My mother stood at the kitchen going through the groceries that were in the sink. She had been escaping to the kitchen every morning to go through stuff. Wine. The wine cabinet has been open it wasn't locked anymore. She normally locked the door but no no no. she was going through it. She put a glass down on the counter. I was pretending not to see her I didn't want her face to pull into a disappointed frown.
I didn't think she'd see me if I just turned around and left but she saw me.
"oh Honey!" she turned to me a smile on her face she hasn't smiled in weeks I wondered why she was smiling so wide now.
"hey". I glanced down at the cup of water in my hands wishing I could sink within It.
"so". She placed a wine glass onto the counter and began to fill the cup with liquor. The liquor it swirled around against the glass and I watched it transfixed.
"what do you want? '' I didn't want to ask her because it felt so so weird. I hadint talked to her this week and now she was talking to me she made me want to scream and break. She wanted me to smile. I wasint going to, I didn't want to. Dad would of told me to smile I didn't want to though,
"have you been doing to your writing groups".
"no". I was surprised she even asked. My car hasn't even left the garage. It was gathering dust.
"why". I slammed my hand onto the counter I was showing anger calm down focus focus. There were times now where I felt anger. My fingers still trembled.
"Mijo do not take that tone with me".
"oh really". I was so done with this.
"why do you care".
"Niko hon I wanted to tell you something". Which was a surprise, she didn't even say goodnight to me. not that I needed. I didintt need her to tell me stuff now. Can't she talk when I want to talk. My lips were bleeding.
"what then". I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to leave but somehow I was held captive in this space.
"we got you a writing buddy person I'm not sure what to call him". I laughed a writing buddy p I wanted to ask If she was serious. I've only had one writing buddy through my years. A kid I called him a reader I didn't care enough to know his name. He was like a Shakespearean lover. Shakespeare I inwardly cringed Shakespeare was the worst writer.
"no thanks". I'm not sure why I was even being nice. "i'm not writing anymore"> she took a step back.
"what Niko you love writing".
"well i'm not doing it anymore I don't want to".
"well I told your buddy you'd stop by in the coffee shop tomorrow". I didn't know what to say of course she'd do this without my permission. Then she added quickly.
"he goes to your school". That was my breaking point. I was gone before she could call my name again.
"do you know who Gutter James is' '. The lady behind the counter shrugged her shoulders uninterested. Then pointed to a small table which was lent against the window which was wide open. A kid was sitting at the table with his arms around a laptop which was pink. What boy has a pink laptop in my school? Did you see me with a pik laptop? It would be over but yet this kid didn't seem to mind cradling a pink sparkly laptop in his arms. I glanced up at his features, surprised to see pink fluorescent curly hair on top of a pale intense face, his eyes darted back and fore red across his face. Grinning. He spotted me in almost two seconds of my arrival.
"are you NIKO!". He shouted it almost loud enough so the whole world could hear it. I wasn't even supposed to be here.
"yeah".
"gret". He motioned for me to take a seat. I stood. I didn't want to sit back down sitting down would be handing my power into his hands into my mothers. I didn't sit down and as a result he kept glancing at my face his eyes blue and warm. Like he was looking into my soul. Seeing me piece by piece. His eyes analyzing.
"well anyways i'm Gutter james". I would of laughed Gutter wasn't a name that you would see around here, it was a name known in my group and would have picked an inspirational name as this masterpiece.
"you name".
"you already know my name". He laughed iit sounded raspy and old like he was a million years older than me which was astounding. He looked pretty young, freckles dotted his nose. I wonder what it would feel like if I touched all of them if he flinched. I shake my head. I wasint supposed to think about it now.
"oh yeah right". Eh drew his hand nervously on the table smearing the coffee grains around his fingers. I wondered what I should say should I tell him I really didn't want to come here and that I couldn't write anymore.
"look GUTt".
"its gutter". He winked I sighed
"look gutter". Even saying the name made me cringe. It was so original, something marsha would never do speaking of marsha she had called me seven times over the last week to check on me I didn't answer. I couldn't answer at all.
"my mom is making me do this. I don't want to. I cant write". Even saying the words made my heart sink. I wasint the writer anymore.
"you can write".
Here was this person telling me I can do what I clearly can't he didn't know that was going to happen to me . He didn't realize what was wrong with me. my dad had died you can't recover from it. That was something that would stick in front of your eyes ruining your pencil points. I imagined my mothers face everytime I tried to put my pen to the paper. Here was this gutter looking at me his eyes never wavering.
"can you write a sentence on a napkin?" He fishes around in a leather satchel that was on the table that was the weirdest part. Nobody in our school carried sachets everyone in our school carried back packs some just kept there stuff in the locker. He handed me the napkin placing it down in front of me with a smile.
"everyone can write". I wanted to prove him wrong to show him I couldn't write anymore. If I wrote something would happen I would stop forever. I wondered if my mom knew I looked down at the napkin. It looked like death and not in the best way that it should I imagined strangling the napkin and then I thought about I for a moment no I didn't need to think at all I was going to strangle Gutter. Who did he think he Is sitting there trying to prove something with those black circle glasses pressed up against his face. He sighed opening his notebook to a blank page pressing the pen to the page. So it made an ink blot if I had OCD that would be the end of me. I had always had OCD but this was the worst,
"you know". He was still looking down at me with a sigh. He looked very sad not just annoyed I wondered if he was reading something sad I know I was sad. No I wasn't sad I was devastated. My mom had said when I was younger she gave me anti depressants after our dog toby died. He was a nice dog died way to early. I still had those antidepressants that were stuck in my locker in school. I still took them on a regularly bases not now. Not ever.
"you can't say you can't write look". He took my hand quickly folding his pen into my hand pressing in to the paper. His hands I immediately noticed were warm. Warm lukewarm. Mine were cold probably because I kept my room at -70 It wasn't the most healthy but whatever. His fingers moved my hand across the page tracing his name Gutter. Gutter.
"now you can write". I didn't want to look I didn't want to see the words I had written my hands were trembling. My moms face my dads face Ronis. I couldn't do it I couldn't. Why couldn't I be normal. This isn't normal was it. It wasn't normal to start seeing your dead father cross across your face when you didn't even see him when he was alive all the time. Why was this affecting me I wanted to cry I wanted to scream. Was there a way I could scream and cry at the same time without him noticing. When I was younger my dad and I used to have a great relationship that became bad after a few years. Once my sister Veronica moved out he got kind of quiet. It's not that he didn't like my company it was that he missed his girl his little girl. The last time we talked was when I read his book and asked him about the whole publishing process. He had laughed as he answered drinking water his wrinkled old eyes smiling.
"son you can do whatever you want to do and i'll love you son". To me it sounded like a question. Was he wondering if he still loved me. did he still love me now. I didn't know if he would still move me. I always knew I wasn't perfect for him. But I was me. I always look at other peoples family. Other peoples.
"are you alright your hands are shaking".
"im going". I grabbed my jacket and notebook from where I threw it. I needed to get out of here. I needed to leave. But there wasn't enough room for me to go, there weren't enough places for me to cry. When I wanted to he tried to stand up to hurriedly shoving his stuff into his jacket.
"don't leave".
But I was already out the door before he could say anything else. My answer wasa ring of a bell.