ as David called it. He doesn’t let me cook because it’s too ‘spicy’ for him. Fuck him and his white people food.

I pulled out all my spices and ingredients, ‘Summerland’ by Half Alive still playing in my ears. I’m in the zone, everything how I want it. Cooking the arroz and frying the meat and sauce for empanadas, carefully avoiding the paper cuts on my hands when dicing the jalapeno and cilantro. In the midst of cooking, I decide to make dessert, having a hard time picking either Tres Leches or Concha Bread. I would ask Mamá, but she was half asleep on the tattered Lay-Z-Boy in the parlor. So I just decide based on what we have the most.

A few hours later, mom wakes up groggily, the smell of authentic Mexican food calling her. “Gracias por la comida hijo.” She says, eyes only half open. “De nada mami.” Spanish is another thing David doesn’t like. He can’t understand ‘taco bell’. “Pronto conseguiré un trabajo.” I’m getting a job, I tell Mamá. I blurted it out. I don’t know why but I just do. “¿un trabajo?” she says with no surprise. “¿Sabes cuál?” Do I know which one, I was so focused on getting out of my meetings for a bit that I hadn’t actually thought of what I would do. “Quizás algo en informática. Se paga bien.” I told her about my computer science classes and how the area of work paid well. Well enough to finish paying the debt to the bills I owed.

“¿Cuándo te convertiste en un hombre tan adulto?” She looks at me. “uh, el mes pasado mamá.” I had just turned 18 last month on November 7th. I was already an adult, technically. Mamá just looked at me and shook her head. “Ya sabes a qué me refiero, joven.” She said sassily. I laughed, enjoying our little corner of the universe, where we were safe. I brought out the Concha Bread and Mamá’s eyes lit up. “Mi Favorita! ” I smiled at her happiness, “¡Solo para ti!”. “Hijo, ¡me estropeas!” You spoil me, She says with a laugh.

We finished dinner, and I tucked Mamá into bed. I piled up the dishes, planning to do them tomorrow, and pulled out my phone to look at available jobs in my area. I pulled up Yelp and look for an IT job. No such luck. I tried Indeed next, again, nada. The hours passed, websites were searched, and still, no IT or Cyber Security jobs in my area.

I give up and try to find a decent paying job not too far from home.There are some alright ones and then there's the ones that look a little shady. I filter out my results so I don’t wish myself an early funeral. And then I found it, THE GOLDEN JOB. The golden job is this thing me and my web-dev friends would do when we were job hunting. You searched for a job, filtered it, and whoever had the best job at the end could dare anyone to do anything (within reason of course). One time Elijah won and he got everybody to buy him something from the DQ menu.

But this job seemed too good to be true. Just down town in the suburbs, away from the city, is a fancy estate house. The owners died a few years ago and this little old lady is looking for someone to clean it up for resale, as she is getting on in her years. The pay is good enough to pay for my bills though. All that's left now is to make the call…

Question Everything: “Wil”

Do you ever get that feeling that you’re constantly being watched? Like eyes are constantly trained on you? As if existing is a cause for concern. “Hey Wil,can you pass me the arroz?” I snap out of my daze, “Huh? Oh sure, Tio.” The house is hectic today, cousins running around and Aunts and Uncles drinking and talking. Nobody in the family liked to be around me and Tio Hector felt bad about that, so he sat with me at all the family meets.

“Ei, você está bem?” Tio said, I smile dancing on his lips. I play along, “Sim, só pensando... e você?” I’m just thinking, what about you? I said with the same smile playing on my lips. Tio just laughs, “You silly, I’m always fine! Como foi a terapia hoje?” He asked about therapy. He cares, but I don’t need therapy. We’re just wasting money we don’t have. “Ah, o mesmo de sempre. Ela apenas traz à tona as mesmas coisas…” Same old, Same old. The lady doesn’t even have a plan for me to get ‘better’. Tio just smiled and said, “Talvez ela esteja louca!”. He bursted out with laughter, making the house feel a little more homely.

