Can We Hangout Another Time? (AS_001_PREVIEW)

They kissed and they kissed. The sounds of their lips slurping and smacking echo off the walls of that dorm room. The next day, Madeline sat across from Riley on the couch. An awkward silence stretches between them as reruns of Cougar Town plays, then Family Guy. Every week was like this, texts from Riley asking for Madeline to come over. Something heavy happens and then the next day she ignores her until the evening. Madeline walks in and they say little, they eat, they watch TV and Madeline is at home. The day after, Riley can't stop texting Madeline, calling her darling, telling her she's a good kisser. Madeline goes over and demonstrates the latter once again, clothes come off and someone reaches their end. Friday was the coin toss, the weekend Riley went home to her boyfriend. Riley lays her head across her chest. Madeline's fingers outline the curves of her hip. Their lust expressed and their love silenced. Riley untangles herself from Madeline's body. She stands and heads out of the room. Madeline looks across her nakedness. Riley, opens her door and turns the corner. The bathroom door shuts and Madeline realizes how unhappy she is. A sinking feeling in her stomach takes hold and a pain rushes from her body. Getting up, she turns on the lamp, the rosary June left spread across the top of the dresser. Madeline grabs her shirt and pants, getting dressed. The toilet flushes, the faucet runs. Madeline sits down on the chair next to the unused desk, meant for a roommate that never made it to school. She pulls her phone out and texts her sister. M: come get me, i need some time away S: Alright, be up in a minute. It was only Tuesday, but Madeline felt it was only appropriate given how far behind in work she is. But she pushes the thought to the back of her head, reminding herself that Game Physics will always be there. Riley comes out and finds her lover putting her shoes on. "Where are you going?" Her small voice says, a longing dripped from her words. "Home for a bit." She says, lacing up her shoes. Riley wrapped her arms around her shoulders, leaning her head into Madeline's neck. "Why?" Riley's voice muffled from her face pressed into the side of Madeline's neck. She sits up from putting her shoes on, Riley adjusts and leans on her shoulder. "Just to get my thoughts together, it's May, I'm nearly finished with this major and I have nothing to show for it, like I have nothing done and I don't know how to not let the pressure crush me." Madeline's voice is low, a lump grows in her throat, her sinus' tingle from it. She wants to be bitter about their relationship, she wants to tell Riley she feels like a piece of meat. She feels used and wants more than this. She wants Riley to know she hates the mixed signals, she hates the fickleness. She wants to tell Riley she wants her to break her heart and get it over with so she can move on. But instead, she sits there in silence, relishing Riley's affection. "You don't have to go away for that, you can stay here, not go to class, I'll skip too. We can skip again the day after, then the day after that, you don't have to drive a half an hour away." Riley says, her voice now comforting, but there's something there that Madeline can't place. 'And be ignored until Thursday then watch you go home to someone else the next day?'

How Lucky Am I? (AS_005_preview)

"We had COVID." Amber says, looking out at the field of houses and trees. It was a rainy day, the sudden thips and thaps of the raindrops hit at the hard glass. The trees—now only bundles of sticks and brown leaves—rustled together against the wind. Amber's arm laid under Jude.

  "Yeah, we did." Jude's voice is quiet. They laid over the top of Amber, resting their head on her shoulder, looking out of the same window. The overcast sky draped them in a drab, washed out light devoid of color. 

"So many people have died. But we didn't." Amber says with a bit of wonder and sadness dripping from her words. A car rolls passed every now and then on the road outside their apartment building. 

"We didn't, thank God." Jude says, her words are frank and relieved. Amber can feel their hold get tighter, feeling Jude nuzzle deeper into her shoulder.

"But one of us could've and it's got me thinking a bit." Amber's words trail off. Silence stretches between them. Tiny dots and curvy lines run across her skin and white shirt from the downpour outside. The rain rushed into the window faster. The tapping grew louder and the sky became darker. 

"Thinking about what?" Jude asks, their voice was quiet.

  "It got me thinking about life stuff. Forgiveness, acceptance, love, friendship, everyone I care about." Amber breaks her gaze from the window, she looks up at the white, bumpy ceiling. 

"I can see that, but we didn't really get it that bad." Jude says, they break away from under Amber, lifting themselves up to a sitting position. Amber fixes her gaze back onto Jude's messy head. She could've lost them.

"But we could've gotten it bad, I could be in the hospital for something worse than a drug overdose. I could've died and my mom would've thought I went to the grave hating her. I could've died and hurt my aunt so badly, the last person in this world I want to hurt. She was my rock for so long. In a lot of ways she still is. And I could've hurt you." Amber sits up. The headboard knocks on the wall as she slides her back into it. She leans her head back into the hard, brown cushion. 

"But you didn't die, where's this coming from, where's this going?" Jude slides into the headboard with Amber, grabbing her hand. 

"In college, when you make friends, there's a good chance when everything's done, everything's done. There's a goodbye, there's an exchange of phone numbers, but everything's done. There's no moment, no point where everyone has one last cathartic talk about everything that happened. Everyone's so busy with arrangements that your classmates and even the closest friends you made fall to the backburner. All those people fall to the back of your head, because the logistics of dinner needs to be worked out. The logistics of who's coming in whose car. The logistics of when to get there for parking. Those you cherish most, those who were with you through it all, they're gone. After graduation, plans are made, but there's no telling if anyone will follow through with it. Because what if someone's moving to fucking Canada the minute they touch that keychain? What if someone needs to go to work the very next morning and won't get a break in a while? What if when they do, those plans are now so far behind that it doesn't matter if they never mention it again? What if you decided to go back to Eureka the day after graduation?" Amber swallows through a lump in her throat, feeling Jude massage her knuckles.

"But I didn't—" Jude says before getting cut off by Amber.

"But you didn't, you didn't go back to Eureka. You stayed with me in my room over the summer, knowing I didn't have the best relationship with the people in that house. How lucky am I? When everything's said and done, we take a piece of each other with us into the world. But we lose that piece because no one bothers to remind themselves or us that they have it." Amber brings Jude's hand up to her face. Smelling their scent mix with the fabric of the bedsheets. A sweet fragrance mixed with a sickly sweet freshness. 

"How lucky am I to never lose that piece of me you took? How lucky am I to never lose my best friend from college? How lucky am I to never be a plan that fell through? Jude." Amber's words come shaken from her mouth. She lunges forward, pulling Jude's face into hers as their lips mush together. Amber's eyes burn from the tears welling up. Pressure builds in her body. 

Amber pulls her face off of Jude's, she leans her forehead on theirs'. 

"I put you through so much. You took me to rehab. You helped me talk to my aunty. You help me stay clean. You helped me prepare for my interview with Madeline. You helped me make my portfolio for Meet The Pros twice. You helped me even when you had so much to do. How lucky am I to be able to say all of this to you, the love of my life? I couldn't say this with a tube in my lungs."

I Missed Them (I Need Sleep)

The moon sits facing the residence building, near the horizon. The sharp, white glow dulls the orange street lights. Leaves crinkled and crackled as they ran with the wind over the asphalt. The trees rustled like dry paper. The cool breeze brings a low hum over the hills. My nose was cold, my hair brushed over my face from the wind. I watched clouds pass over the moon, outlines of bumpy mounds glow as they waltz past. I was tired, I always was after dealing with withdrawal. ‘Instant Release’, whoever thought of that was already addicted to painkillers way before anyone else.

I’m a fucking idiot. After I started nodding off, Jude texted back with a very reasonable excuse. They forgot to pay their phone bill, that’s it. That’s all it had to be. It was also a very personal trip for them, apparently they haven’t been with their whole family for years. They didn’t tell me why, they just said it was the first time the Kent family would all be in the same room again. I’m happy for Jude, I’m glad they could be with their family.

Family. I pulled out my phone, I look over my texts. Messages from my family were weeks old. It was all just messages from when I first moved in.

‘Do you need anything else?’

‘Did you forget anything?’

‘Did you need your desk?’

‘Did you need your TV?’

All these questions. I’m tempted to call my aunt, but it’s Sunday, she sleeps early on Sundays and I don’t want to keep her up, nor do I want to bother a seemingly normal Sunday. How do you tell anyone you miss them? It seems so invasive, it feels manipulative. Like how do you respond to someone who just sends an out of the blue text saying they miss you? It used to come so easy as a child, but now everything is so messy. I need help, but I don’t want to bother anyone or disturb the peace and quiet that’s here. I don’t want to feel so removed from them. But my aunt and my cousins, I was forced onto them, they’ve been dealing with my mess for years now, they don’t need more.

“Hey, what’s up?” A voice calls out.

“Oh, hey—“ I stop myself, it was Edith, she was talking to someone else.

“Not much, just got back, what’s up with you?” A voice said, their voice was awkward and noncommittal. It was Jude. Seeing them makes me feel, embarrassed? They didn’t really talk to me all weekend. I felt like an idiot, on one hand I had a panic attack and abused my pain meds, on the other, maybe they were just happy to be away from me? A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I wanted to ignore them, I wanted to act as if I didn’t notice they were there. Because, maybe I was right, maybe they were weary after Michael’s.

I pull my phone out again, scrolling through the myriad of square icons. Jude and Edith talked small. Edith went out with her boyfriend this weekend, it was nice and just what she needed. They drove down to some wildlife preserve, before heading East to some small city near Wisconsin. Seeing “what was apparently the ‘creation’ of Iowa, it was just like a castle watchtower thingy, like a rook from a chessboard or whatever it’s called.” Edith was very animated saying this. Am I jealous?

“That’s cool, that’s really cool.” Jude kept insisting whenever Edith would say anything. Like, did you know there was five coffeehouses on Main Street?

