01. Wait Okay, no more messing around. Your three goals for the summer go!

! A ghost-like cloud of white smoke emerges from my mouth as I exhale the pot into the night sky. The pungent herbal smell overpowers the ocean for a mere second, but the over-salted sting of the water prevails and grasps firmly on my nostrils. I never had a good sense of smell my friends say Im the ruler of hells kitchen because I cant smell burnt food until its on fire but the perfume of the Atlantic is impossible to miss. I dont know Brendan, I dont really have goals in the summer its the summer, I want to relax. So your goal is to relax? he prods, snatching the weed from my hand and inhaling it deeply. Sure, I dismiss. Thats one, you need two more. What are yours? Give me an idea here. That Chester Cat grin Brendan dons whenever he perks up in a conversation appears. Easy. I want to get ridiculously fucked up Im talking like 30 to 40 beers minimum for a pregame. I want to meet hot girls because nothing is quite like that summer hookup. And I want to steal a giraffe from Roger Williams Zoo. Run that last one by me again? Another inhale of the blunt and a pass in my direction. He blows the smoke out into the Narragansett night before speaking. Simply put, having a pet giraffe would be the best thing ever. First of all, nothing would ever get stuck in trees, and cleaning the gutters would be a synch. Secondly, you think girls go crazy over little puppies? Theyve never even seen a giraffe as a pet before, so its got the instant sex appeal from its it status as an exotic animal. And not to mention its suggestively patterned furthey have fur right? Plus, do you know the gas mileage on a giraffe? Its like zero miles to the gallon because it doesnt take gas, it takes leaves and carrots and those are everywhere so bye bye driving and hello galloping on a giraffe. Oh, and dont forget that its the closest Ill ever come to owning a pet brachiosaurus. Theres no point in arguing thats some sound logic if Ive ever heard it. I

imagine Brendan riding down the scenic route by Narragansett bareback on a giraffe, his grin wide and his eyes glistening as all the girls in bikinis on the beach turn and drop their sunglasses in amazement. Hed do something like tip his cowboy hat in their direction before riding off into the sunset a cowboy hat he would have purchased specifically for riding the giraffe and tipping it towards women. Youre picturing me riding a giraffe arent you? he snickers. I hate that he knows me that well. If you figure out how to put a horn on it youd be all set. The details can be dealt with at a later date but back to you. Your three goals for the summer, continue. Well, my first one was relax which I need to do after the year Ive had. The second oneokay ever since I broke it off with you-know-who Ive had writers block. I want to start writing again. Which brings us to number three Get over her? Yeah, I admit through a heavy sigh, get over her. I feel my insides get rung out like a wet towel. I just gotta move on... You have to do more than that bury those fucking memories you have of her in some mental cemetery and dont come back to them. I saw you suffer a lot over her this past year, and it wasnt worth the few months where you two were happy. You can do better its the advice I always give my sister and its the advice Im going to give you now. You can do better, especially better than her. All valid points, but No, but nothing! his voice rises with excitement, speaking with momentum to rally an entire nation. Youre going to get over her this summer, and were going to do it by having the most fun possible! Shes not here, shes probably slumming it with her new lame ass boyfriend, and she always sucked anyway. You might think oh but Brendan, its only been two months since we broke up and I loved her so much! and that you did, cant deny it. She fucked you over big time with the way she treated you. But you know what? You cant change it now, so lets just enjoy the hell out of the rest of the time we have left now that shes out of the picture. I smile, but not because Im stoned. You wanna get food?

Yeah, but at my house, not yours. My mom and Sarah wont be there until the weekend, so we can just hang out and do whatever. Plus I hate your house, its too close to that creepy church thats haunted. My parents arent even coming down this summer. Im living down here by myself for the summer. And the church isnt haunted, that was something made up for entertainment purposes. Put it on the list of things to do! Brendan exclaims, hopping off the ledge like a frog. The reunion starts right now, to be completed when Sarah gets here and Brian shows up! I follow suit, landing on legs made out of rubber. Back for another summer in Narragansett, Rhode Island. * * * So what exactly happened with you two? Brendan asks in between a fistful of Cheez-Its. I mean, I know the basic story, but run this by me again. I dont want to talk about it, I say from across the room, my giddy buzz grinding to a halt. She messed with my head, you know the deal she would cheat, stop talking to me, apologize, come back and act like were great, and then repeat. So whyd you keep taking her back? I rub my eyes and try to dissolve the tumor pressing against my throat. I really liked her, I tiptoe, we just clicked. She made mistakes but I wanted to believe that when she said she was sorry she actually meant it, and wasnt just saying it to say itI had this idea of everything working out in the end, and if we could just get through the turmoil of it allI guess Im just as much to blame here for constantly taking her back Say no more, Brendan solemnly says. I understand it. I just wanted to hear you say that you were stupid for constantly taking her back. I sigh, bobbing my head in deflated agreement. Hindsight is 20-20. Yeah, but we shouldve seen it coming. Remember when we went to Boston to meet up with her and some other people for the Christmas tree lighting in Faneuil Hall? You couldnt sit still that entire week of school because you were so excited to see her. Every day youd walk around with a bigger smile on than the day before. I was excited as

