by Chanchal
order to give his sister her drugs. He feeds them caringly to her, making sure that she swallows them properly. It takes all of his will and my support to ignore his rambling father by her bedside begging for his own pills. Gus waits until he falls asleep before carefully hiding the drugs in a hole in the wall next to his desk. Then, Gus finally heads to the park.
As we walk to the park, which is a few miles from Gus’ apartment, we enjoy the nicer parts of the city. It’s fascinating to see the areas where windows aren’t either shattered or boarded up, where all of the lights work and where children can walk outside unguarded. It’s nice to see a family walking together as if they love each other. I hope that Gus can have a future like that someday. I doubt it though. He has his father and sister to worry about. Plus, he dropped out of elementary school. Actually, I don’t know what I was thinking; it’s pointless to dream for such things.
After we reach the green grasses of the park, Gus lets me have a cookie. Only one though, the rest are for Ivy. I can’t wait to see how happy it makes her when he gives them to her. Ivy loves cookies, but her family never has money to spare on treats. The fact that these cookies are a gift from Gus will only make them more special. It truly is incredible that those two found each other when they both needed each other so badly. Sometimes, even to the least fortunate, this world can be magical.
Finally, we reach the spot where Gus and Ivy always meet. She’s standing there with an old beaten up guitar strapped around her shoulder by a string that looks ready to snap at any moment. She’s wearing a white t-shirt that’s just tight enough to show off her tits and a pair of shorts that look as though she just tore the legs off her usual jeans. Beside her is a worn-down drum set that looks as though it will collapse if anybody hits hard enough to create sound. Her eyes are redder than before and it’s clear that she’s been crying, but in this moment she looks almost happy. One things for sure, she looks like a rock star. Gus goes up and gives her the cookies.
“Oh my god! Thank you!” Her weak smile grows strong and her eyes begin to water after receiving her gift. As a single tear of water slowly escapes her eyes, Gus is lucky enough to see the most beautiful sight any man can ever seen. Under a messy pile of dirty blond hair that lightens as it nears the ends, under two green eyes that are worn from a long day of crying, under a nose stained red from all the times she has rubbed away the tears dripping onto it, he sees a smile that shines so brightly that he wants to show it to the world.
“Let’s play some music.” Gus says, eager to let his emotions ago. Without waiting for a response, he sits down on the drums.
“You set the beat. I’ll match.” Ivy says to him.
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. The moment I hear her speak, I close my eyes and begin to beat the drum. I play lightly at first, but then I begin to think about Tracy. I increase the rhythm slowly and transition into one of my favorite rhythms. I hear the guitar join in, playing a beautiful chorus of chords that perfectly match the beat flowing through me. The sound releases a flawless representation of the sorrow and the rage that I had pent up for so long. I thought about about all the stupid things I had done, everything I had screwed up, the bitch that had cost me my job. I hate myself, I hate her, I hate everything. I let that hate flow out of me, traveling through the drumsticks, into the drums, and echoing out into the world.
Then, I think about Ivy. I think about how sad, how scared, she had been earlier today. How I had been too pathetic in my desperation to get high to recognize her pain and suffering. How much it had hurt, how much it still hurts, that she slapped me. I try to let that pain go. As I feel that pain flying out of my body, I hear the voice of an angel join in with my drumming and the guitar. It’s Ivy’s voice. She has begun to sing. Truly, the most beautiful melody I have ever heard is flowing into my body as I beat against these old drums. The pain is beginning to disappear.
Next, I think about my sister and the worthless sack of meat that calls itself myself my father, how he would let my sister die instead of just being a man and going outside. How if it weren’t for me, both of them would probably be dead. How my sister will probably die despite my best efforts to help her, despite all the money and time I’ve put into her medical bills. It fills me with frustration, but also with sadness. It all feels so pointless. I slow down the beat, letting go of those feelings of futility with every tap of the drumstick, hearing the sound of the guitar and singing agreeing with my emotions and feeling the force of the music pushing them away.
Finally, I think again about Ivy. This time about how how I had promised to quit smoking for her, how her simple “thanks” had shown me that I had made the right decision, how the weak smile that come along with that single syllable had filled me with power than anything I had ever before experienced. I think about how happy she had been when I had given her the cookies, how with such a simple gift I had cheered her up so much, and the immense feeling of goodness that seeing that new found cheer filled me with. I bang the drums a little bit faster, this time not letting the emotions leave me, but recreating them instead, sharing them with the rest of the world. It feels incredible, to offer such a meaningful gift out into the empty air. I begin to feel happy for the first time in my life.
I open my eyes. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed. It feels like seconds, but based off how dark it is, it must have been hours. There are people watching us now, a lot of them. I don’t know when they got here, but they seem to be enjoying our music. We’ve never drawn a crowd like this before. We’ve never drawn any crowd before. I look over at Ivy. She’s smiling a brighter smile than before. She’s smiling a smile that the whole world can see. Maybe I don’t have to show that smile I saw earlier to the world. She can do that herself. And if she can do it herself, maybe I can too. Still watching her, I smile.
About the Author
Michael P is a college student majoring in Electrical Engineering and minoring and math. He is also a member of his school’s varsity tennis team. During summers, he works at a camp with younger kids. Of course, he’ll have to start doing internships soon, so that won’t be the case for long. While his schedule is already busy, he also enjoys writing and posting fiction and fantasy stories online as a hobby.
Connect with Michael P
Thank you for reading Away From Home! If you want to read more of my writing, check out my weekly serial and other stories at https://thephoenixsaga.wordpress.com/. You can learn more about me and my writing by following me at twitter at https://twitter.com/phoenixko12 (@phoenixko12). All my writing is free, but if you are able to I would appreciate any support at https://www.patreon.com/Phoenixsaga.