“So what were you doing in Lincoln?” Edith’s tiny, but loud voice asks.

“Oh, I went to go see my mom in the cemetery.” They answer. Jude’s mom died?

“Cool! Cemeteries can be very calming places! Especially when a loved ones resting there.” Edith says, her voice still chipper and high. Jude’s said more to her in five minutes than they’ve said to me in three days.

“Yeah, I guess, if you put it that way.” Jude says, a slight bit of confusion in her voice.

“Was it beautiful? Conner isn’t too into cemeteries, so I rarely go anymore.” She asks. Am I even allowed to be jealous? I’ve known Jude for a week and a half.

“As beautiful as it can get, I’m not too into cemeteries either, with my mom and all, but that’s- that’s some good perspective, thank you.” Jude says, they sounded genuine.

“Of course, well, it’s getting late, I better get going, it was good talking to you!” Edith says as she turns away from Jude. She looks over in my direction, her bright red lips curl up in a smile, “Hey Amber!”

I wave at her, giving her a tight smile. Jude walks over to me, they’re smiling. I feel something in my stomach expand. I missed them.

“Hey.” Jude says, simply. Sitting down next to me.

“Hi.” I squeak. “How was your trip home?”

“Intense. Very, very intense.” Their voice is quiet. “We laid our mom to rest, or we visited her, all of us.”

“How’s your family?” I ask. I missed them.

“They were good, to be honest, it felt like home again, I haven’t felt that since I was sixteen.” Jude says, they look at their feet for a while. “My brother’s kid is beautiful, my sister isn’t much of a smack head anymore, she’s actually a banker now.”

“A what?” I chuckle.

“A smack head, you know, heroin junkie, drug addict, a professional victim.” Jude says, their latter words cut into me, am I a professional victim?

“Nah, that’s mean, she’s a drug addict and a smack head and a heroin addict, too. Just in recovery these days.” Jude continues.

For some reason I want to tell Jude I think I’m one. I also want to tell them that I missed them like hell. I look over at them, their face is glowing from the moonlight. They were so beautiful. Before I could stop myself, I leaned over, resting my head on their shoulder.

“I missed you.” I say.

“I missed you, too.” Jude says, their words are quiet, but confident. A feeling expands in my chest as my stomach fluttered. I’m glad they’re back.

“So your mom died?” I ask. Maybe my reaction wouldn’t have been as strong if I’ve known, but I can’t blame them.

“Yeah, few years ago she fell down some stairs. She was out and never came back.” Jude says, I wonder if my mom is dead. The thought does make me feel relieved, does that make me a bad person? This isn’t about me.

“I’m sorry.” I say. It’s all I can offer.

“Thanks, I don’t like talking about this, how was your weekend?” They ask, how do I answer?

“It was okay, I just messed around with some paints, watched some TV.” I answered, I was lying. I already lied to my teacher, I already hide everything from family, why fix what isn’t broken?

“I thought you didn’t have a TV here?” Jude says.

‘Tell the truth. You thought they were ignoring you, so you did what any professional victim does, you got high.’ I thought, the words pounding through the plushy skin of my brain.

“I asked my aunt for the one I had at home, she sent my cousin over.” I say with a deadpan voice. Why am I lying? Why can’t I just tell them it was shit and move on?

‘Coward.’ My thoughts said.

An aching expands in my chest, my stomach flutters and a coldness runs through my intestines.

“Did you really miss me?” I said, I tried catching my words, it didn’t work.

“Of course.” Jude chuckles. They raise their arm, I fall against their body. They’re so warm. A lump rolls into my throat, they lightly stroke my shoulder. My sinus’ fill as my eyes begin to wet. I wipe my nose with my sleeve. God, I missed this person.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jude’s memo, October first.

I think Amber is mad at me about something, she was short with me. It kind of annoys me, like why would she be mad? What right does she have to be mad at someone she’s known for barely a week? I told her I probably wouldn’t respond much to hers or anyone else’s texts. I even told her about not buying one of those refill cards for my phone. I should’ve asked her, asked her what’s wrong, but then I don’t even think she told the truth about her weekend in general. I don’t know, maybe I’m just coming off an emotionally draining weekend. My brother Jaime had a baby, it’s a girl. She’s a fucking giant. Like 80 pounds or some shit. I’m kidding, but she’s fucking heavy. Saw Julia, she looks healthy, happy. She has a job as a bank teller. Julia’s been two years sober since May, it’s awesome. I need some sleep.”

Alone (Therapists & Children)

A couple years ago, I met someone who meant the world to me. His name was Robin. We sat in that room lit with bright orange lights. Steps ran down to the center where a piano sat. A projector sat atop the ceiling, pointing towards a white sheet just behind the piano. Off to the side sat a shelf with a stereo on top. The walls were dark, brown and obviously made of wood. Squares of foam sat a few inches apart across the walls. The entrance sat off to the side, on the other was a closet that stored all of the chairs. I sat at the back with all of the Mezzo’s. Ms. Curtis had trouble gauging what my range was. We were doing these team building exercises, to find our voices and sync up. When she got to the Mezzo’s she was very disappointed when she found out I had never sang a word in that room. She gave me Mezzo because of my speaking voice. So I sang throughout that hour with everyone who was just now realizing I existed.

  I didn’t sync well with the Alto’s because my voice was a little too high. Finally, she decided I was a Mezzo Soprano, so she grabbed a random Baritone Bass off the shelf to start the usual exercise. He sat down and it was the first time I was ever interested in a boy. He had big brown eyes, messy red curls on his head, all styled forward. He always looked so cool in those blue, slim fit jeans, slip-on Vans, some short sleeved button up shirt. His face wasn’t hard, it was soft but defined. We connected after the teacher found out we both hadn’t sang a word in that room. What started out as a team building exercise turned into another search for this boy’s proper range. She told me to sit back down and—as she put it—“Just, wait until we’re done.”

  When it was all said and done, the bell rang. It was the last hour of the day. Afterward we properly met after school. He walked me to the bank my aunt worked at, our conversation was easy enough. He took me out. It was the first time I wore a dress since I was four. I met his friends, they became my friends. They bought me an Xbox. This boy and I had sex, it was my first time. Then senior year happened. Texting everyday turned into a few texts throughout the evening. Weekends turned into a few texts in either the afternoon or the evening. All of the sudden, in October, he announced he was moving to California to be with his mom and dad. He stopped coming to school. He stopped talking to me. He stopped talking to his friends. Or at least I thought. I remember jumping online, seeing my brother on, he was talking to someone, I could hear him. I thought it was everyone else. It was Robin, the boy I was seeing.

  The next day, it felt like everyone was staring at me. My stomach felt hollow, my heart ached, I felt tired, hungover. I floated through the day, I slept in my history class. My friends (his friends) tried talking to me at lunch, but I couldn’t pay attention. I complained about an upset stomach and called Brielle. Her and her girlfriend picked me up. My room felt so big and empty. The white bumpy walls, the dark brown floors, the glass desk in the corner, the TV just above my dresser in front of my bed. My bed’s white blanket, my tan pillowcases. Everything just looked bland and lifeless. I ignored my brother through the rest of the week. He didn’t do anything wrong, though, he just thought I was still talking to Robin, he didn’t know, no one knew he ignored me like that.

  Today, my heart swelled to the size of a grapefruit. My lungs felt punctured. My chest felt like a cinderblock laid atop of it. I sat in the bathroom heaving, trying to catch my breath. No one heard me, Asha went home for the weekend, the girls on the other side went home as well. The ringing in my ears became louder. A harsh pressure pressed onto my sinus’, tears came out of my eyes. It felt like pins kept stabbing my back and across my shoulders. I laid down on my side, curling up into a ball.

  “Jude’s not the same.” I kept groaning through my heavy sobs.

  Jude went home to Lincoln, to see their family, their siblings. Apparently their brother had a kid recently. Jude left on Thursday, they haven’t texted me back. It’s Saturday.

  My brain kept bringing up terrible thoughts, the more I ignored them the louder they got.

  ‘Jude’s done with you.’

  ‘Jude’s tired of you.’

  ‘Jude’s bored of you.’

  ‘Jude knew you were irritating the day you bitched about lying to your instructor.’

  “No, they’re just busy.”

  “No, they’re just busy.”

  “No, they’re just busy.”

  “No, Jude didn’t care, they really just wanted me to move past it.”

  ‘Jude’s just another Robin. For good reason.’

  ‘Jude should move past you if this is how you react to a couple days of silence.’

  ‘Maybe your mom knew how much of a wreck you are, maybe that’s why she left you.’

  I got off the bathroom floor, I walked into my room, my eyes stung, my back hurt, my stomach hurt. I opened my drawer, finding that pill bottle. “Take one(1) as needed”. I dropped two tablets into my hand, stuffing them into my mouth. I grab my bottle of water, washing the pills down into my stomach. I stumble back, chest still on fire, thoughts still racing. I curl up onto my bed. I want my aunty.

—

“Jude’s memo, September Twenty-Eighth.

‘Eggs, milk, diet soda, Gatorade and a gift for this cute girl I met at school.’ That’s my list for today’s outing. It’s a relatively humid day, my hair feels all flat and my face feels like a cheeseburger. My armpits are kinda yeasty and I don’t care, nothing’s gonna stop me from wearing a tank top today. Anastasia carries my sweater so if those clouds man up and actually do something, I got something to cover up with. Also, I need to pay my phone bill. It’s prepaid, thank god, so no late fees.

