Gone, Gone, Gone(11)

Also, I sort of don’t understand TV, in that way. Why do ratings matter? Do people get money when I watch their show? What about when I turn a show off in the middle? I guess I’m not part of that eighteen-to-thirty-five age group, or whatever it is everyone gives a shit about, so it probably doesn’t matter. I barely matter, if you’re looking at numbers—what’s a fifteen-year-old? I can’t even drive. And I’m six months younger than Lio.

I don’t feel six months younger than Lio. I mean, I can deal with my life and stuff. And I’ve had a boyfriend and Lio hasn’t, as far as I know. Or a girlfriend. So really, I’m older in a lot of ways.

I should sleep. It’s been quiet upstairs for ages. I was a wreck in school today. Nearly started crying in algebra just because I couldn’t figure out the next step in this proof, which is really unacceptable behavior. I was falling asleep all through history, and now I’m awake like someone’s electroshocked me.

Cody was older than me too. Nearly a year. Cody Cody Cody. Why didn’t I get an email from him tonight? Usually he emails every night. Every single night, around nine o’clock. And I respond faster than I can breathe.

He didn’t email tonight, for the first time since he’s been gone. I’m trying to act like this is something I’ve just realized while I’ve been lying here watching the infomercial, acting like it hasn’t been chewing on my thoughts ever since I checked my email and it was only Lio. Pretending there’s this vague possibility that Cody wasn’t the first thing I thought about for once.

Damn it.

I drag my laptop in front of the TV and boot up an old email from him, from a few weeks ago.

Craig—

To die by your side, baby. I heard that song today and it reminded me of

I mean

Still mad at you. Mad at you forever. Fuck you, Craig, f*ck you and everything you did.

Love,





C


He’s sent me over a hundred emails, and every single one contains, in some form, usually more than one form, the phrase, Fuck you, Craig.

And I email him back like my life depends on it. Every. Single. Time.

Because every email he sends has the word “love,” too.

But today no email, so am I supposed to email him anyway? I don’t know what to say. Usually I respond to him. Usually I only email because I need to know that he’s okay. I never tell him anything real. I don’t want to weigh him down with stuff from here.

“I miss you I miss you I miss you,” I whisper and stupid Sandwich thinks I’m talking to her and stretches her paws all the way out, and her claws come out and dig into my head a little, and damn it, Sandwich, I love you, but this is about Cody.

I want to email him, but if I do I’ll stay up until he answers, I’ll stay up worrying, I’ll stay up freaking out that he’s hurt and wonder why he isn’t screaming at me with capital letters from my inbox. I’ll spend every second I don’t sleep pouring all of me into that computer, and I have animals to feed, animals to look for, animals to pet and hold and love me.

So I sleep a little, and my alarm goes off at five thirty, and I feed the animals, which takes about thirty seconds because there are not nearly enough, but by the time I get to school this girl Caitlin, who only wakes up ten minutes before school starts and brags about it and looks like it, is all, “Did you hear there was another shooting?” in her un-toothbrushed voice.

I say, “Yeah? Shocking,” which is pretty douchey of me, but, seriously? Someone got shot in the world and now this is like the f*cking Berlin Wall or some other shit people care about.

“This guy in Kensington. He was mowing his lawn. My dad was mowing the lawn yesterday! I mean, Jesus, it makes you think.”


I don’t see Lio until after second period. Some days I go most of the morning without seeing him, since we don’t have any classes together until third period, but usually one of us seeks the other one out. It’s nine thirty, and two more people have been shot since I talked to Caitlin. A few people are talking about it, but the news isn’t sweeping the school like wildfire or anything. I heard two of the student teachers discussing it, or I wouldn’t know.

It’s four dead people. I don’t mean to sound like that doesn’t suck. I mean, obviously people shouldn’t get shot. But this isn’t God Bless America anymore, and things happen, people get shot.

Lio has a pink armband on, like now that he’s kissed me he’s fine with the whole world finding out he’s gay. Though I don’t know if anyone else would notice the armband, since it kind of goes with his usual quirky attire, and I don’t know if he was ever in the closet to begin with or if he didn’t advertise it because he’s one of those people who thinks it’s only your business if his cock is in your mouth. Maybe he’s bi. Or maybe he’s one of those guys who thinks that just because he likes guys doesn’t mean he has to be part of some community. I don’t like those guys, to be honest, but that’s really just because I love community.

The rest of him is mostly in black, like usual. He says he wears eyeliner on Halloween but only then. Once I had a wet dream about helping him put it on. I can’t believe I’m thinking about this right now.

“Maybe this is the apocalypse,” I suggest to Lio, instead of “hello” or “thanks for last night” or “what made you think you could do that, but again maybe?” Or “no.”