Some more family members enter the kitchen, filing up on more drinks and food. I felt so uncomfortable around them, as they do around me. A hate/hate relationship, I guess. Tio sensed my unease and acted as necessary. “Ignore-os, eles estão aqui apenas para ficar bêbados e conseguir babá de graça.” He said they’re alone at the event to get drunk and get free babysitting. He knew this would make me smile, because not only was it funny, it was true.

I stand and push in my chair. “Vejo você mais tarde, tio. Tenho que ir para casa. Trabalho ocupado para ser feito.” Tio stood, “Trabalhar? OK, te vejo mais tarde. But don’t stress yourself! Or else you’ll end up like Aunt Maria!” He laughed. We hugged and I left to drive to my small apartment.

-X-

I got in and locked the doors and tossed my keys anywhere, I didn’t care at this point, my stuff was already everywhere. Boxes were still piled up from a month or two ago, from when I left the family house and moved out on my own. I toed my way on my cold floors, slowly inching my way to my room. LED lights were strung up, drawings and sketches hung up from AP Art classes. A picture of me and Tio sat on my nightstand. We were at a fair, eating bad funnel cakes and playing rigged carnival games. He won me the very avocado plushie that still rests on my bed right now that day.

My laptop rests on my desk, covered in stickers I had designed myself, still open on my DAW program with a music track in queue. I slamed it shut, too tired to even think about any work. I collapse to the bed. I don’t fall asleep, but just lay there. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with more scars. I lay horizontally on my side, drinking in the late afternoon sunlight, absorbing all the details of my room. It’s kinda like when you’re waiting for something but can only leave at a certain time, so you wait and actually notice all the little things in life. The silence was calming.

A boom rang from upstairs. Ugh, the neighbors. I finally decided that I had rested long enough and had to do something productive. The therapist said something about getting a job or whatever, so that I could ‘get myself in the right headspace’. I already had a job, but it was one my family didn't approve of, and if I mentioned that to the therapist we would have a WHOLE discussion about ‘how that made me feel’ or, ‘what I could do to change their perspective’.

I didn’t have the time for that, and hell, I needed a buck. So, restlessly, I snatched my laptop and opened Yelp and Indeed and other numerous job websites and applications. Hours later, you would think I would discover a decent art job! Even a graphics designer looking for an assistant in the heart of New York! But Nada. I gave up a half hour later, deciding to just filter my results for easy, high paying jobs in a calm area (so that way I wasn’t lost in Time Square).

What comes up is some crack-head craigslist kinda shit but some of the jobs are promising. I filter again to get rid of the cuckoo's and 9-5 jobs, settling for something more temp style. This narrows down my search even more, drastically not giving a fuck about my opinion, and only showing one or two results. Eenie Minie Moe later and I found the thing to shut Susan up about the job. A cleaning job, high pay, pick my own hours, AND! when the estate sells I get 2% of the profit sold. It’s this little old lady, selling the home and land of her dead son and daughter-in-law, just wanting to get it in shape before resale.

I applied for the application and got it sent. I got to the kitchen to eat some trashy dried ramen in a bowl I haven’t washed in a week, and decide what time my body wants to deal with sleep and pain.

-X-

I woke up late that morning, my knees bloodied. Fuck. I tip-toe to the bathroom and get out my huge first aid kit. I disinfect and clean, avoid infection and patch it all up with a huge band aid. I've learned the art of self-aid with my eyes closed and hands tied by now. Fixed, for now. The scraps and cuts started showing up everytime I woke up. Nobody could explain it and because my parents never wanted to actually deal with me they just blamed it on ‘depression’ and suicidal thoughts. Fodam-se eles.

I checked my phone, surprised to see a notification from the lady with the estate so early. She said my application checked out and that the latest I can start today is 11:30 am. Well, at least I can choose when I leave. I glance at the clock, gauging how much time I get to blow before leaving to find the property. 10:29…okay. Shower, skip breakfast today, and attempt to clean. Like hell I'm gonna clean. It’s just not in my nature anymore.

Flashforward and I’m running to my car to get there on time because my sense of time is horrible. I showered and barely had time to get my boxers on. So, looking like a lunatic, brandishing my disheveled hair and soggy bandaids barely hanging on by a thread, I booked it to my car.

