Stardust: On His Back, He Carried the World

Jake Gallagher

I awoke in the morning dark and early; dark in that it looked like dusk and I could still make out a few stars in the sky even though dawn approached with an urgency. The obnoxious red numbers of the digital clock beside my bed insisted that it was five-thirty in the morning. Normally I wouldn't wake up to get ready for school for another hour, but I tossed and turned all night with dreams leeching onto my mind, fading moments later, and then replaced by the next scene on the theatrical stage of my subconscious. But, one character persisted throughout the changing scenes and dialogues, and it was Skylar. I couldn't remember the plots of the dreams for the life of me, but I knew I enjoyed them by the oddly pleasant warmth I felt when waking, despite how much of an ungodly hour the clock dictated. The thought of it being a more suitable time somewhere else in the world soothed my annoyance of morning hours, but I wouldn't ever wish to be anywhere else when I remembered that Skylar was fast asleep just across my room.

My eyes sparked alive as I sat up in the middle of my bed, and the first place they found was the corner of the room beside the window seat.

A pensive, melancholy wave washed over the pleasantry I felt just seconds prior, and I fell fruitlessly backward into the groaning springs of the mattress. Only the old pillow sat in the corner. Just like a ghost, not a trace of Skylar was left. It's almost as if he wasn't here at all. The pillow had dried, not perturbed with the previous dampness of his rain-bathed head, his hoody no longer rested on the desk, and the lack of his warm presence left my room feeling like a cavern of life-depleting emptiness. Before, my room was just the drafty domicile of my belongings that collected dust because I could never stand being in such a secluded space, but Skylar, for the first time since my dad moved out, actually made this room feel like a home. Without either of them, the air was cold and every trinket of my existence felt neglected.

I drowned myself in the tide of bulky sheets and blankets, ruing the day before it even started just because Skylar disappeared at some point in the night. He didn't even say goodbye, not that I ever would have expected him too. He's an agent of his own free will, and notifying me of his departure would have violated the undocumented constitution of being a drifter. That's what I had decided I'd call Skylar; a drifter, or a vagabond, but I felt like drifter was more suitable. Even if he'd said goodbye, I probably would have begged for him to stay and, in turn, made myself look utterly pathetic. So, I guessed it was for the best that he crept out without my knowledge.

I found myself falling back into the realm of dreams, but my ill feelings of being without Skylar made many turn sour and I awoke panting and sweating an hour later at the sound of the screeching alarm clock.

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School dragged on unceremoniously. The rain had extended into the day, and I found myself watching the crystalline droplets race down the windows of each classroom as teachers and students droned on about things I would never use in my day-to-day life. The better half of my conscious thought it best that I listened to the lectures in case I decided on entering a career field that required that information, but I succumbed to the other half of my conscious that had a grumpy, stubborn disposition and was in dire need of a nap.

Brennyn ditched school... Well, she didn't technically 'ditch' since she had a fever of one-hundred and two and a long wait in line pending at the nearest clinic.

Shannyn came, but she decided that she'd be a vacuum for any morsel of hopefulness that I could have had for the day. She completely sucked the life out of everyone around her. I was under the impression that her foul mood was because she was sick with worry over her twin's depleted health, but, really, Shannyn was pissed off because that guy she liked, Mike, started dating Leah's friend, Andrea. For the entire hour of third period History, Shannyn bitched and complained.

"I can't believe Mike would date Andrea  Álvarez! She's that slut that Skylar screwed, and then threw out the next day. Pretty much every guy in the tri-state area has seen her naked, if not had sex with her. She's a walking venereal disease! Just her breathing too closely to people could start a genital warts epidemic! What the hell is wrong with Mike?! Does he enjoy having a burning sensation when he pees?! After screwing her, he'll be pissing lighter fluid for a month!"

I actually liked learning about the pivotal turning points in history. Today was the Alamo, but, unfortunately, I learned nothing about the Battle of the Alamo because Shannyn was defiling my mind with images of genital warts and flaming pee. Saying she gave me a headache would be an understatement; every time she spoke, a sledgehammer was being flung at my skull.

I thought that Ethan skipped school just like Brennyn did, until I saw our locker being raided by Principle Bermudez for all of Ethan's comedy books and practical joke kits that cluttered my side of the locker. Apparently, Ethan used the same plastic spider that put me in detention on a teacher, which gave her an asthma attack and sent Ethan to in-school suspension for the next two weeks.

I'd seen Matt around the halls and we chatted when we could. The only class I had with him was French, and that wasn't for another two hours.

It's not like I expected to, but I hadn't seen Skylar at all and, if it weren't already possible, that sunk my spirits like a ship whose hull was blown to bits by the Jolly Roger. No offense meant to be taken by anyone else, but Sky was the only person I had hoped to see.