hell for you because here you were, my best friend, into a girl that made you this happy and allegedly treated you so well. And then we went; do you remember what happened next? My body feels like a ton of bricks, each joint and muscle pulling me into the ground. My eyelids seal delicately to avoid accidental leakage. Behind them the darkness pulls me back into that December night. I can still taste the frost in the air giving my lungs freezer burn with each breath. The pores on my face cracked into fragmented shards, yet I was sweating underneath my University of Florida Gators beanie from anticipation. An ice water gush from the Boston Harbor blew through my Providence College hoodie, the breeze sieving through the anonymous to reveal herand who was that guy with his arm around her waist? The candle warmth in my stomach extinguished into an unnerving cold. The newfound emptiness inside me twisted and turned until my insides felt like a puppy struggling underwater, fighting with every bit of it's instinct to hold onto life. I try to breathe and count to ten but I cant catch my breath the night air bucked it's legs back and collided into my stomach with one firm kick. Yes, I rasp. I remember. And that was just one time, he continues. There have been dozens of other incidents like that. Remember Brendan, I cry softly, stop. Please dude, I dont want to hear this anymore. Even with my eyes closed I can still picture his face slanting to the right, uncertain if hes treading in dangerous waters or helping through hurting. My jaw clenches down, sealing with them a floodgate of fresh emotions that I can't escape. I'm trapped in a reoccurring nightmare. Every day starts the same; I feel my mind wake up before my body, my eyes sealed shut to fight my mind, pulling it back down into the dream as best it can. Everything feels surreal, like a realistic dream where you can't tell if you're awake or not. Even in the disfigured reality the dream tricks you into believing, whether it be getting a girl you like, showing up naked to school, or a torment as shadows chase you. Ever since we broke up, all my dreams feel the same. Sometimes she comes running to me while I'm at school and she embraces me, telling me she loves me still and doesn't want to let me

go. Other times it's her new boyfriend or hookup that she leaves, and I stand idle as witness, my heart pounding with optimism before she sees me. No matter what the dream the end is always the same - I wake up with a split second of optimism followed by a gutchurning pit going from the bottom of my stomach to the tip of my throat. No texts from her, no missed calls, but possibly the hardest of all is knowing that no matter how long the day is, however many moments may remind me of her, I won't hear from her because that's not what she wants. Im sorry, Brendan whispers, his smile erased and his voice lusterless. I take in a deep breath, pulling in summer humidity and the crunchy taste of an ocean breeze. Listen, I say, pausing to pave my vocal cords of any cracks and squeaks, we can talk about this tomorrow. For now lets just kick it. * * * I toss back to my right side soberly, looking at the ancient clock radio across the distance on my desk. The dim red lights read 3:34 in the morning. I twist my body away from the clock, forcing my eyes to stay shut like tightening the cap on an exploding soda bottle. Deep down I feel frustration fizzling. I try to clear my head - my legs swipe back and forth across the bed while my arms cross and uncross from underneath the pillow I've flipped over about fifteen times since I got into bed. my ears pull up curiously at a rustle across the room. Anyone else would come up with a rational explanation - a bag falling to it's side from within the closet, something being blown over by an open window downstairs, a ghost coming out to resume ownership of the house - but I know better. Not now, I think to myself. Not tonight. Really... The rustle continues to whisper from across the darkness, hidden in the closet. I close my eyes and turn my back to the noise, but that only makes it louder. Pretending it's not there validates it's existence; both it and I know that. Here we go again. I crawl out of bed and stomp across the room like a stern parent, hoping that if I assert myself it will back down. The rapping gets stronger, bumping forcefully against my closet door. It can feel me coming, just like it wanted. After one giant yank at the door handle the sticky closet door flings open. A

backpack rolls out, stopping at my feet and looking up at me with a smirk across it's smug stitchings. An urge to stomp on it flashes through me - just end it here and now, go back to living a normal life and find something else - but I withhold long enough to pull a dirty white MacBook out. The heartbeat of it's processor comes to life in my grip, clicking and squeaking like a baby. I slump down into a cloth chair and toss it on my rickety desk. The computer grumbles slightly but stays quiet, knowing that it's got it's way again. The lid lifts up and the screen illuminates gleefully. My eyes squint, feeling like I've just woken up hungover in the sunlight. Fighting every logical excuse in my body I open up a word document and crack my knuckles. My hands hang over the keys like a concert pianist just moments before playing, but there's been no rehearsal for this. You can't practice what you have yet to create, you just need to sit down and do it. That's what writing is, that's what Charles Bukowski preached - he said "don't try" and he meant it. Just sit down and start typing. It sounds so simple saying it like that. I try to channel my emotions, formulate feelings into words. Two months I've left this wound from her open and exposed, and while writing has always been the surgery to help close it up and start the healing process this one feels different. I feel claustrophobic staring at a blank screen, smothered by everything I can't write. Words and I incidents raddle around in my brain like bouncy balls in a small room. They fire at the speed of light, always visible but never catchable. Even when I start to type a simple sentence it feels wrong, as if some sort of new age catholic guilt is strangling my creative conscious into a coma; always alive but never functioning. From behind me a sweet, passion fruit smell tickles my nostrils. Imaginary, velvet hands shield over my eyes and blind me from the words I want to see. Her presence remains draped in the darkness behind a cloak of what I want. Inside my chest my heart twists because I know shes not there and she wont be any longer. I close the lid to my laptop, feeling beaten again. Every night its the same routine and the same failure since she broke up with me. Nobody ever told me that she would take that away from me too. Its time for bed. I dont want to talk anymore.