“Fuck this, man,” I heard muttered for the hundredth time from the scrawny kid across the room. He got caught buying LSD. He was the only other white guy in the room. He complained that the guard took his hat when he got here. He had a tribal tattoo. His teeth were bleached. His knuckles were busted up. He spit when he talked, and his face turned red far too easily. His ears were pierced, but he had no jewelry in them. His parents would probably pick him up within the hour, tell him they were disappointed, and take him home. I hate him.
How dare he interrupt my thought. Matty is bailing me out in the morning; he’ll be late though. I don’t really care. Matty is not a good friend, not that I am either. He’s flaky; he goes through constant stages of action and regret. He’d come out with me on a Saturday night just like this one, and two days later he’d say shit like ‘I’m getting my life together, I’m not going out with you anymore Cal’ and ‘I’m still here for you, but I don’t wanna deal with your shit’. This would blow over and he’d be at my door the next day. I’m lucky we’re in a period of action.
The oldest man coughed. It was a smoker’s cough, yellow and viscous sounding. I wanted to get him some water. His eyes were set deep beneath his brows. His eyes and teeth were yellowy gold and weak. He joked about not having a better place to stay tonight. I don’t think he had a place to stay any night. He was brought in for ‘public intoxication’ or some bullshit. He didn’t smell like liquor. He didn’t slur his words. He hadn’t spoken to me since LSD kid got here.
Matty and I used to be disgustingly cute; I made him coffee every day and he did our laundry. He was really into film. He likes Stanley Kubrick. He didn’t live with his aunt then. We met in college. Matty dropped out before I did. We were roommates after that. We shared a tiny apartment, one bedroom. We got it because it was cheap and it had a skylight. Whoever got home last had to sleep on the futon instead of the good bed. We usually got home at the same time. He got really into doing blow on Tuesdays.
A kid about my age sat closest to me. I think I’ve seen him before. He might have gone to the same community college I did. I didn’t ask, I don’t like to bring up school if I don’t have to. He had nice shoes. His voice was deeper than I thought it’d be. He told me his name is Jared. To the rest of the world, his name didn’t matter. He’s a blank slate, just another 20 something black kid who ‘couldn’t stay out of trouble’. His personality didn’t matter. I will always remember his name.
There were no windows and I couldn’t find a clock; though I think it was about 4 A.M. I’d gotten in around midnight. I didn’t sleep, I would have dreamt about Matty. The other three in the room were faceless, they’d been here before, they spoke in grunts. They smelled of cigarellos and Castile soap. They were not threatening nor comforting. They were the kind of guys Matty hung out with; he didn’t like to be confronted with personality, just empty entities. I’d tried to become faceless and simple for Matty. I want Matty.