I started making these after mom died, our families never been the same. But my brother’s kid being born has done the impossible. I’m driving down to Lincoln to meet up with my sister and we’re gonna go see his beautiful little family. We’re gonna lay our mom to rest, properly this time. When it happened, my siblings and I couldn’t bear to be around each other, we all just saw our mom in each other I guess. Each other. Us. It still really hasn’t hit me that we’re all gonna be in the same room together again. It seems so far away that I’m wondering what Amber might like from Lincoln, what can I find her that she’ll get excited about. Me,

Jaime and Judith are gonna be in a room again but all I can think of is my stupid crush. She’s not stupid, the act of thinking about her over this momentous occasion for the Kent family is strange and dumb.

I don’t know... Amber. She might just be a crush, just a curiosity for the school year, I mean, I’m not even sure if I like graphic design. I like doodling, I like making things, but advertising? Is that me? Maybe Amber is just someone to distract me from those fucking questions, but at the same time, her face keeps popping into my head, I can hear her voice if I just imagine it, I don’t know. She’s much, uh, ‘looser’ these days. She doesn’t seem so tense, so distant. I’ve been sitting next to her in Digital Layout One for the entire year so far, this week was the first time I saw her usually milky face turn colored, splashes of pinks on her cheeks, her lips seem, I don’t know how to describe it, but she seems like there’s just more life to her. Her shoulders slump more, her legs don’t bounce like crazy, her hair sits behind her ears more, she takes off that big ass sweater she’s been wearing. She replaced it with a much more comfortable cardigan. She just seems healthier. Probably because a friend sits next to her. But how ethical is it? I mean, this only started because I have a crush on her. Is this okay? Is it okay to pursue her with the slightest expectation that I might get some coochie at the end of this? The answer is probably no, especially given for the fact that I know next to nothing about her, her past, her wants and her needs. I mean, maybe it’s too early to judge things, perhaps I should slow down this thought of not knowing her well enough, the ethics and just have fun. She likes me well enough, I think. We laugh a lot, she shares her sense of humor with me. I mean, she made a sex joke earlier this week, and it was a fucking cute one at that! Jesus, what do I do? I want McDonald’s, there’s one in Missouri Valley, I’m gonna check it out, give’em a visit, see how those nuggets have been. Does Amber like McDonald’s, I mean we got Chipotle and Taco Bell, she must like McDonald’s. Or maybe she’s just too polite to ask, like I say I want Chipotle and she just goes with it. Maybe these questions are best suited to ask her and not the woman who’s gonna listen to this with me on Monday, Hi Jamie! What do I do? What would my mom say? She’d probably tell me just follow my heart because she really had nothing else to add, she always thought me being wholly queer meant she couldn’t give me adequate advice, but that’s not true, when she did give me advice, it was always fucking good, it was exactly what I needed to hear, even if I didn’t want to hear it. I know examples would be better, but, this recording is getting a little long. My mind is a bit wild today. From meeting Amber, to my brother and his girlfriend finally popping that kid out, getting to see my sister Judith after four fucking years. Maybe the reality of seeing everyone is actually hitting me, maybe I am really nervous and I’m just trying to use Amber as a shield from all of this.”

How Do People Care?

Her laptop’s keyboard emanates a soft red light. The bright, bulky controller sat in her bony fingers. She flicked and mashed at the buttons. A pixelated blob that was called “Elissa Steamer” rolled across on a plank of wood. Barely readable text splashed at the bottom of the window, announcing the trick Maddy had mashed out on her controller.

  The moral grey area of piracy allowed her to play a relic of the past. A well-renowned game featuring a well-renowned skateboarder kept her and her sister busy on weekends, on holidays and in the heat of the summer days. Maddy and Abbey’s lanky bodies, sweating profusely as those hot days dragged on. The crackling sounds of wood popping and the knocking of polyurethane wheels landing. The low quality fuzzy rock songs blaring through dying speakers on a forty pound TV set.

  The air outside was cold, the wind made her cheeks sting with pins and needles. The dull ache begins to dissipate in Maddy’s cold hands as she played her video game on her laptop. She told herself as the files downloaded, she’s just looking for real-time references of ramps and ledges. The reality was simple, you couldn’t get a good look at any of it. Her character sat too close to the ramps, rails and ledges, she came too close to objects way too quickly.

  She just needed a break.

  The last couple of weeks have been slow and unproductive, no matter what Maddy just can’t seem to find the time to do what needs to be done. She has tiny sticky notes stuck everywhere on her desk. When she tries to sit down and work through them, Michelle comes home. Michelle isn’t annoying or anything, it’s just Maddy finds reasons to ignore her work.

  Maddy needs food, so she goes out and asks Michelle how her day goes. It always drags on as Maddy sits entrances by her passion for painting and drawing. It’s always followed by looking at her sketchbook for a few hours. Maddy feels pangs of envy, wishing she could show the shapes she hadn’t drawn yet, hoping to nerd out on all of the measurements or whatever. But all the time, she sits down, food, water and whatever else, but she always finds a reason to get up.

  Sitting at her laptop, playing a video game is just the version without Michelle. Without the vibration of Michelle’s excitement. Without the feeling of inadequacy of having nothing to show her. Without the feelings of guilt for not doing anything. Even now, she can’t bring herself to care about the things she needs to finish. Class starts in an hour and she can’t find the excitement Michelle has, or the excitement the other guys in her class have. She almost googles “how to study”, but holds herself from doing it because of how stupid of a question that is.

  The numbers on the clocks remind Maddy she needs to go to class. She packs her laptop up, stuffing the plastic controller into the front pocket, stitched to the main pocket. She grabs something to sip and munch on. She hears a cracking in her pocket, she proceeds to pull out every assignment that’s late in her Two-Dimensional Sketching class. She looks down the hallway, seeing the tile bounce off the light of the afternoon overcast sky. She begins sifting through all the notes, seeing things that go back all the way to when she first started. She walks back to her previous table, she pulls out her entire drafting kit, she puts her phone next to it all.

  The cafeteria was empty, all the sound came from the half closed kitchen doors. The clanging pots and pans and the white noise of rushing water echoed out. A few voices could be heard. Maddy sat at the table next to a small, perfectly square window. Natural light poured over her clean and open sketchbook. A video played on her phone, in her hand as she watched attentively, learning how to get the “E” at the end of Downhill Jam, a seemingly impossible task. The pixelated figure rolls off the ramps on either side of the long slope. Finally, she sees it.

  What she had been looking for.

  The thing that had been missing for so long.

  ‘Ohh, you have to build speed on the ramps like it’s a half pipe and then just roll over above the rail and mash triangle so you can grind your way to the E!’ Her head said, the words echo across her seemingly empty brain.

——

  The blue and yellow box of Salisbury steaks sat empty on the counter next to the microwave. The low hum of the black cube emanated into Maddy’s ears as she looked at the six patties spin around, and around, and around, and around. Her reflection appeared suddenly as her ears are invaded by the dinging of the cube. A young woman stared back at her. A blonde pixie cut. Big brown eyes. Her chiseled hawking. Her almost nonexistent lips. The door pops open, she grabs a napkin and pulls the plastic tub out. Six patties drenched in gravy stared back at her. She grabs a fork, taking her dinner back into the bedroom. She sits at her desk, sighing a productive sounding sigh.

  ‘Finally, it’s time to just spend some time getting shit done!’ Her head says. She picks up the yellow notes, sifting through them, she finds the earliest one. She puts on some music, the light voice of a boy lamenting of the trouble he’s in rings into her ears. She sets out her entire kit, opening her sketchbook to the first unused page. She grabs her pencil and begins making marks. She grabs a pen and starts labeling them, correctly referring to them as the sizes of the pencils that made them. The paper rips out, Maddy grabs a piece of tape. She sticks it onto the wall above her desk. She sits back and grabs a pencil, a ruler and opens up her textbook on Product Sketching.

——

Her paper is filled with ramps and ramps and more ramps, the numbers on her clock switched from (2:59) to (3:00). She sits back, relishing in the feelings of achievement. She did it, she was caught up in one of her classes. She looks at her sticky notes, ready to crumple all of them up, but she sees something. The number. It’s different than what she wrote on the pages of her sketchbook. She flipped through them, finding the first one, she turned the page to the first page, the numbers didn’t match up. She grabbed the last sticky note, it matched her sketchbook.

  “Oh please fuck no.” She whines, her face crumpled, looking at the discrepancy.

  The next five pages in her sketchbook resembled the units after the unit assigned last week. She did none of her previous units. She puts her face in her hands, her back and her shoulders tightened. She hadn’t felt a frustration like this before. She walked around the dorm, an apartment styled jobber located a mile away from the school. Plopping down on the sofa, the bright, sickly orange of the lamp drenched the room. The bumps of paint on the walls now had sharper shadows. Grabbing Michelle’s fiftieth or whatever sketchbook, flipping through the pages. Faces, bodies, limbs all perfectly scratched into those thick pages. How does she care so much?

Liars

Jude’s car rolled across the pavement smoothly. They had just gotten it after they graduated from high school. It sat low with tinted windows and a boxy frame. Jude named her (yes it’s a her) Anastasia. It was a cute, compact car with a black paint job.

  The sky was bright and blue, the sun was just past the top of the sky. Long, flowing wispy clouds painted over the horizon. It was a brisk day, the first since April. We passed houses, strip malls, a couple of banks, all populated with the busy Tuesday afternoon traffic.

  Today, Jude helped me lie to the teacher. On Sunday night and some of Monday night, they helped me do all of the homework I hadn’t kept up on. By help, I mean they just sat in my room and asked if I was done with an assignment. After Asha showed me that “Finished Not Perfect” video (we talked quite a long time after we got dinner) I was inspired to try to put someone’s disappointment out of my head and just get things done. It didn’t work because I was an anxious wreck doing those late assignments. My leg bounced and it felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. I kept telling myself not to “fuck this up you fucking idiot.” I didn’t want to seem incompetent to Jude. They seem so smart and mature. We’re the same age(18) and they’re calm, collected and I’m just not. After I set the spaces between the letters right on the last assignment, I breathed a sigh of relief. Jude asked if I felt accomplished but I just felt exhausted and annoyed. I wanted to know that elated feeling of finishing something, flaws and all, but I couldn’t. I just kept chastising myself for how easy it all was. The minute I got going, it was fine, I was fine, everything was okay, but the fact that it was okay made me feel so stupid for being so afraid of it. Why am I like this? I want my auntie. I want my mom.