I sped on the highway, a million miles an hour, hoping this wasn't a grumpy old lady who would dock my pay. I got to the estate, grateful I somehow didn’t get a speeding ticket. It was a grand house, several floors covered in peeling sage green paint. Low hanging weeping trees hung around the property, their leaves falling slowly like blossoms of a Japanese Cherry Blossom. The lady was patiently waiting on a long wrap-around porch. “Hi, there!” The lady smiled kindly. Phew, She wasn’t upset. “What’s your name sonny?” I grabbed the few supplies I had managed to bring with me and shook her hand. “William. William Crest ma’am.” She smiled. “Such a gentleman! Well, come with me hon, I’ll show you ‘round.” I follow her with my small bag of cleaning stuff, ready for work.

“WAIT!!” A loud voice called behind us, footsteps pounding on pavement. Who else did this lady hire? I thought it was just me. All of the sudden a young man, maybe the same age as me, comes running down the driveway. “Lo Siento, miss! I'm sorry I'm so late!” He’s darker skinned but not black, crazy shaggy-curly hair, and a really lean body. And a strange scar across his face. “And who are you?” I said with a bit of an attitude. Tio always said I had a fiery temper. “Oh, I haven’t introduced myself, Mi nombre es Justice Santina.” I looked at him, he seemed…decent. “Nem todos nós falamos espanhol…” I say under my breath. I’m pretty sure the old lady couldn’t understand a lick of what we were saying. “¿Qué?” Justice smiles, surprised. “I’m not spanish, I’m portuguese, so don’t confuse yourself.” I say promptly. Everybody was alway doing that, confusing my Portuguese for Spanish.

“Ay, sorry my friend. I have Portuguese friends…you sounded so similar to them.” He says politely. I glanced at him up and down, not quite trusting him yet. “Well then, if you follow me…” The lady said calmly. I almost forgot what we were here for. We followed the lady as she took us inside. The moment we passed through the doors I coughed. It’s filled to the brim with dust and debris. “It’s been a while,” She said sadly. I could tell, cobwebs big as the ceiling littered everywhere. “I’m selling because my son and daughter-in-love have passed recently.” My face fell, I had read it on the page but it still upset me. “I’m sorry for your loss ma’am.” Justice said kindly. He was so proper, and showed so much respect. She showed us more of the house and instructed us to start wherever was easier. I took off to the nearest room as soon as she left. I didn’t want to be around a total stranger so I plugged in my headphones to send the message.

It was mostly quiet, except for cleaning spray and our music playing in our own ears. I was busy listening to Los Campesinos when I looked up and saw Justice, 3 inches away from my face. “AH! What do you want?!”...

The Locals: “J”

Man, William is too good. He’s got that fiery temper, the kind of guy who works for what he wants and then does your work for you. I came to check in on him, apparently startling him in the process. “So?,” He says impatiently, “What do you want?” I had my bag of supplies in tow, ready to get the place spotless. “Just checking in mi amigo. It’s a pretty big house.” I say carefully. He’s like a stick of TNT ready to go off, but that’s kinda a bonus of working with him already.

“Well, amigo, I’m fine, no need to concern yourself.” I can see him looking at my bag. “Did you really need all that?” I pretend to look appalled. I scoff, “Uh, yeah! Do you see how big this estate is?! No way a bottle of spray and a roll of paper towel is cleaning it all.” I say, pretending to be affected by his words. He exasperatedly turns to whatever he’s cleaning, fed up with my shit already.

When he stood up to move to a desk near him, the jack of his headphones hook onto the corner, unplug and unleash the music he’s listening to. Nervously, he fumbles to insert the headphones back into his phone. “Hey, was that Los Campesinos? ‘You!Me!Dancing!’?” I was surprised to have a similar music taste with a stranger. “U-Uh, yeah.” He stutters, flustered. I smile. “That’s cool. I love that band.” I’m trying to start a conversation here, kindle a fire if I may.

