Clumsy

His hands were under mine--he knew how clumsy I could be. And I couldn’t risk breaking something this delicate, something that was everything to him. The palms of his hands were soft and a little bit clammy, but it was only because the water was heating up. I remembered his knuckles being rough, and that’s what I force myself to think about while my heart beats faster and faster. 

He switched to holding both of my hands to the glass with only one hand, and he took the lighter in the other. The familiar scent filled the car, the same scent I knew from the girls bathroom in school. This time, though, the heavy smell of perfume wasn’t there to cloud around it, as if that’d hide the forbidden aroma.

The seats were made of polyester, and the scent stuck to it like gum on a shoe. He had probably done this so many times that it was ingrained in the fabric. I ran my hand down the side of the passenger seat, and the sky turned into a foggy, overcast shade of gray, similar to that of the inside of the car.

I had seen this so many times in movies, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of not knowing what I was doing. I had been trying to do this for the last year and a half, but the opportunity never seemed to come up. I was a “good kid,” so I knew of no one that could give me what I wanted.

“So you’re going to just inhale when I light it, got that?” I nod at him, praying that he’s still aloof to my nervousness. He lifts the bong to my lips, and I inhale.

I hold it in my lungs because I’m embarrassed to cough, even though he knows this is my first time. I feel it inside of me, burning everything that came into contact with it. I try to focus my attention to Pink Floyd flowing through the speakers, picking apart the layers of Brain Damage one by one. The expression on his face shifts from intrigued to worried, and that’s when I know I’ve been holding it in too long. I decided to let it go. Finally a nasty, scratchy cough escapes me, and I open the door to spit out all the phlegm that’s collected in my throat.

Once it’s closed, my mouth runs dry and my arms become heavy. I can’t seem to lift the water bottle on my own, so he holds it to my mouth like he’s feeding grapes to a queen. It pours out down my shirt and into my lap, and I want to be upset about it, but all I can do is laugh. 

Time is no longer relevant, and all my troubles disappear. A wave of calm washes over me, and I melt into that word. 

“You know, I’m really going to miss you when I go to college,” I tell him, and it’s true. He’s been with me for as long as I can remember, ever since we were kids. 

“Don’t forget, Jackie, I’ll always be with you. No matter where you are, no matter who you’re with. Just keep me in your mind and I’ll be there.” 

He sets the bong down next to the lighter on the dashboard, and takes my hands in his. His palms aren’t as sweaty as before. There’s a bit of friction as I rub my thumbs gently across his knuckles. They’re just as rough as I remember them.

Most people have their eyes or their height or the color of their hair as a memorable feature. But for him, it was always his hands, at least in my opinion. I’m not completely sure as to why, but most of my memories were of my hand in his. When we were younger, we’d always be together. I fell down at least twice whenever we’d play games, and he’d always help me up. We’d hold hands as we walked together in the halls of our elementary school. He never really changed as we got older. I mean of course, we’ve matured and whatnot, but sometimes our hands just brushed up against each other, and that was enough to keep it in the back of my mind.

There was a period of time when he disappeared. He just left without warning. For weeks, I was depressed--I didn’t realize how much of an impact he had on me. My parents urged me to make new friends, but I didn’t want to talk to them and they felt the same way about me. That’s the way it always was, and the way I thought it always would be. Everyone stayed away from me, but I didn’t care because I had him by my side.

He came back only recently, and something was different. He still was the same boy I had known my whole life, but there was a new side to him. It was finally my chance to experience something I’ve always wanted to try. There was never any talk of where he had been. Whenever I brought it up, he quickly changed the subject or said he didn’t want to talk about it. It didn’t matter to me, though; I was just happy he was back.

Once the effect had worn off, I found the car in front of my house. I thanked him and made my way up the driveway. By the time I locked the door behind me, he was out of sight. The moment I hit my mattress, I was out like a light. 

The next day, I wake up well past noon, and I pick a red apple out of our fruit bowl for breakfast. My mother wanders into the kitchen when I’m just about through with my apple.

“Hey honey, did you take your medication today?” She asks as she pours herself a cup of decaf. The coffee pot was half empty, it was obvious this wasn’t her first or even second cup.

“Not yet. Thanks for reminding me,” I say to her as I open our medicine cabinet. I reached behind half-full bottles of lexapro and wellbutrin until I found the right container. Seroquel it reads in big letters, just under my name. A pill falls into my hand as I tilt the bottle, and I turn towards my mother who is watching me. I pop it into my mouth and take a sip of water. She smiles.

“Did you take your vitamins, Mom?” I ask as I close the doors to the cabinet.

“Yes I did, baby.” She gets up and makes her way over to me, and pulls me into a tight embrace. I’m barely tall enough to see her black hair begin to salt and pepper, and when she releases me, she looks deep into my eyes.

 “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Jackie. I wish you didn’t have to go to college next month.” My heart skips a beat and a tear creeps into the corner of my eye. I can’t open my mouth, so I just nod. I know that she knows I feel the same way.

Afterwards, I head up the stairs and into the bathroom to get ready for the day. I lock the door behind me and walk over to the toilet. The pill had begun to dissolve in my mouth, and when I pushed the handle down, the aftertaste lingered on my tongue.