  After Jude left, I sat at my desk, motionless. The door was open, the orange floors were glowing with all of the lights still on. They didn’t shut off automatically like other suites. I just looked at all of the empty space, embarrassed with myself. Jude left thinking I must feel amazing and relieved, but I felt worse than ever. A sinking feeling weighed my stomach down. The uplifting speech Asha gave at Apple Bee’s seemed wasted. It could’ve gone to one of her friends, not a roommate scared of everything, no matter how difficult it is. I let these people down, I didn’t feel the accomplishment they felt for me.

  I sat there for hours, when I felt the confidence to get up and go to bed, the sun was already coming up. I looked at my phone, it was three hours before class. I took a shower, laid in bed and felt the pull of sleep at the moment my alarm went off. When I went to turn in my stuff, Missy asked me a few questions.

  “Why are you just now giving me these, Amber?” She says, the question is piercing, but indifferent.

  I grunted and looked for the words, but I couldn’t find any, my mind went blank.

  “She lost the thumb drive that had them on there.” Jude said, their voice gives nothing away, I look at them with what I hope is a look of gratitude.

  “Where was it?” Missy’s brow furrowed, she doubted Jude’s story and looked over at me.

  “At the bottom of my bag, under a book.” This was a lie. I don’t have a thumb drive.

  “That’s strange, because we have AirDrop and your computers are automatically synced to the printers.” Her voice is stern and much harsher now, her eyes are on me.

  “I go home sometimes and forget my computer, so my brother gave me a thumb drive and lets me use his old computer, it has all the design stuff on it. He pirated it.” I say, with as much confidence as I can, hoping my worried expression doesn’t give me away.

  “Okay,” Missy sighs, “it’s done, that’s what matters, but it’s late so you won’t get full credit.” I felt relieved. But she didn’t believe me. Before we walked out, she called after us.

  “Amber, it doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as you made it and you printed it out, I just want you to be honest with me, alright?” She said, her voice was firm but somehow comforting.

  We pulled into Michael’s. An art supply store. I couldn’t think straight. Missy’s voice echoed in my head, her words dug into the soft flesh of my brain. We sat in the parking lot for a few minutes. Jude tapped my shoulder.

  “Hey, you alright?” They asked, I looked over at them, their face was filled with worry. I felt like I was being split in two.

  “I shouldn’t have lied.” My voice was small and low.

  “Maybe, but does it matter? I mean— okay, it wasn’t true, it was a lie, but the work still got turned in.” Jude said, their voice was sure and comforting.

  “But now I’m not just ‘Amber’, I’m now ‘Amber The Liar’, I broke her trust.” I asserted, my stomach felt hollowed out.

  “Yeah, now I’m ‘Jude The Liar’, too” they grab my hand, squeezing gently, “but it doesn’t matter—“ I cut them off.

  “How doesn’t it matter? I lied to someone I shouldn’t have.” I say, my voice is whiny.

  “Then don’t go along with my lie next time, it doesn’t have to be this big ole thing.” Their thumb runs back and forth over my knuckles. I just want a hug, but we’ve known each other for five days.

  “But what about now?” I say, my voice is small. I search their face, hoping to find an answer.

  “What about now? It’s over, it’s done, it’s okay to let it go.” They give me a soft smile, their voice was comforting.

  “How do I let go of this?” I look at my feet, my voice was quieter now.

  “By living, c’mon, I need pens and I have something to run by you.” They let go of my hand, the door opens with a pop and slams shut with that soft, dull thud.

  The store smelled like wood and disinfectant. The floors were white, cloudy and had warped reflections of the lights above. Vaguely human figures shimmered across as well, warped by the same cloudiness that folded the image of the lights. The aisle we were in had racks hanging with pens. At our waist sat a shelf with tiny, square compartments with little numbers carved on the top and bottom of the separators. Pens were individually taped shut with a weird foil strip with a barcode tab hanging off to the side.

  Jude read the top and bottom numbers, looking off to the side, eyes distant as they imagine what the pen may look like in action. Or at least that’s what they looked like. As an aside, even in the harshest light they were beautifully handsome.

  “So what’s this thing you wanted to run by me?” I ask, they glance at me for a moment before looking back at a pen.

  “You know that video? ‘Finished not perfect’?” They say, voice monotone as they read the sides of this number five pen.

  “Uhm, yeah, what about it?” I ask, recalling Jake Parker’s comforting, fatherly voice. Making the assertion that the only way to becoming a successful artist is by finishing things. It’s what inspired me last night to get caught up.

  “Well, Jake Parker, the guy who made the video, has a challenge coming up in a couple weeks.” They say, looking up at me with a smile.

  “Okay?” I chuckle, they’re so cute when they’re excited.

  “It’s called Inktober, every day in the month of October, you draw something based on the prompt of that day, here—“ they pull out their phone, they get closer to me, showing me a picture of all the prompts, “these are all the prompts, everyday, you draw something new.”

  “But with pens?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. They smell like honeysuckle, it’s my favorite.

  “Yup, with ink. It’s about discipline, endurance and I want you to do it with me.” They turn the phone off putting it back in their pocket. I know I already said it, but they’re so cute when they’re excited.

  “Why me?” I ask, a nagging feeling pulls at my stomach, “Why not that one chick, the ginger? She’s better than me.” I continued, she was a very studious individual, probably had all thirty-one illustrations already done.

  “Because Edith is done already and I barely know her.” Jude says, picking up another pen, reading the side.

  “You barely know me.” I say, it’s only been five days since they gave me a pop.

  “I know enough and for the record; no ones better than anyone.” Jude says, picking up another pen. “Fuck, I can’t ever find the—“ Jude looks up, staring at a pack of ‘Pendergast Writing Utensil’, “Son of a bitch, I like generic ass pens?”

  “What?” I chuckle, looking over their shoulder.

  “These pens are the ones that I used last year. They ran out of ink and I’ve been looking for them since.” They look at the package for a while, then turns to me, “Wanna split it?”

  “Sure, I got a couple bucks.” I grab my wallet from my back pocket that will inevitably shrink my leg due to always sitting on it. I read that happens somewhere.

  “Alrighty, let’s get out of here, I’m starving.” Jude says, walking past me, I follow after them.

  A burrito bowl sat in my lap in a brown paper bag. Jude’s tacos sat at my feet. We pull into their parking space, doors to the resident hall just ahead. Late afternoon, most students will still be at class.

  “Why me?” I ask again, remembering I didn’t get an answer earlier.

  “Because, I wanna do it with someone I can laugh with.” Jude says, smiling at me.

  “No I meant Inktober.” I say, trying to sound as small as possible.

  “I did mean Ink— shut the fuck up and eat your burrito bowl.” We laugh, the days events dull as we move through our time together.

—

The sun morphed the sky into a myriad of colors. Deep indigos gave way to a shining orange glow. The hills sang as the light breeze flew through the trees and across the deep cuts of land. I couldn’t move. My legs were numb from the settling blood. Tiny dull pins stabbed at my legs.

The paint on my canvas was a matte crimson. My mom wore a shade very similar on her lips, every time we went grocery shopping she put it on. I loved it, because she planted her lips all over my face, I always wore it like makeup. There’s a picture on my wall, just above my computer of my face filled with red ovals. My mom is next to me, she looks so sweet and happy. Her arms are around me, I have the biggest smile I’ve ever flashed. It was The Fourth and she put it on to chase me around my aunties yard. I ran, yelped, and giggled more than I ever have. I tripped on a twig and she held me down. I laughed as she planted her lips all over my face. We sat up, her lipstick was smudged, she hugged me and my brother took a picture of us. I looked so happy, my round face held up in a tight smile, my blonde hair, frizzy and unkempt. My mom and her short blonde hair, frazzled like it always was. Her smile was as big as mine. I miss her.

The cravings kept me up again, I sat with my leg bouncing for hours. Trying to get up and do something else, but all I could do was paint. The paint on my canvas was a matte crimson. The words I wrote asked if Jude was as fleeting as my mom.

Amber

Process of Getting Closer II

I don’t know what Jude is, they’re a person I like and that’s all that matters, fuck it.

  It’s the first weekend I haven’t taken my painkillers since school started. The loneliness can leave me paralyzed and wanting to just get away. But Jude is helping a lot, even if they don’t know it, and even if it’s just the first weekend of knowing them.

  Today, we decided to sit outside at this bench just outside of the resident building. We got food from a Taco Bell from down the street, what we ate is irrelevant, but we sat at the bench, the sun setting in front of us. Everything from cars to kids to the architecture shined red and orange, the sky was a washed out blue from the brightness of the sun.

  It was another humid day, the guys and the girls walked around in tank tops, denim shorts, and basketball shorts. Some kids from network administration wore khaki shorts with their polo shirts tucked all the way in. Then you have the few chubbier guys wearing whole ass sweaters, I can relate kinda, I mean, I was wearing a very thin shawl-cardigan-like-thingy even though the air was so fucking thick. Then the amazing, top-notch goth girl in our classes wore a black sweater with a design she made herself, skinny jeans with fishnets visible from the torn slits at the sides. She’s also a ginger. She said hi to us when she went into the resident hall.

