#paraz

August took a deep breath as he casually walked through the eerily empty streets of Manhattan. The only reason they were empty was because it was three in the morning and anyone who had a life was fast asleep. Yet, there was August carrying a plastic bag full of convenient store foods and a messenger bag. With a quick look over his shoulder, he turned down a street and deviated from his normal route.

Picking up his pace, he held a tight grip on the strap of his bag as he jogged down the narrow street. His breath came out in cloudy puffs when he slowed to a stop suddenly. He looked to the building on his left, searching for a light in the apartment on the fifth floor. But like he remembered, the windows were dark and a light blue sheet of paper was still taped to the door: “Looking for an apartment? Look no further! The fifth floor is free and it was owned by a celebrity!” He wanted to be able to make out two figures bickering about something or other in the window. Maybe even a smaller silhouette would appear and join the side of the tallest.

August frowned, why was he standing there? Why had he come to this place? “Fucking hell…” He cursed, running a hand though his hair out of frustration. He knew she wouldn’t be there, she hadn’t been there for months. But there was always that foolish, naïve part of him that hoped maybe one day she’d come back. Whether she had forgotten something in her old apartment, or she wanted to see the holiday window displays – he just wished she would suddenly be there. Yet, he also knew that she had moved on, like everyone else, and to do bigger and better things. She had to raise her daughter and become a better model than Naomi Campbell. She needed to leave and that she did. “Night, Cecilia…” August whispered, before he turned away and went back the way he had come.

August continued his journey home, passing the New York Zoo. He walked passed the entrance and stopped short of making it to the end of the block. He turned around and walked back to the gated entrance of the zoo. He stood there for a moment, the faint laughter of a particular little girl ringing in his ears. “Those damn butterflies,” August laughed quietly, a strange pinging in his chest. He moved closer to the gate, grabbing one of the cold metal bars, and tried to see the memory more clearly. But the darkness was too thick and the pain was too much, so he let his hand fall away as he backed up.

For a brief moment, his mind drifted and he wonder how the young girl was. A shiver down his spine pushed that thought out, bringing painful memories with it. A family of brunettes and singers. They were always meant for each other. From the beginning they were loved, and for a good reason. Both of them were kind and friendly, constantly watching out for others. But they were gone now, they too had moved on. August didn’t bother to stay a moment longer, tears stinging the back of his eyes. He briskly walked away, mumbling to himself, “Fucking Scotts…”

August resisted the urge to go anywhere else he’d be reminded of the people he loved. He avoided Central Park and Rae, he avoided the bakery and Jazz, he avoided the bookstore and Fay, he avoided Radio City Hall and Lotus, he avoided everything he could. He just wanted to get home, to eat dinner, to cuddle, and then go to bed. And maybe never wake up again to this nightmare.

August violently stabbed his key into the keyhole and opened the door to his apartment. The lights were off and that meant one of two things: he was asleep or he was gone. Recently, he had always been gone, busy with work or friends. August trudged into his home, taking off his messenger bag and leaving it on the floor. He sat the plastic bag on the kitchen counter and took off his leather jacket, draping it over the corner of the island. He warmed the small container of soup he had bought in the microwave and pulled a beer out of the fridge. Feeling lazy and too tired, August didn’t bother turning on any lights and ate in the dark. Of course, that was a bad idea, because his mind roamed as he ate his tomato soup.

Everyone was gone, in one form or another. Most had moved out of New York to continue to pursue their dreams or to raise their families. Others had stopped coming around because work kept them busy and they didn’t have the time they used to. August was still there though, and maybe that was the loneliest part. The thought of being somewhere that held so many memories, some pleasant, some painful – but not being able to leave. It was like being stuck in time, while everyone you loved continued to move on. Not being able to catch up with them, but watching their backs in the distance get farther and farther away. August was in last place of a race he couldn’t seem to win. Even Brooklyn had left him behind.

