Fall

Happiness is something acquired over time. Even when you acquire it, you don’t stay happy. Its hard to stay in such a state, after all life is a rollercoaster.

I don’t really remember how long it was since I was happy. Was I three, four before my family fell apart? How long ago was it before my dad started beating me, drinking, passing out for hours. Giving up on life.

Luckily my daddy did stop all that before the scaring age. He stopped long enough to leave my mother and I. In his place though, I find Drew. Not so different, but not exactly as harmful for my moms health. I don’t see him as a step-father per say. More as a form of hatred, replacing the hatred I feel for my real father.

Alone in my basement, the old grand piano kept me company. It was all I had left of my horrible childhood. The only good aspect about it. Music was like a baby blanket, covering me in it’s safe arms. Something my mom never had the courage to do.

A hard thud on the basement door awoke me from my world I often visited when I was in thought. I turned to see my best friend entering the dusty vault that was practically our second house. It was more comfortable to be here than in the alien territory of upstairs.

His raven hair was scattered across his face, shielding those auburn eyes I knew so well. The wind was acting out today, I felt it on my bare shoulder. Not only that, I could see through the tiny stained window that it was about to acid rain. Autumn didn’t look much happier either.

“Park?” I addressed him by last name, a nickname since we’ve met. Which he hated because it made him feel like a stranger in my eyes. I knew this, but it was a hard habit to break. I turned back to the piano, ready for a witty reply.

He came over often, something I wouldn’t tell my mom unless I wanted her to kill over. Like she’d care, “No. Autumn,” he practically growled, “and you’ve known me for how long?” he crawled under the covers laid all over the old couch that we found on the curb last summer. It was a trophy. Like a friendship necklace but better because it still had a faint smell of Cheetos.

“Too long to remember,” I answered his rhetorical question. A while later, when I almost forgot he was still there in the room, he sat beside me at the piano. His eyes watched the way my fingers caressed the keyboard as I played Fur Elise.

The song slowly came to an end. I suddenly realized how tired I was from sitting here. My eyes became dreary. A short silence passed, “Avie…” my eyes glanced over, my brain still not there. Autumn was making a face at me. I was suddenly all focused on the present.

“What?” I asked.

“I want to tell you something,” he sighed a little hopelessly, “I overheard my parents yesterday…they were talking about getting a divorce.”

In my mind, I could see myself shrugging. I know, showing carelessness is insensitive.

At least his dad isn’t a lunatic, “And how does that make you feel?” I said sarcastically, so much for being sensitive. I bit my tongue, could I just rewind?

“Be serious,” he begged me, “imagine what the world is coming to! They use to be so in love,” Autumn exclaimed over-dramatically. Desperation leaked through every pore in his body. I wanted to tell him, “everything will get better”, but who was I to make such promises. I wasn’t God.

“Ok, I’m sorry. Maybe, they won’t get a divorce. Maybe, it was just a bad day,” I offered. That’s what he really wants to hear, it’s not real though. Everything is a lie. It really is, isn’t it?

“Thanks, I know that’s too good to be true,” his eyes were like a mirror, showing a perfect world that wasn’t complicated or scary. A world that was make believe. A mix between fire and honey stared back at me, making me wish I could say something useful for once.

“Cheer up,” I demanded, grabbing his hand. I yanked him from our spot by the piano and led him behind the furnace where I stashed a bag of pot. I didn’t have a lot of it, but I was willing to share. I reached behind the contraption and pulled it out into his view, “tell me you wanna share,” I smirked, my voice singing from joy.

“Hell yeah!” he gasped, I knew this surprised him. There was so much I didn’t trust him with, “where’d you get it?”

“I stole it from John Nicholson’s garage last Monday. I tried to smoke it, but to be honest, that didn’t go well. Burnt down my curtains. Couldn’t sleep all damn night,” I explained. It surprised me that he wasn’t rejecting it at all, that made me feel a little guilty. I always felt like I was a bad influence on innocent little Autumn Parker. At least he wasn’t smoking weed with someone who’d let him bake to bits.

Autumn chuckled at my explanation, I knew that to him I was the inexperienced tough chick. I never told him my reasons for acting up. I simply did because I could. He asked me about it often but I never trusted anyone enough to tell them. Even if I knew him since the age of six, “wow, I’ve always wanted to try something new with my Saturday afternoons. Taking photographs doesn’t have that adrenaline rush I’m looking for,” he joked, “so where are we lighting these puppies?”



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