  “So what do you think of college?” Jude asked, they take a sip of their drink, looking at me through squinted eyes.

  “It’s okay, I really like how quiet it gets compared to my house, but then I also hate it.” My house isn’t loud per se, it’s just someone’s always up, doing something. I think I’m just used to the noise.

  “You just used to the noise?” They ask, seemingly reading my mind.

  “Yeah, I try to sleep with my computer on, but I’m afraid I’m gonna break it from doing that.” I say, the time my Xbox’s fans stopped cooling everything ran through my head.

  “My roommate has an unopened thirty-two inch for sale, she only wants like seventy bucks.” They said, but I was more interested in something else, “Okay, maybe saying ‘ONLY’ is a bit much considering it’s still seventy dollars and we’re broke college kids.”

  “So your roommates a girl?” I ask, hoping to find an answer.

  “Yeah, they accepted my application late since I wanted to be an RA, or a resident assistant. I got accepted to be one so they just put me up in the last available RA unit. It just happened to be with girls.” Jude shrugs, they take a bite of their food.

  “Doesn’t that seem, I don’t know, a little irresponsible?” I said, taking a drink of my teal sugar water.

  “Yeah, I guess, but I got a bedroom and a bathroom all to myself, I mean, you saw it, would you care if you had all that?” They say with a shrug.

  “You’re right, what’s it like being an RA?” I ask, Jude’s face turns a bright, intense orange as the evening slips away.

  “Looking forward to having no debt at the end of this, but honestly, I wish the school didn’t have a three-strike rule when students get locked out of their dorms. It gets really boring sometimes.” Jude says, taking another sip from their drink.

  “See anything bad happen?” I asked, long forgotten are the basis of Jude’s sex.

  “Like a woman getting roofied or whatever? Nah, guys around here are good boys, thank God.” Jude takes another bite, “Though, I do know some guys around here have anger problems.

   “Apparently, every summer they have to repair some drywall that was sunken in.” Jude shrugs, sipping on her drink.

  “So how are you roommates? Anyone giving you any problems or what’s up? I’m bored.” Jude says as they turn to me, the shadows become sharp and defined from the waning golden hour.

  “Asha forgets her keys a lot...” I say, last weekend, both Saturday and Sunday she called me to let her in after she got off work.

  “Asha? Asha Torres?” Jude says, their voice is filled with curiosity and wonder, I nod at them.

  “Asha paid that third strike fine three times already.” Jude says chuckling.

  “She has a job, so it’s probably no big deal to her, or at least until last weekend.” I say, remembering my food, I take a bite and sip of my fizzy syrup.

  “What does she study?” Jude asked, the orange glow still shimmered off of their face.

  “Hospitality management I think? I don’t know, she’s really into customer service for some reason.” I say, I start passively sipping on my pop, my blood thickens like a model after she makes it big.

  “Explains why she’s so cordial, where does she work?” Jude asks.

  “Hostel One? It’s by the storage place in the Commons, I think.” I say, visualizing the hotel when her and I went to the mall, before my dependency started.

  After a while, the air wasn’t so heavy anymore, the breeze was cool and it made my armpits and boobs less sticky. My face still felt like a grilled cheese sandwich, though. Jude’s face still glowed in the twilight, they were really pretty and handsome. I was exhausted though, my cravings were getting bad, my leg started bouncing and I felt that empty frustration in my stomach. I put my head back in the bench, my hair hung off the back. A gnawing question started to eat away at the back of my neck.

  “Are you gay?” I ask, in a way I regretted it, it felt like it wasn’t any of my business, but then how do you talk about your roommates for an entire weekend?

  “I like how vague the term queer is these days, I fool around with anyone I fancy.” They say matter-of-fact-ly.

  “I thought it was mean to call someone that.” I said as I counted the stars that came into view above me.

  “Not anymore, it’s a word that’s kind of been saved by queers like me.” Jude says, snickering.

  I giggle a bit, they join me, I look over at them and they sit back, same as me, our eyes meet. ‘This feeling is amazing.’ I think.

  “So what kinda genitals are you into?” Jude says, their smile seems genuine, but teasing.

  “Big ones, small ones, innies.” I start giggling again, Jude snickers before they burst into an intense giggle fit.

   “What a way to say vagina.” Jude says, their voice trailing off.

   “I don’t really know what I like, to be honest.” I clarify. There weren’t a lot of people I liked that way in high school, maybe just one person.

   “That’s fine, anyone you crush on in high school or maybe here?” Jude asks, I had a feeling that they were fishing for me to respond positively, but then I don’t really know.

   “I had a bit of relationship develop with this one guy in my choir class.” I think back to this time, before I broke my ankle, before I was prescribed quick-release Oxycodone, before now.

   “He was just a very gentle guy, in a school where most guys were kinda abrasive and annoying, he seemed different.” I say, thinking back to that messy red hair, that sharp jawline, those freckles.

   “We met at this rehearsal, he was a baritone bass, I was a mezzo soprano, it was a team-building exercise to help us find the same notes.” The trees that line the sidewalk rustle in the mild breeze, leaves fall to the ground, sliding across the concrete, I continue,

   “To keep it short, the teacher wasn’t happy with the fact that we both were just mouthing the songs, she also didn’t like that we laughed when we realized we were both doing it.” I chuckle, the choir teacher was incredibly pale. Watching her chest and cheeks and forehead turn the color of a tomato was great.

   “Then—“ I don’t want Jude to know how hurt I still am, “he moved to a different city, all of his friends and I lost touch with him.” I didn’t want to tell Jude the part where he kept texting his friends, talking to them on this community-builder app called Discord or whatever. When his friends found out he hadn’t talked to me since he left—it had been a year at that point—they started to ignore him. I’m not really sure if they actually did, though.

   “You miss him, don’t you?” Jude asks, their voice is gentle, understanding even.

   “I miss everyone I lost touch with.” I turn my head, looking at Jude’s handsome face. A thought barged into my head as I sat there watching them. ‘What’s stopping them from doing the same?’ I try to ignore it, but Jude’s interest reminds me of Robin, they almost look and dress the same, if Robin had white hair, bigger eyes and fuller lips, Jesus they could be twins.

   “You know too much now, I think I have to kill you.” My voice is soft and frank, I look at them with puckered lips and I hope my eyes were puppy-like enough.

   Jude’s face crinkles up into laughter. I join them.

I have a canvas next to my desk, I used stencils I bought at Michael’s when I learned about Ed Ruscha last month. I did a drip painting on another square of canvas. It was a layered monstrosity of browns, blacks, dark greens and white. I grabbed a silver marker and began coloring the stencils. In Futura Bold, all it said was, “Jude Is Temporary”.

   The thoughts of Jude leaving my life was already unbearable. As the time between when we picked up and went back to our rooms to now, all I can think of is that pill bottle. It said ‘Take (1) as needed’, but I haven’t been listening lately. I tried distracting myself from the horrid thought of Jude getting tired of me, but it was strangling me. It even informed what was supposed to be a comforting message. I just really need a way to get out of this headspace. I contemplate calling my aunt and asking to come home for a few days, just so I would be out of the way of my painkillers. I thought about walking up to her, hugging her and telling her I’m sorry for disappointing her so much. Then I’d confess to abusing my painkillers.

   “Hey Amber, wanna go out and get dinner—, that’s fucking cool.” Asha says, pointing at my painting.

Amber

Blonde

Everything was wet when the old man woke up. The windows had droplets of water spread across the panes. A few would stream down every now and again. He got down from the loft. His bed and the wooden flooring creaking as he steps foot into his kitchen. A few years ago—after the divorce—he used his retirement savings to buy a tiny house. His closet now filled with fourteen shirts, fourteen pants, two belts and a jacket, now minus the dozens of dresses, shirts, shorts and pants of his ex-wife’s wardrobe. Most days he missed it. He missed sifting through all of her stuff just for a pair of pants. But he knew after the kids left, it just wasn’t there anymore. He had to remember that life is more loving now, he isn’t worried, he doesn’t feel trapped, he’s just okay and that’s enough.

  He opened his phone, swiping across the few texts from his kids, planning Thanksgiving. It was only August but his daughter was an attentive one. He opened his music app, the house filled with the nasally vocals of a British pop act. He cracked open a plastic K-Cup, pouring the coffee into a paper filter on a pour-over coffee-maker. He had a Keurig, but it always over extracted the coffee, making it taste ashy and bitter. He put the kettle on to the stove, lighting it up. He walks into the bathroom to get his day started.

  His grey fade framed his square face. The sides were just a little longer than the tiny bristles of a five o’ clock shadow. The kettle whistles a murderous howl, he takes it off the stove with his face half-shaven.

  The drive to the school was quiet and humid. He knew when the sun would come out, it’d be hotter than hell. His shirt clang to his underarms as he locked up his house, his legs started to heat up. This ran parallel with the cool, moist air. His nose filled with the smooth, oily and Earthy scent of petrichor. Blue clouds laid low, a small rumbling of bass spread across the small city every few seconds. The leaves on the trees rustled together, like a plastic bag being rolled into a ball over and over. His mug is warm, the side is painted with the companies insignia, “SQUATCH” in big white letters curled around it. Periodically he took sips of his coffee, bitter, but not sour. The deep taste of hazelnut followed close behind the bitters. He had told his daughter once that coffee is like beer; layered and deep, one flavor never settles.

  The school was packed, the first day was always unpredictable. Kids didn’t know their way around, often getting lost with their roommates and being late to every single class. Of course, after a week it would settle down, the cafeteria wouldn’t be so packed, the halls wouldn’t have so many people stopped looking puzzled at a map.

