Page 20 of Dirty Roulette
Ryder marches out of the garage with football gear hanging out of a tote. My insides beg for him to glance over with his charcoal gray eyes and rugged features, but he dismisses my existence entirely. It’s a plunge to the chest, sensing the hint of regret permeating off him. I wouldn’t want to look at the girl who got off on his thigh, either.
I turn around and enjoy the company of dirt crunching under each step. I take out the Walkman I bought down at the Goodwill. It still works. It’s taboo to even own one of these now. Everyone on thisplanet has AirPods, streaming on Spotify. Me? Well, I enjoy twirling a wire around my fingers and holding onto the Walkman with my dear life with old school CD’s playing.
When I reach the decaying metal sign displaying Cloud Nine, my stomach drops. It never gets easier walking down this dirt road filled with trailers crumbling apart.
Neighboring faces change, but they’re all the same type of people. No matter what, there is always a Crusty-Wrinkles. He’s the old smoker, hacking all hours of the day. The man slouches with the curse of a hunchback on a sun-bleached chair with his fifth cigarette of the day. I’ve never seen him wear anything but the same stained shirt that used to be white.
Living next door is Old Cat Lady. She waters the hundreds of plants hijacking her patio. Cats pounce around her. Two are humping on the roof, keeping the cycle rolling. Then there is the mom with five kids with no teeth, and every outside toy in existence littering her front yard.
Other trailers rot, ceilings cave in, windows are smashed, and spray painted with graffiti. I’m nauseous when I reach the front door and open it. I never know what I’m walking into. Mum’s got a bad habit of leaching to older men with some money. It’s stepdad number three and the life cycle of each one is the same. When the relationship rears its ugly end, Mum paws for another glass of cheap box wine.
The door creaks while closing. Mum wears yellow gloves and scrubs the stove. She glances over her shoulder and says, “Oh... look who’s alive.”
“Yeah, sorry, I kind of lost track of time.” I clench the strap of the bag.
“Staying out and partying is going to run that scholarship of yours to the ground.”
“Can you just trust me that I’ll be fine?”
“I was eighteen once too.”
“I know.” I smile and stare at the ceiling, realizing my entire body language screams, liar.
“I’m going to finish packing. Charlie and I are going to Smokey Vinyl later.”
“You’re not going anywhere until that entire room is cleaned up. It looks like a dumpster shit in it. You leave in two days.”
A boa constrictor wraps around my lungs, and I gape down the hallway to my bedroom. I’ve neglected it for the past two months and I won’t be surprised if a rodent is rooming with me.
“I’ll clean it.”
Rey sits in his recliner with his feet kicked up. Fat fingers curl around the TV remote and the volume goes from twenty to seventy in seconds because I’m the annoying background noise. Rey’s dark sunken eyes glare. It’s all he does. His mustache hangs over the firm line of his mouth, and it looks like he wants to say something.
I rush down the hallways in the middle of Mum lecturing and close the bedroom door. It’s the only layer of protection from her strangling me to death. An emo girl’s room with cheap tape and hand-selected posters of heavy metal artists is solace, but I have to tear them all down. The rest of this room is a minefield.
I sit on my bed dreading the cleanup and pull out my cell.
Payton:Hey...
Crab:Hi
Payton:I’m sorry...
Crab:Yeah
Payton:Do you hate me?
Crab:Out of all the stupid things you choose to do, no... I don’t hate you. But I’m pissed.
Payton:Can I have my underwear back?
Crab:No, and I’m busy. TTYL
***
Charlie and I race one another into the record store. It carries a nostalgic aura of different musical generations. My soul hurts as if I missed the true era I belong to. Devil horns consume the entire store. Peace signs, weed, millions of Bob Marley posters, and the hint of Black Sabbath. I could live here.
Old books and dust are heavy in the air. Looming tobacco residue stains the moldy carpets. The place has suffered its fair share of abuse from countless souls who died centuries ago. It’s pretty cool to scroll through the different vinyl records.