Right now, I found myself wandering the empty halls during fourth hour. I should have been in Literature with Ms. Spinelli, but my head was still aching after Shannyn's ranting from last period, so I asked for a pass to go to the bathroom. Instead, I just drifted around, glancing into the windows and doors of passing classrooms. I wasn't sure if it was because of the depression that overcomes everyone's emotional spectrum when it rains, or if school in itself was just depressing, but every face of every teacher and student that I saw through the thick windows was haggard and saddening. Then I started to think that maybe Shannyn was in one of those classrooms, and she was sucking the lives out of everyone. She's usually so docile, but when she was upset, it was like a storm of Dementors from Harry Potter was ripping through southern California.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" curtly asked a senior hall monitor who looked like some kind of Doomsday nerd that should be holed up in his mother's basement preparing for the impending apocalypse. He pushed his coke-bottle glasses up the bridge of his oily nose.

"Bathroom," I said, and flashed him the pass.

He nodded, and slunk his lanky, unnaturally tall body down a perpendicular hall.

I only realized that I'd gone across the entire school and into the halls that smelled of sweaty gym socks when my shoe adhered to the floor by obnoxiously pink bubble gum of the already chewed and half-digested variety. I was sure it was from one of the cheerleaders who smacked their lips and popped plastic bubbles of rainbow colors every waking moment. They reminded me of Violet Beauregarde.

I dragged my left shoe all along the floor trying to scuff it off. I only succeeded in leaving a trail of pink goop across the floor. Most of it was still stuck to my sole, and would surely be an annoyance for the rest of the day when my leg muscles grew tired from yanking my foot along.

I was almost tempted to drag my gummy shoe along some of the footballers lockers when I heard a door creak open from the intersecting hall.

I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop, and I knew I shouldn't be nosy, but I always found it hard to mind my own business when I barely had any business to mind, and even if I had, my business was not as interesting as the business of others due too me being a particularly mundane person. So, against my better judgement, I peeked around the corner.

The door to the jocks' locker room creaked open dauntingly slow. Everyone was in class, including the jocks, so I almost wrote it off as the gym teacher or one of the coaches. I was only half correct.

Skylar peered around the door. I jumped back, pressing myself flat against the wall. I hoped he didn't see me. I don't know why, but I didn't want him to see me. I wanted to find out why he was in the locker room; he wasn't on any sports teams. So, I very slowly peeked my head back around the corner.

Skylar was beside the door. He hadn't seen me. He stood there swishing and gargling water in his mouth from the bottle he held. He spit it in a nearby trashcan.

I almost gave up my hiding place to ask what he was doing until the locker room door creaked open again.

This time, Mr. Rossi, the football coach, peered out of the door. I sunk my head back again when he looked down the hall.

"Coast's clear." I heard Skylar drawl.

I looked again, and I caught a glimpse of Rossi handing something to Skylar. I didn't notice that it was money until Skylar counted it and shoved it in his pocket. What would he pay Skylar for?

Mr. Rossi gave Skylar a lazy smile. Then, he zipped up the front of his jeans, and disappeared down the hall.

I suddenly felt very light. I knew, seeing Rossi pulling up his zipper, what they had done. I knew. I wasn't sure what happened next, but I remembered that my knees buckled, and the floor felt really sticky against my back. My head hurt. The last thing I saw was Skylar leaning over me. He was tapping my cheek as if that would revive me. He was saying something, and he looked concerned, but I couldn't hear anything. The edges of my vision were blurred, and everything faded to black.

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The fluorescent lights of the nurse's office were terrible on the eyes. It felt like I had been staring into the sun for hours. The beds were worse; the springs dug into my spine, and the pillows were made of feathers whose sharp stems jabbed the back of my head. The office was nothing but institutional-white. The air smelled sterile, and I got a faint whiff of bleach.

When I tried to sit up, my eyes felt unbearably tight in their sockets. I was sure someone put my skull in a vice. Even my eyelashes hurt, and I didn't even think that was possible.

A clammy hand gently pressed my head back down.

"Don't get up. No sense in hurtin' yourself anymore then you already have," snickered the old nurse, Mrs. Wright.

She always reminded me of my grandma. Her graying hair was pulled up in a tight bun, she wore circular-framed glasses, and she had wrinkles by the tens. Especially beside her eyes when she smiled. She always smiled. It was warm, and caring. Despite that, she had the mouth of a sailor, and I'm sure if administration knew, she would be fired. But the students liked her, and it was funny when she cursed, so no one told on her.

I felt a sharp stabbing sensation in my head. I winced.

"I know how you feel, sweetie," said Mrs. Wright. "I've had a lot of hangovers in my life that can be compared to how you feel. You can't tell your ass from a hole in the ground, and it's like your head got backed over by a damn truck. Shit hurts."

I tried to laugh, but that made it worse.

"Take this," she said, handing me a little, white pill. "It'll put the thrust back in your hips in no time." She laughed very loudly, and I winced again.

"Oh, you have someone waiting for you," she added. "I'll go get him, and you should thank him. He carried you all the way here from the gym."

She disappeared behind the white curtain that separated the beds.

I groaned. I'd never felt so miserable in my entire life. Not even that time in sixth grade when I got hit in the head with a football during PE. That was like a butterfly kiss compared to this.