He loosened up a bit, I saw it in his shoulders, and breathed out, “Yeah, they're cool.” Damn it! Mans not even starting this ‘fire’, he’s full on pouring a bucket of water on it! Way to dampen the already soggy situation man…But he continued, “What’s your favorite band?” JAJA, there we go! “Man, gotta be Lovejoy…but also Nirvana, Half Alive, ACDC, I’ve got so many bands and artists…Did you hear that Normal People Things by Lovejoy just got released?”

His eyes lit up, but his facial expression remained the same. “Really? Is it any good?” He roughly scrubs the handles of a desk drawer. “Man,” I look him dead ass in the eyes, “More than good. Wanna listen?” I gesture my headphones to him. He hesitates. “They don’t bite, maybe…” I joke. He glares at me but accepts the headphones, giving me his. “I don’t know how much you listen to Portuguese or Spanish music but…It’s just something I like.” He gently puts on my black headphones as I slide his earbuds into my ears. Smooth accordion and a woman's voice fills my ears. I understand bit’s here and there. It's beautiful in its own way. I look at William, him clearly bopping his head to the song. It’s kinda cute.

I call over his song, “This is beautiful!”. He takes out one side of the headphones. “It 's called Última Dança.” He says to me, smiling from ear to ear. He has fully loosened up now, dancing and bopping to the song. “Not usually my genre of music, but I will admit, It’s nice.” He smiles at my comment, “Yeah, the release is great, too!” He hands my headphones back to me. I realized I still had his in my hands. I give them to him, noticing red stains. “Oh, that’s odd.” He swipes them from me. “Yeah, whatever it’s nothing.” And then boom, silence. Gone, zip, zilch, NADA. So much for a fire.

An hour later, and we’re still cleaning in this nasty, uncomfortable tension that’s been created. I glance at him, looking as he struggles to keep his hair out of his face. I need to break this damn silence. I saunter over to him, taking my own elastic out of my hair. “Here,” I hand the elastic to him. He tosses his head up, his hair everywhere. “Oh, thanks.” He takes it but he clearly doesn’t know how to use one. “Here, lemme help you.” I take the elastic back and begin to gently tuck his hair behind his ears, tying it neatly in a bun.

“Better?” He shakes his head to test the elastic. “Wow, yeah, thanks.” He looks at me and laughs, “But yours is everywhere now!” Indeed it was, sticking up all over the place. For a man of my stature, I had some curly ass hair. He lightly runs his fingers through it. “It’s so soft…” He then realizes how close he is to my face. “Wow, I’m sorry. I should have asked.” He jerks his hand away. “You’re good man, I don’t care. Half the girls at school would just play with it, I honestly don’t know what they see.” I quip. I tug at my shirt, man, it’s getting hot in here.

I grabbed my lunch box and a water bottle. “You want somethin’?” I ask him. He glances at the contents of the bag before him, before slowly sitting across from me. “Yeah, sure. I’ve only eaten my family's food for the longest time. Honestly, time to try something new, right?” He kept looking down, as if he was purposely avoiding eye contact. Like, WTF, man? I’m tryin’ to start convo! But I smiled and agreed, pulling out leftovers and a bowl. William looked at me, like I stole a Mary Poppins bag or something.

“Always gotta be prepared, no?” I smiled, “It’s because I like to have one of everything with me. It’s an OCD thing.” I poured him some of the Arroz Rojo and gave him a piece of the Concha Bread. He accepts the food, smelling it and…….There it is. That smile of satisfaction. I had not yet found someone who had not liked my Arroz Rojo. “WOW, that’s good. You made this?” He said through a mouthful, “Jesus christ, I can’t even pour cereal.” His reaction is priceless.

“Ha, another one bites the Arroz Rojo dust. It’s practically infamous, that rice right there.” I said, admiring how much he actually liked the food. “Really?” he asks, “I can see why.” We eat in silence, but I don’t mind because silence means the food is good and burps are compliments to the chef. William puts down his bowl, presumably full, and picked up his cleaning stuff again. “C’mon, we gotta get back to work.” He walked away, disappearing into another room.