  He made his way to his room just fine. It sat in an alcove surrounded by three completely different majors. The hall was big, lit up by halogen lights and small orange lamps that lined the walls. Those usually didn’t come on unless the day was dark and cloudy, to the point that the skylights would remain black. He walked up some steps, passing by Media Arts & Broadcasting and Culinary. His classroom sat next to the Automotive majors, from Refinishing to Electrical Technician, this community college had something for everyone.

  He sat at the desk in front of the board. The room was tall, the lights were unreachable with the common six foot step ladder. The lights were harsh and the vents let the cold, air conditioned breeze fall gently across the room. Six long tables sat in three long rows with a walkway at the sides and through the middle. The carpet was standard classroom affair, it was dark and speckled with reds, blues, greens and browns.

  He dug through his bag. Pulling out his laptop and multiple folders to sift through all of the syllabus's. He looked for the “Oxy Fuel Welding and Cutting”. Licking his finger as he picks up page after page, looking for that one welding course number.

  As he flipped the piles of paper in front of him over and over again, someone walked in.

  “Morning.” He said, a quiet but enthusiastic tone in his voice. He always liked his students, they were usually people looking to get a more practical start in life. The younger folk who sat in his classes were the most excited to learn a trade.

  “Good morning.” A small voice squeaks, a girl. He looks up from his work, seeing a young blonde girl standing in front of one of the tables. She looked like his daughter, just way younger. Her face was round, her cheeks were chubby, her lips were small, her chin was small, she could definitely be Madison’s younger sister. Even her big brown eyes, matched Maddie’s. Her brow is furrowed, she’s more than likely lost.

  “Looking for Laura?” He says. Laura Egan was a Communications instructor, her room shared the same number as his room, just different buildings. While plenty of ladies have come through and passed with flying colors—he even encouraged it—this one didn’t look like that. Her pants were tight, she had skater shoes, and he was pretty sure that sweater was twice as big as what she normally wears. The confused look doesn’t help, either.

  “Uhm, yeah.” She stutters, looking up at him.

  “Name’s Thomas Elms, I teach the welding program. I also share room numbers with Laura up in the tech building.” He gets up with a creek of his chair.

  “C’mon, I’ll give you some directions.” He hears her follow him out into the hallway. “You see those windows all the way down there?”

  “Yeah.” She squeaks.

  “That’s the Student Center, right next to it are some doors, you’re gonna wanna go to the building on top of the hill, right in front of the Center entrance, it’s brown, it’s made of bricks and it should have some letters that say ‘The Tech Institute’, alright? There’s a map there, you can find her room from that. I know the numbers, just not the building.” He says, voice firm and sure.

  “Okay, alrighty, thank you!” She says, walking down the hall. He watches her for a while, feeling a hollowed out pit in his stomach.

  “Let’s get dinner tonight, you, your mom and your brother, my treat.” He presses send on his phone as his room begins to fill with students.

God I’m Tired by Madeline Hitt

The waiting area was round, a glass table sits in the center of rainbow colored, plastic chairs. The air is light and cool, a relief from the suffocating humidity of the outdoors. Madeline listened to what was being seen as a revolutionary shift in pop idols. Miley Cyrus’ moody club track ‘We Can’t Stop’ rang in her ears, it was definitely a departure from “Party In The USA”. Madeline had bought it with the myriad of gift cards her teachers gave her in congratulation cards. Madeline graduated high school two months ago. Her English teacher gave her the most on the five gift cards she received, a book about being creative and curious, and a long hug while telling her to keep writing. A simple, intimate gesture Madeline cherished, but now she felt a longing for that simplicity.

  The last couple of months she spent playing video games with her friends and family. In July she blew her ears out with fireworks. She got a new phone just last week. But under all of that, was the seemingly Herculean task of signing up for college. Getting her FASFA in order was what made everything feel so impossible. It was getting old, really fast.

  Her step-mom wasn’t helping, she was being rather hands-off, telling her to talk to her sister Samantha about how she signed up for college. When Samantha went to college, she was twenty-five, an independent. Her paperwork was slightly different than Madeline’s. But Madeline trusted her step-mom, she went through with it, doing all of the independent paperwork.

  Today, she got an email saying there was a problem when processing her stuff, they asked for her date of birth. Madeline realized pretty quickly that she didn’t do anything right. However, they let her sign up anyway, taking her applications for reserving a dorm, enrolling her in her potential classes, but paying for it was not set in stone. She got the paper asking her to update her measles vaccination.

  Madeline had been at the hospital for twenty minutes now, her step-mom decided to move her physical therapy appointment up because “The trip needed to be at least a little worth it.” Were the words she said after Madeline was done getting her shots. She had an issue with coming here for only ten minutes and wanted to get her appointment out of the way too. Madeline didn’t like how her step-mom would insert herself into things that could be easier without her. She was in and out of there in ten minutes, but now Madeline will be stuck in this waiting area for another potential twenty.

  She wanted to get home so she could finish her paperwork, but now she was stuck waiting for her step-mom, again. Her step-mom had been lagging behind her end of the paperwork, constantly failing to remember her step-dad’s tax stuff, every time she promised, she seemed to forget just as soon as she was told. Now, the paperwork sat in the glove compartment, waiting for her, waiting for them. At home, Madeline’s computer sat at the sign in page for the Financial Aid website, she didn’t care if her siblings found the kind of porn she liked, she didn’t care if they found it to be irresponsible as a computer owner, what she cared about was getting out of that house, get out of Homer, and most importantly; get away from her step-mom.

  Three years ago, her step-mom began drinking heavily on the weekends. At first Madeline didn’t notice, all she knew was that her step-mom seemed out of it on Sundays, the day before school and after Madeline got home from seeing her siblings. She seemed to sleep most of the evening, but still somehow sleeping through the night. It wasn’t until Casey—her birth mom to reduce redundancy—told her about several incidents’ when she would call her step-mom. Those days, she would late to pick Madeline up, but these few times, she was drunk. Casey told her to talk to Madeline about this, because she doesn’t want her fucking things up and driving over to their house drunk and fucked. But her step-mom never had that talk, she went on like it was business as usual. After failing to have that talk, Madeline said she wanted to stay with Casey until high school was finished.

  Madeline wanted to stay with her mother Casey because her step-mom’s drinking is why her sister Samantha moved out in the first place. Casey said she was fine with whatever decision she made, but kept emphasizing that that was her decision to make. Madeline felt a twinge of self-doubt, asking herself if Casey really wanted to deal with another person’s gay child, just like she has to put up with Samantha now. Or maybe that was just another voice talking, or maybe it was all Madeline saying it to herself, she couldn’t tell, all she could hope for was that Casey would let her live with her and her siblings.

  After Madeline moved out, her step-parents left their house to go on a vacation, she kept calling Casey, drunk and angry. She stopped calling after Casey told her she hopes she dies. The months after Madeline would have very strained talks with her step-mom, long periods of silence followed by a money transfer of two-hundred dollars. She didn’t like being indebted to her step-mom but she also wanted to spite her, so she bought a bunch of stupid shit for herself. From porn on the internet to going to see movies she wasn’t excited about.

  The waiting area was round, a glass table sits in the center of rainbow colored, plastic chairs. The air is light and cool, a relief from the suffocating humidity of the outdoors. Madeline listened to what was being seen as a revolutionary shift in pop idols. Miley Cyrus’ moody club track ‘We Can’t Stop’ rang in her ears, it was definitely a departure from “Party In The USA”. Madeline had bought it with the myriad of gift cards her teachers gave her in congratulation cards. Madeline graduated high school two months ago. Her English teacher gave her the most on the five gift cards she received, a book about being creative and curious, and a long hug while telling her to keep writing. A simple, intimate gesture Madeline cherished, but now she felt a longing for that simplicity.

——

Sometimes Madeline writes stories on her personal blog, to open up difficult conversations about certain taboo topics. She took inspiration from an illustrator in Missouri who uses her Instagram as both a diary and professional portfolio. I wish I could do something like this, but who wants to hear about a girl who’s addicted to painkillers and is sad about her family not saying ‘Hi’ enough? My aunt is normal, my brother is normal, his partner is normal, my sister is even more normal, living with her wife and all. There’s no reason for me to be like this, to be this depressed, this anxious. Maybe I’m just being emotional.

Amber

Process of Getting Closer

Ok so Jude took off his shirt and has really broad shoulders, and his hands are kind of huge. So, I think he’s a he, and I’m still not one-hundred percent sure.

       But I went over to his dorm last night, he had a few assignment instructions that I lost. He scanned them and sent them to me in an email. He’s also an RA, his room was like mine, but wider and no door. He also had a bathroom all to himself! I didn’t see his roommates, though, or who was also staying in his suite.

      We also worked for a bit and talked for a bit, just letting all of ourselves out for an hour or so. At first we were just working together, the awkward conversation from yesterday was still somewhat looming over us. 

     He let me sit on his bed with him to work. This is noteworthy because he’s the first person I met who let anyone else on their bed. My roommates on the other side of the suite-like dorm got into a shouting match over this. Apparently, the redhead grew up in a strict family, the wrinkles on the pristine sheets really bothered her. Her name was Melonie and we sat at the cafe and she brought it up to apologize about waking me and Asha (the girl on my side) up. When she told me about her home life, I think I insulted her by saying, ‘Well, I mean you’re not at home anymore.’ She got a funny face and awkwardly climbed to her feet with her bag swinging everywhere, saying she had to go to class. She hasn’t talked to me since, I don’t think I’ve seen her since.

     It’s also a constant conversation happening among other students, it was almost everyday I would hear someone say they don’t like anyone but their boyfriends or girlfriends on their beds, ‘It just seems creepy’ I heard one girl say, another said something about bed bugs, another made a joke that she doesn’t have enough friends. Maybe it’s not that big of a deal, but it’s definitely a thing. But Jude didn’t care, he let me climb up his tall ass bed frame and sit down, sketchbook in hand. 