A silhouette approached the curtain, and I thought it was Mrs. Wright again. But she was so unbelievably short, even shorter than Brennyn, and the silhouette was very tall.

A bruised hand pulled the curtain back, and it was Skylar. I couldn't tell if he was pissed, concerned, or if he always looked like that. He stood next to the bed, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at me. I prayed that he wasn't mad.

With a lot of painful effort and more wincing, I managed to sit up. My legs hung over the side of the bed, and the springs groaned whenever I swung one of my feet.

"What happened?" I groaned. The back of my head felt even more sore without the slight cushion of the pillow.

"You fainted," he said.

"Well that's embarrassing," I chuckled.

He didn't.

Awkward.

"What did you see?" he asked. His voice was rough, mildly harsh, and I knew he was irritated, if not pissed.

I blinked. For a moment, I had no idea what he was talking about. Then, painfully, it all came back to me. Skylar... and Mr. Rossi... in the locker room... together.

I seriously contemplated telling him that I hadn't seen a thing, but he knew that I knew what had happened, and telling him that I didn't know would be blatantly lying to his face and he would hate me. I don't think I could handle Skylar hating me. I'd grown far too attached to him, and since I treasured our relationship more than anything, I nervously chuckled, "Oh, just the incriminating stuff."

He sighed, and rubbed his temples.

As much as I wanted to curl into a ball and pretend that none of this was actually happening, I had to know. "You're a prostitute?" I whispered. The word burned my tongue, and I immediately wanted to drown myself right after I spoke it.

He looked at me. His expression was blank, completely unreadable. But he was always unreadable, so it was comforting. Until he sighed again, and he suddenly looked very tired. Not just tired in the sense of needing sleep, but a deep exhaustion of being tired of existing. I knew that look. Very well. I looked like that for a long time after my dad left.

After a while, Skylar spoke. "I wouldn't go as far as saying I'm a prostitute, but I do give a blow once in a while for a few bucks. The chicks I fuck are by choice, so I gotta compromise my disgust of men if I really need money."

I wished I could faint again, but I didn't intentionally faint the first time, so I had to just deal with it.

"So, you're like... gay for pay?" I uttered. The thought made me cringe.

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged, "I don't have sex with them, though. I'd never do that." He cringed too.

"Do you have... sexual relations with all of the teachers?" I asked.

I felt the strong urge to vomit... or die. Preferably the latter.

"No. Just a couple of 'em."

A scowl immediately overtook Skylar's features, and he slammed his fists against the wall on either side of my head. I was sure that I just shit my pants, but this was one of those times where I was scared shitless. Skylar looked murderous. I yelped like a kicked puppy. I was sure I was about to die.

"You can't tell anybody, all right?" he hissed. "If you do, I'd be forced to do some pretty unfortunate things to shut you up, and it'd be a real shame since I actually consider you a friend."

I nodded vigorously. I would make it my priority to never let anyone know about this. This was one of the very few things I would take with me to my grave. Not just because I was afraid of Skylar killing me, which he was perfectly capable of, but mostly because he trusted me. As a friend, he trusted me enough to answer my questions when he really didn't have too. He could have just punched me and walked away. That would have been enough to convince me to never tell a soul about what I saw. But he actually talked to me about it. So, I promised him that I wouldn't tell anyone. Ever.

"Good," he said.

Skylar moved his arms that once trapped me against the wall. He tried to muster a smile, but it really looked like a grimace. It was sad. He told me to feel better soon, then he walked away. His posture was astute and weary as if he carried all the weight of the world on his back... and I believe he did. After he had gone and the curtain stopped shivering from his touch, I cried. I cried for him. I cried really hard. And I knew that wouldn't be the only time I cried for him.

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The next day, I woke up feeling very different, and elected not to go to school. The only way I knew how to describe the feeling was vacancy. I'd felt that way since leaving the nurse's office the day before. I don't even remember how I got home from school. Mom and Cassie were at a parent-teacher conference with Owen and Levi, so I think I walked. I don't remember the walk. I just remembered walking through the front door and feeling really dirty. I sat in the shower for what felt like hours. I think I cried; I couldn't tell if it was me or the shower. After the water got cold, I dried off and got into bed. I laid there for a really long time. Mom, Cassie and the boys came home with pizza. I didn't eat. I didn't talk. I just sat there. Mom thought I was sick, so she gave me an ibuprofen and sent me back to my room. Laying in bed that night, all I thought about was Skylar. I didn't sleep. I cried until dawn. I cried for the entirety of the next day. I didn't answer my phone when the twins or Matt called. I didn't care about the big math test I missed. I didn't even flinch when Owen screamed at me to get out of bed. I just covered my head and thought about how cushioned my life was compared to Skylar's. In that moment, I began to hate. I hated every time I complained or whined about stupid, trivial things. I hated every time I said I hated my life. I hated all the times I wallowed in my own self-pity after my parents broke up. But, mostly, I hated everyone who had an easier life than Skylar. Including me.

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