I sighed, also full, and pulled myself up and got back to work. But hell, what do you know? The tension was finally gone…

-X-

“So, uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” We finished cleaning for the day and the sun was coming down and the sky was nearing a murky pitch black, stars piercing the sky like salt on a black tablecloth. “Yeah, see ‘ya. Hey, drive safe man.” I said to him, placing my bags in my trunk neatly. He slamed his trunk shut and walked over to me, handing a rough piece of paper to me. “My number,” he says, “Just in case. Like, if you need something, or can’t make it to work, or any emergency I guess.” He explained quickly.

I insert his number into my contacts as “Headphones”, and show him. “This is how you will be immortalized in my phone.” He scoffs, laughing a bit, and I grin. “That’s disrespectful.” He jokes. He shakes his head, sighing. “Well, boa noite amigo.” He smiles. Damn, do I like that smile. “Heh, Buenas Noches amigo.” We got into our separate cars, drove to our separate houses, and went back to separate lives. But I’m sure we can both feel that something has changed about our lives…

Space between: “Wil”

What am I doing? Giving my number to random guys I barely know, random guys at that too, what the fuck. For all I know, I just gave my number to a serial killer. But he’s kinda good looking in a weird fit way…Ya’ know what, it’s probably nothing. I should just get over it. We have a job to do anyway, this is a professional setting. Besides, I barely know anything about the guy.

But I could know more… AH! I need to shut up! Do something with yourself Wil! Be productive! I mean, I do have that track I’m working on…or that one WIP sketch…or I could fix my guitar strings…UGH, I don’t know what to do. Clean maybe? Oy, why is living so hard sometimes.

Then, there it is. A ping, from my phone. I almost fell off my bed, reaching for my phone with a quick swipe. Sure as shit, it’s him. The glare of my bright-ass phone almost blinds me as I quickly try to see his message. Hey, uh, this is justice. From work? Are you up? Lo siento mi amigo, it 's probably so late. I’m going to pass out. But then I would leave him on read for an hour and that’s rude. So I have to respond, Yeah, hey. It’s William. I feel like we should both be in bed. It’s like what, 11pm? What time do you typically go to bed?

WTF? Who says that? He’s probably going to think I'm weird. But I already pressed send. We’re both almost grown men and I’m asking him about bedtime, Ai, preciso de ajuda. But the phone dings so I guess I’m not a complete utter fool. Honestly, I should. But mi Mamá and I are mixing some drinks. Alcoholic and nonalcoholic if you know what I mean. I’d invite you but it’s mexican so it's a LOT stronger than the typical shit they serve at bars. I mean… unless you wanna come over just to hang? Up to you. That’s like, an INVITE right? Christ, Preciso de uma pista. Do I go? I mean, the house is a mess but… I can do it next week.

Gah! I hate anxiety. I wanna go… ‘Ya know what? I’m going. Tudo bem, I’m coming. Address? I can drive… Ha, I actually agreed to it. Who am I now? I wait patiently, but realize I haven’t changed out of the dusty clothes I wore to work. I went to my closet and pulled out a raggedy flannel and some sweats. I’m just pulling my shirt off as the phone rings. I fell over trying to pull my pants over my boxers, and retrieve my phone from my desk. Oh my god, it's facetime.

How the hell do I respond to that? I’m not even fully clothed. But to not be rude, I answer it anyway. “Yo, William! What’s good mi amigo? Uh, you good there?” I feel my face get hot. “Oh, uh, hey! I’m just, you, Uh- You just caught me at an awkward time…” His face registers this for a moment and then he switches topics immediately. “I was just calling to see how you were. I figured I could stay on-call with you and direct you to my house.” He eyes me suspiciously but that’s probably because I had the phone in my face to hide my bare chest on call.

Yeah, dudes go around the city shirtless all the time, playing basketball and whatever have you, but im ugly and scarred and HELLA self-conscious. I must have zoned out because Justice was calling my name. “Yo, William, You good?” He questioned. “Huh? O-oh yeah, I'm fine. Um, could you just give me a minute, I uh, I haven’t finished getting dressed.”