     But we sat there, trying to get some extra credit, he was doing it to get caught up on his sketchbook for Design Principles I. I was doing it to get at least some points in the same class. I was behind on three assignments on account of losing the pages. On top of that, I haven’t been doing my sketchbook at all since I started school, it’s been maybe five weeks?

     Jude was more proactive about it, he sat there, a blank page became scratched with cones, spheres, and cylinders, all shaded to look like it had depth. It made my page with a single, tiny ass sword look barren and pathetic. I didn’t know what I was doing, I scribbled a few lines to make a half-assed trail and give it some character, but it just looked like a sword and some scribbles.

       “That’s cute, is it like a trail leading up to the sword or something?” He said, he broke through my thoughts of inadequacy, leaning in, looking down at my page.

     “Uhhm, yeah, but I’m not sure I’m doing this right...” My voice trailed off, small and meek.

     “You’re not, but it looks cool.” He replied, his voice was sure and genuine enough.

     “Missy sends us an email with a prompt, so we know what to sketch by the end of the week.” He picks up his laptop from the end table at the foot of his bed, under the long window, blackened by night.

     He taps away on his keyboard, the thin, silver laptop rings with the familiar email notification.

     “Here,” he scoots a little closer to me, putting the laptop on the bed, facing us, “she’ll send an email with the subject as whatever the prompt is and you’ll get some direction from that.”

     He clicks on the email, sure enough there’s a new one sent last Thursday, the subject read ‘CLAW’, and the body just said, “What does it mean to you?”

       “I thought she was going to give us packets or something?” I say, a little dumbfounded as she made a big deal about not losing the yet to be printed packets, because she wouldn’t print multiple pages just because we can’t be adults in an adult place.

     “Yeah, you were in the bathroom when she said she’ll stick with emails.” He said, I miss a lot when I’m going through withdrawals, like a lot. Maybe I should cut back.

     “What do you do when you go to the bathroom, anyway?” He asks, face full of the curiosity in his questions.

     “I masturbate.” I say in jest, it works because we both snicker at my response before blowing up in side-splitting laughter.

     “At least you’re having fun, it’s also fun to watch Missy sigh really, really loud when you leave.” He says, chuckling at whatever time Missy sighed.

       I’m not gonna lie, that really bothers me, I don’t like making people mad or letting anyone down like that.

     “I don’t know, she’s always so self-righteous, it’s fun watching one girl get so deep under her skin.” He smiles, but it falls when he looks over at me, “What’s wrong?”

     “I don’t like,” I sighed really loud, probably like Missy does, “I don’t like disappointing her, or anyone, honestly.” 

     “That’s disappointing.” He says, his smile comes back, I can’t help but to smile back.

     “Shut up!” I nudge at his knee, laughing a bit.

     “Why does it bother you, though? You’re, what, eighteen? You’re in college, not high school.” He said.

     “Because she can be like, a professional reference for employers?” I say smugly, I’m not gonna lie, I’m lying.

     “Fair enough,” he rolls his eyes with a smile, he’s very defiant, “do you want a soda?”

     “You mean pop?” I say, I hope the smile on my face looks annoying enough.

     “I’m not gonna argue— fuck you.” He says, laughing as he reaches under his bed, pulling two cans of pure sugar up, handing me one.

     “Thank you.” I say, the can hisses and cracks as I open it. Taking a sip, the sugar quickly whips my blood into pudding, the bubbles sting my cheeks, tongue, and esophagus. Looking down at the can, “The fuck is Dr. Peter?” I say incredulously.

     Jude snickers into his can, some of the brown liquid trickles down the sides of his mouth, “It’s the ‘Four Dollar Store’ brand of Dr. Pepper, I needed something other than Dr. Cola this time.”

     “How many knock-offs are there?” I say, we laugh together.

     Last night was so special to me, I made a friend. He’s cute, he’s funny, and I think caring. He likes my humor, which isn’t easy to like for some people. I have to stop taking so many of my painkillers, I don’t want to waste time I could be spending with him and whoever else may wonder into my life. Tonight, I felt normal again. I don’t know, maybe I’m just being emotional.

Amber

Junk Ramble

It's a Wednesday morning, the air is cool and humid and I haven't been to bed since Tuesday morning. The fever is gone, the diarrhea is gone, and now it's just me. My leg has been bouncing since I got to the dorms in the evening. I keep thinking of that stupid orange bottle in my drawer, just at my right foot. I can feel the smoothness of the paper on the plastic tube. I can hear the clicking and clacking of the pills jarring against each other. The feeling of the plastic lid popping off with that airy, wispy sound. I can feel that chalky, acrid taste hit my tongue, the one that used to make me gag when I was a child.

I can almost remember Sunday night, Monday morning. The feeling of warmness, how abstract the idea of pain had become. I almost felt new, like whatever filth that lingered on my body and in my hair, just washed off. Like I had become that once pure little girl, dancing to whatever music she could find or hear. That girl who would devour books and go through crayons like she'd never run out of pages to color on. I remember the feeling of safety and security, curled up on my bed, wrapped around a pillow. I felt like I was floating, just in a constant state of the feelings of my kid self. When my eyes popped open, I felt disappointed. The feeling of filth came rushing to my senses. I knew, that after those warm feelings, my body would turn on me, punish me for this. I walked into the bathroom, starting the shower, feeling dizzy. Getting myself to class would be more like an out of body experience, like the translation of some supplies to a faraway land. I couldn't remember what I needed to do that day like my whole world just reset, or was it a forced shut down? I don't know, I'm not a computer, a computer wouldn't know what to do with a painkiller.

I sat on the toilet afterward, I held my face in my hands. I wanted to tell someone, I wanted to yell at my aunt, my brother, my sister, their partners, I wanted them to know that I'm being pulled apart. But I'm always the one who's scared of everything, the one who makes a mountain out of a molehill. Once, I went to the clinic because of this lump that appeared on my shin. It was plushy, everything around it was hard. I worried it might've been something serious, so I asked my aunt to take me. She kept telling me it was just a simple fatty deposit, she had a few of those on her own leg. But I was adamant about going to the clinic, hoping to get some clarification. In the end, my aunt was right. On the way home, she would only give me nothing but one-word responses or just noises. She didn't even look at me. When I asked if she was mad, all she said was that she was thinking about supper. My family speaks in silence. How do I get out of this? How do I have a conversation about this? How do I exhibit more disappointing behavior to people who are already beyond disappointed? What if I just said what I needed to say? Just have a long, eight-page letter about my growing dependence on my painkillers. How it makes me so sick I can't even concentrate in class after the weekend passes. How the cravings keep me up at all hours of the night, the morning, and the day. But if I know it's a problem, why don't I just stop? Why do I need anyone to know? What if this just makes me feel more like an outsider? Even now, here at school, it feels like my life is dominated by questions I can't really answer without worrying anyone. Maybe the love that drives the disappointment, the worry, and the anger is what's really important. Maybe in all those disappointed sighs, rolling eyes, and everything else, is the support I'm longing for. Maybe when I'm ignored, maybe when they give me silence, maybe that's the connection I want. Or maybe I'm just trying to justify shitty behavior. Maybe I'm just emotional and it doesn't call for this interrogation. I feel so alone.

When I got out of the bathroom, my shoulders started to ache. I put on pants, a shirt, a sweater, but when I went to put on shoes the stiffness made it's way to my knees. I had dropped myself back into the chair, the creaking echoed in my room and out into the bathroom. My face crumpled, trying to hold in any sort of sound that could escape my lips. I rubbed and I rubbed, but the dull ache wouldn't budge. I put my shoes on carefully, packed up my bag, and went on my way to the school. As I left the dormitory, my neck started to ache, the space between my shoulder blades started to stiffen up. I think I took too much.

I could feel the room get colder, my chest felt like it was freezing. I scratched the side of my head and saw my fingers were wet. I was sweating. Soon enough, everything sounded like an empty auditorium, just reverbed voices, and computer noises. I put my head onto the table, relieving some pressure on my neck. Finally, nausea came, my stomach felt like it was swirling. The room was freezing. I looked up, seeing everyone stare at the projector, everything looked like it was shaking. I got up in a hurry, barging into the hallway, walking earnestly around the corner into the bathroom. I ran into the open handicap stall, everything I ate last night came up. My face felt an insurmountable pressure, my throat stung as the bile and chunks of a microwavable Salsbury Steak poured into the toilet bowl. I sat back on the wall, in the dim stall. My fever started to ebb, but my stomach still felt slushy. I sat there, wishing for this to be over, I didn't want to lie to my instructor again for another Monday.

My stomach started to wring itself out, the ache was unbearable, I got up and sat down on the toilet. Trying to relieve pressure, I leaned forward, only for my abdominal muscles to constrict. I shot back up, gasping, pressing my back into the toilet, my stomach didn't hurt all that much at that point. It wasn't gone for long, as I sat back, my stomach poured itself out into the toilet. I felt like I was burning up, from my stomach and from my backside. I put my hands on the walls beside the toilet, trying to hold myself up as my stomach ached from the inside out.

After getting myself cleaned up, I saw that I had only been absent for fifteen minutes, I wouldn't have to answer so many questions this time. I walked into the hall and everything started to turn and my head felt hollowed out. The dizziness. I hugged the wall to get back to the classroom, jumping to the opposite side where the door was. I stood out of the way of the window in the door, trying to shield myself from the potential stares that I could attract. I took a few deep breaths, then I did my best impression of someone who isn't dizzy. My foot dragged when I tried stepping in, I know I said an expletive because everyone looked away from the projector and at me. I used my other foot to pull myself into the room, I still ate shit and dropped to my knees, but I wouldn't have to keep walking. My chair was right there, I lifted myself into it. My laptop on the table was spinning and resetting, spinning and resetting, spinning and resetting. Someone spoke to me while I watched my laptop spin and reset.