Sometimes…

Sometimes I lay awake at night, studying the cracks in the ceiling. I can make out little shapes, images, things. And then I feel the stinging in the back of my eyes. The sting that is ever so present when I can’t sleep, the sting that is so strong when I can’t find the words, the sting that burns that elusive feeling into my brain. Into that soft, sponge, glob of a mess that I’m forced to label a “brain”.

I don’t have a brain. I can’t explain why, but it’s non-existent. Sometimes I like to pretend that I was in an accident as a child. My brain took substantial damage and was removed for my survival. That easily explains the uncontrollable nerves, the lack of normality, the fact that words are impossible for me. Welcome to the mindless world of August Rice, please keep all comments and offending hand gestures to yourself and enjoy the ride.

Maybe I should have known though, I mean, looking back it was obvious. The fights, the switching of schools, the humiliation. Sometimes it’s a wonder how I ever made it through. In fact, now they call me. Asking if I’m single or if I’m busy, wanting to see me, talking to me, socializing with me. I still haven’t figured out if they’re being sincere or if this is just another jab at my “differences”. That’s how my mother referred to it, for the longest time, she never said one word more. “Differences.”

I’m not sure whether I chose it or whether it just came to me naturally. It just occurred to me one day, that’s all. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I didn’t fight it hard enough and I accepted it too soon. Perhaps my “differences” wouldn’t have defined me if I had just put a little more effort into being normal. I did try though, for a while I pretended that I didn’t know, that it wasn’t true. But it didn’t last. Nothing ever does. You’re given just enough time to enjoy it, to love it, before it’s ripped away from you like a bullet tearing through your flesh, leaving only a scar to remind you. Nothing ever lasts.

He moves. My eyes peel away from the ceiling to the being beside me. Sometimes I wonder if he hears me. If he can hear my heartbeat race out of control just before I rush to the bathroom. Before I have to look myself in the face and realize that I’m a “spitting image” of him. I have his eyes, that’s what she said. Or was it his smile? Did it really matter though? No, not when all you had to do was look in the mirror and you saw him. You saw his flaws sewed into yours, and you can’t unknot them and you know - you just know - that you’re going to turn out like him.

It’s the same feeling you get in your stomach when you realize that you love something that will never truly be yours. That feeling of not being able to claim it, to love it wholly with all your soul and heart, because it just isn’t yours. It can’t be yours, but you love it in its entirety anyway. Of course when that day comes though, when you feel it slipping through your fingers, like the flowing blood - you just can’t seem to stop - that’s spewing out of her neck, you try to fight it. But that day is finally here and you must let go, you have to let go. For both of your sakes.

I can’t do this. I will do this. I don’t have to do this. I can’t back out now. I wanted to do this. Whose idea was this? Why am I doing this? Why can’t I do this? I’m doing this. But. But. But what? Too late, much too late. Choices, decisions, realizations. Why? Why? Why not? Who will stop you? Who can stop you? No one. No one but yourself. Yet, it was you who put you there and that was your choice. So, now what? What now? Too late, too late…

And then I wake up. Eyes glued to the ceiling, because dear god please don’t make me go back to sleep. But I can't get up, for fear of waking him, because I can’t bare to face him. Sometimes, I just stare at the ceiling, hours pass before I move. Before I accept the facts and just pretend like it’s okay. Because it is okay, it’s always been okay. I’m okay, everything is okay. You force that charming smile, prying a carefree laugh from your throat, that sting in the back of your eyes. But it’s okay. Everything is okay. And yet sometimes…

August briskly walked through the chilly night air, trying to avoid bumping into people. Most people looked in a rush to get home or to get dinner, maybe meet friends, but then there was August. Rushing to get to Cecilia's in record time. He's still late to everything he goes to, but at least he tries to be on time.

August jumped out of the shower, for the fifth time that day, and grabbed a v-neck and some jeans. Making sure to grab his wallet, he shoved it into one of his back pockets. Rushing out of his front door, he was completely oblivious to the keys that sat on the kitchen counter.