“Oh, shit! ¡Lo siento, mi amigo!” His expression changed immediately, “Man, I’ll call you back then okay? Take your time.” I was a bit flustered and I hope it didn’t show. But I was surprised how compassionate and understanding Justice was. I hadn’t really met someone like that in a while. “Yeah, call you back.” We hung up the call and I got my damn shirt over my head finally. Maybe I’d actually get there with my dignity still intact. I finished getting ready and grabbed my keys and a bottle of juice to contribute to the cocktails.

-X-

I walked across the cracked sidewalk to the worn out sage green house across the street. The paint was peeling off and the roof could be reshingled, even the metal bars to the steps were a rusty orange and falling apart. The steps sagged and creaked under my weight and even the porch was missing a few wooden boards. But it was a house of home, each worn out detail remnants of past lives and past families. I make my way to the door, looking for a bell or a knocker but before I can even knock anything the door swings open.

“Ay! William, mi amigo you made it! Come in, come in. Mi casa es tu casa.” Justice said grandly. I stepped in, just standing there for a moment, taking in all of the house. It was a furnished house, complete with potted plants in the windows and near the kitchen sink. A tattered La-Z-Boy rested in the living room beside a small TV system. There was a small table in the dining room that was connected to the kitchen and by the looks of it, most of the furnishings were handmade. “Mi Padre.” Justice said softly. He must’ve noticed me looking at the furniture. “He was a great woodcarver. Made our whole set.” He smiled sadly but his face lifted, “¡Mamá! ¡Él está aquí!” He shouted to the house.

A woman, in her late thirties with the same wild curly hair as Justice, stepped out from a room behind the kitchen. “¿Es este tu amigo del trabajo?” She spoke so softly, her voice matching her small frame. “Si, Mamá, meet William. William, meet Rosa Santina.” She smiled, “Hola, William. Siéntete como en casa.”

She sat down at one of the smooth tables. “Thank you, and ma’am, please call me Wil.” Justice looked up from where he was looking at a crack in the floor. He snapped his fingers and said, “Your new contact name. It’s decided. Anyway, shall we get this party started or what!”

I hauled the juice I had brought over and we conversed on potential drinks and mixes. I showed Justice Licor Beirão and laughed as he chugged it, coughing and sputtering as he forced it down. We ended up getting majorly drunk leading to Justice and his mom chanting ‘La Cucaracha’ by The Mariachis and me getting it all on film. After we got his mom settled into bed before she broke any dishes around the house, Justice led me to his room.

It was like mine, only dimmer, with low colored rgb LED lights and records hung on the wall. He grabbed a shoe box from under his bed, retrieved a blunt from it and lit it, offering it to me. I had never smoked a day in my life but I was hella drunk so at that moment it didn’t matter. I took a quick drag, trying to remember how the hell you properly let out the smoke. (I ended up coughing like I had an asthma attack or something) Justice came back up from under his bed and sat down, taking a drag and a long exhale. “Phew, you know, I never had more fun in my life. Even Elijah and Hoodie can’t top tonight.” I laughed, drunk and high, “You know a dude named ‘Hoodie’?”

He sat up and looked me dead in the eyes. “Well, we all forgot his real name so now that's just what we call him. We think he’s homeless too.” We look at each other with a dead stare and then burst out laughing. It’s like when the teachers tell you not to make any noise in class but then you look at your friend and just lose it. “Nah, I’m just kidding amigo. He lives near lower Manhattan where he goes to some privileged university or something.” Justice’s words are beginning to slur and same with mine. Man, I didn’t even think of how I was gonna get home.

@thinkingaboutctommy this is the bit where youre mentioned!!

@paldeanbooper (my writer buddy:@wiblursaystuff) @vibestillaxxx @gay-mooshrooms @colleenispunk @wormsinsdirt (another writer buddy:@teagica) if anybody else wants to be notified for future updates here lemme know

#pea reblogs!!#idk why #but i like reading rhings that just arent material-#like reading books are too long #and signs that are too confusing-#but virtually i could read How To Kill A Mockingbird backwards….#al was there!

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