"You okay?" A person with a light concerned voice next to me said. I looked at them, I could see short white hair but I couldn't focus on their face.

"Hi." I said, I could hear everyone suppress their laughter. The white-haired person next to me giggled, I let out a light chuckle, too.

"Amber, do I have to call someone? Are you alright?" My instructor asked. At least this time had some humor to it.

"No, I'm okay, I just didn't get much sleep last night." I lied, my eyes felt pristine and unbothered (unlike right now). My body still ached, but it was much duller now.

After class, I went next door to get ready for the next one. The room was dark, lit up only by the window that overlooked the main hall. I opened my computer up, going to the Salient Design Cooperative to listen to the "The Salient Podcast". A new episode was up, "I Miss Calling My Teacher TEACH". I got my headphones out of my bag, but then I saw a green bottle levitate over my computer. I look up to see that person from earlier who asked if I was alright, I could see their face more clearly now. They were pretty.

I took the bottle from their hand, "Thank you." I say, as politely as I can muster.

"You seemed out of it earlier, you okay now?" They ask, their face filled with concern.

"I'm fine, thank you, I'm just tired." I chuckled at the end of the sentence, "Why a soda? You didn't have to do this."

"Uh, yeah I—" they looked behind me at the wall for a second or so, "I can't think of any excuse other than it made approaching you easier." She chuckled, though it was a bit awkward. (I'm just gonna call her a her until I get confirmation, she's very masculine but also very feminine and I don't know what to do, but she has girl hips so...)

"Do I have a resting bitch face?" I asked. The reality is though I'm just dealing with withdrawal most of the time.

"Yeah kinda." She nods. I almost want to tell her what actually happens, but then I'd be that girl who overshares everything with people she just meets. I may actually just have a resting bitch face.

"Why didn't you say before?" I say. My voice was small but kinda whiny, I put my hands on my cheeks, kneading the plushy deposits.

"You don't just tell people they have a resting bitch face." She says, her voice is kinda incredulous. I read that word somewhere and liked it.

"Why not? It'd be kinda fun watching people tell you to fuck off." I said.

"Is that a hint?" She asked, squinting her eyes at me.

"I mean you don't just tell people to fuck off." I say with a shit-eating smile on my face, the bottle hisses and cracks as I take the cap off.

Her eyebrows raise to the roof and holds her hands up, "Alright, alright, I'm going—"

"I'm kidding, sit down!" I said.

To be honest, I'm not sure where this entry is going, I just started thinking about Monday. Monday was so weird, from dealing with heavy withdrawal symptoms that don't cripple me, to making a friend. I guess I'm just trying to translate it into something cohesive. It's also really helping with my cravings right now, I don't feel so stir-crazy. A week ago I did it with painting, this week I'm doing it with writing. I guess I can add some color to that painting I did, now that design and painting aren't the only things in my life. I can add a splash of color to it now, to account for Jude. Oh and her name is Jude, we had a lot of get to know you date questions.

"So, where do you come from?" She said as she sat down across from me.

"I'm from here, this city." I say, though in all honesty, this city is quite small, it's mostly just five Burger King's and eight McDonald's with three Wendy's. "If you can call it a city."

"Lot of fast food joints..." She stops to nod her head, "There's like eight shopping centers that are just a Walmart and fast food joints."

"Where are you from?" I asked, but then I got to thinking of a more important question. "Actually, what's your name?"

"Jude and I'm from Lincoln." She says.

"Oh, my sister lives in Lincoln." I reply, at this point, I'm a feeling a little awkward since I just blind-sided her with the 'where are you from' question.

"That's cool does she like it—"

"Yeah there's a lot of fast food pla—"

We both stop to say 'Hmm?' Then I handwave her to continue, but she does the same at the same time as me. A long silence stretched over us, we sat there smiling at each other, expectantly. The silence grows bigger and my stomach coils into my chest, I know I have always been awkward, but this awkward?

"I really like Mountain Dew, thank you." I said, breaking the silence but my stomach pulls itself into a knot.

"Yeah, no problem," she paused, probably regretting spending the money on me at this point, "so which is your favorite Burger King?"

I can't help but giggle the knot out of my stomach, Jude joins in the laughter.

I really don't want to continue writing this, it's so awkward it makes me want to die. The fact that I could die tomorrow and my family and friends will read this will make me want to die again.

Amber

Maybe I’m Just Emotional

In high school, I had these friends. They were all obsessed with video games, I never was until I met them. They banded together to buy me an Xbox for my birthday. A game called Halo was what kept us occupied until sunrise most weekends, it was very competitive. I'm not sure if any of the kids we encountered knew the meaning of the words they were using, but they didn't care.

    My family always found it weird that I never wanted to play video games with them. It was a bug that bit everyone else, my older brother was into the same game as me. My older sister liked slower, more narrative-driven experiences, but indulged in her brother's antics. When they saw me carrying that big green box up to my room, they didn't say anything. It was an unusual silence, I'm pretty sure they didn't expect me of all people. My brother appeared in my doorway when I was hooking it all up. I looked up at him, seeing his face filled with wonder and shock.

    "What?" I asked.

    "Really?" He replied.

     I looked over the mess of wires in my lap, the power brick on the floor, and  the instructions scattered across my desk.

    "I guess so.." I say, looking back up at him.

    "No shit." He says, voice filled with surprise and excitement. He walks into my  room, picking up the case on my bed.

     I always remember this very tiny moment. It's when I thought three friends were a lot, but now I have to count my brother and sister. What ensued was years and years of laughter, cussing, and snacks at five in the morning. Bags ripped, cans cracked, and bottles hissed, our blood reaching the consistency of melted chocolate. I loved every minute of it.

     I miss my friends, a lot. I miss my family, a lot. When I broke my ankle, I thought I'd be able to relax with them, but I felt so left behind after that year. Being stuck in bed, nothing to do, no one to talk to. I laid there, watching whatever came up on Netflix or Hulu, checking my phone that hadn't rung in a while. My old friends didn't talk to me anymore, my family wasn't very involved anymore. I didn't think I could feel so alone.

    One night, I texted my siblings if they wanted to play a game with me. They agreed, enthusiastically, all smiles and affirmations. We set a time and it was the first time I felt excited about being bedridden. After my shower, brushing my hair, I grabbed my headset, controller, and loaded the game up. I waited for an hour, no one got on, no one texted me, I sat there for another hour. That's when I heard them, they were talking, planning, and then laughter. Excited screams from my brother and my sister shouting expletives. I could only listen. I took my headset off, trying to rationalize it, but none of it made me feel any better.

    'Maybe they just forgot? Maybe they just weren't interested in Halo anymore? Maybe they just didn't want to play with me? Did they lie to me? Should I ask? Am I being a pest?'

    The questions got worst, my sinuses filled with an unsurmountable pressure, my stomach tightened, my nose tingled, my vision went blurry, my nose started running. I turned over onto my side and sobbed into my pillow, trying to be as quiet as possible. I felt like such an idiot, I just wanted to spend time with my family, I just wanted to laugh with my brother and sister again. Maybe It's just too much effort. Maybe I'm just too much. I know victimizing myself doesn't help, but it's the only thing I can feel. I want so badly to howl and have everyone ask what's wrong, but how do I ask them I just want them around? How do I ask them to step away from the things they want to do, just for me? Maybe I'm just emotional.

----------------------------------------------------------

    Today I woke up to this painting I did, it was a smaller canvas, it only had two colors. I remember brushing the canvas with black paint. I put more than one coat on, mostly because I couldn't think straight. Tuesdays are hard since it's usually when my cravings hit the worst. I put on cafe sounds on my computer, set up my easel, got a smaller canvas out, eight and a half by eleven. I got the tube of chromatic black, squeezed some out onto a wooden block, got my brush out, and got to work. It was so calming, I couldn't stop thinking about the orange bottle in my desk, but once I started it all began to fall away. I'd check my phone every now and then, adjusting the volume of my computer the longer I went.

     I looked at it in the morning light. The sun shined into my room, bright and warm. The canvas glowed and all of the little bumps from the layers of paint looked like mountains on some jet black planet. It was charming, I felt kind of connected to it. Though, in reality, someone would show how much they don't care about it and ruin it if it was at a gallery or something. Does abstract art become more respected if there's a meaning pre-attached? This blank, black canvas feels like my life right now. Not to be dramatic and comment on how dark my soul is, but besides school, I have nothing going on. I don't have any friends, I feel estranged from my family, I don't have any hobby besides this, what else is my life if not blank?

    It's noon, Design Fundamentals I just let out, everyone's out to lunch. It's just me and this guy, girl, person named Jude. The lights are out, the projector is still on, the brightness illuminates some of the room with a chilly glow. I'm in a digital art program called Illustrator on my computer. My canvas is full of squares and a white rectangle hanging in the middle, all varying in size. I felt kind of inspired after listening to a podcast about logos and how abstract they are. The designer talking about it was a woman named Madeline. She told a story about how a friend of hers felt Madeline went about design a little too emotionally. She became too invested to get things done, since Madeline is a firm believer that any piece of design is never finished. But she said that it's not about when the designer is done, it's about when the client feels comfortable with one of the many options set in front of them.

    The whole thing was inspiring, it got me thinking of my painting this morning. How much it means to me, maybe that could be my brand. While I may be a blank square, at least I got art and design to keep me going. The rectangle represents how this is really all I have. I don't know, maybe I'm just emotional.

Amber