Page 24 of Saints & Sailors

Crazy thing was, I knew exactly how he felt.

I studied the cracks on the ceiling, forming shapes with my mind long after the record by The Smiths stopped playing.

Time had passed as I remained lying on the floor after my phone call with Danny. It hit me an hour into my comatose state that this was it for me. I was stuck here in Meadow Grove. Trapped. There was no way out, and no way to cope.

I knew long distance was a killer, but we could’ve made it work.

A couple of times while I lay on the floor my mother had tried to call me.

I let it go to voicemail.

What was there to say?

Fuck You was getting old, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear her crying.

The sound of keys jiggling and the front doorknob twisting let me know Scott was home.

I was quick to get up from my depressed state and pull the vinyl from the player.

Scott stepped into the room and flipped on the light. “Hey.”

He was smiling at me when I turned around and faced him. Would it always be weird between us?

Maybe.

I was as good as gone as soon as I hit eighteen.

Where to?

God only knew.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Scott’s cell phone rang.

He answered it after scowling at the screen. “Yeah…Jesus, Mitchell, I was just there… Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning?” Scott placed his hand on his hip and by the look on his face, I knew he hadn’t liked Mitchell’s response. “Fine, I’ll be there in ten minutes—you know what, make it twenty.”

Scott hung up and groaned loudly. He peered over at me helplessly.

“Dinner?” I asked to calmly take his mind off of whatever it was that he now had to go and do.

“I was thinking we’d go out,” Scott said. “That was Mitchell, the assistant manager over at Marty’s. I gotta go and sign off on this safety thing. It’ll only take a minute. Why don’t you go upstairs and change into something for dinner and we’ll ride to Marty’s real quick.”

It wasn’t quite a homecooked meal like I’d wanted, but it would do.

I took off upstairs and went into my bedroom. Upon turning on the light, I was nearly blinded by all the white my walls had to offer.

Black.

That’s what I felt inside. Maybe Scott would let me go and paint every single wall of my bedroom black if I asked.

Scott hadn’t elaborated on if dinner meant fancy or casual, not that I had anything fancy to wear.

I traded in my jeans for shorts, as it was nice and humid out, and paired it with a decent looking top that said I was trying to be cute.

My mother had picked it out once on a shopping trip.

I brushed my hand along the lace material of the white spaghetti stringed top and almost decided to change.

“Saylor, you ready?” Scott shouted up to me.