The white board in the pen pals room was flipped over on its side so we could see what was written. Quinn's name.
Then Marsha and then Gutter finally mine was at the very bottom. It felt weird to be in this room under the strange glow of the small flickering lightbulb above us. I don't know why we never change it. I had tried to talk to marsha but she just looked at me with a crease in her forehead before shrugging her shoulders. The seating was this . Marsha was laid out on the couch rereading her rough draft. She had said that she was on her 200th page and I should be glad but a part of me couldn't be glad that she was here and I haven't even continued the story. My laptop sat on the coffee table. I couldint look at it. I couldint look at all the shit I had written. Gutter sat on the floor belly down with his notebook next to him. He was smiling but what was there to be happy for. Why was he happy? I didn't know why he could be happy when I was so sad.
"ever heard of Shakespeare". He turned over on his side facing me with a smile. Sure I had heard of Shakespeare he specializes in killing off lovers I shook my head though I didn't really know him. In 5th grade we were excpected to read Romeo iand Juliet (the less depressed version) and I had gagged. Love was a weird thing I didn't like love or the idea of it it made me feel. Less than I had never experienced love at all love. Love love. That's all I here people talking about these days. Love. I had ever liked a girl before the only girl I could remember was. None there was a kid in middle school that I thought I liked but I was just being pressured into liking her. I shook my head I couldint think of that now. I needed to ans=wser his question.
"yeah everyone has". He nodded as if he didn't quite belive me.
"do you know something hes written". I have heard a few things but they never stuck inmy head long enough for me to care.
"yeah, art thou Romeo or that shit". He laughed as if he was trying to be afended I didn't care I didn't care bout a lot of things he clutched his heart over his shirt and laughed. How could someone so pink have a laugh that went like like bells. It mesed up my mind. Twisting my thoughts.
"that Shit". He joined me from wehere I was sitting in the other couch. It was an old rusted couch Marsha had bought because she claimed this was less expensive then buying a new couch though I think she liked it this way. The lights so dim like you were in a romantic setting. He turned to me flipping his laptop over so could see a picture of a man with a weird sort of goatee jeez men wore a lot of goatees in the rensoaunce era.
"that's Shakespeare".
"uh hhuh". He was acting like Iwas dumb when Iwasint dumb I was just confused to why he would bring up Shakespeare at a time like this.
"Shakespeare is amazing did you know the queen liked him". That was one of the facts I was aware of.
"sure he is I think he was just the first one of his kind to do that so here you go hes a savior". If gutter laughed he didn't seem to. To me Shakespeare always seemed fake like he was just a fiction person a wrid one. How could someone write stories like this and preach them to the world I bet he didiint know that shakesperae actually was the son of a glove maker.
"so you don't believe in old Will". The way he said that made it seem as if they were friends. Which they couldn't of been. It made sense he liked Shakespeare only weird people like him and he was weird which was beyond the pint really. The point was that Shakespeare I s a weird person no one writes a story about two people being poisoned im not sure if that was the actual plot of Shakespeare. Or whatever I could have been for all I cared. Which I didn't my dad used to say didn't care a lot which maybe I didn't. Caring I didn't like to care when I didint care it definitely wasn't something.
"no I don't ".
"comone".
"shut up". I didn't realize until I said I that I was being mean But if he cared he didn't show it maybe he didn't care about a lot of things to. That was a nice hing for me to think back in my brain I would never say it allowed dispit how mean I was that just wasint me I didn't want o be rude. If my dad was here he would frown opon me. I wonder what my mother would say she definintly wouldint say.
"mijo mijo calm down". She would yell at me she would normally eylll at me when I did things like not finishing my food. We normally had Mexican food.
"im sorry for pushing you". He ran a hands through his hair tossing it this way or that. I had wanted to die my cocoa colored hair but I was never allowed. I wonder what it was like.
"yeah you should be". I glance down at my notebook trying to ignore him. I wanted to ignore him but the look he gave me was like he wanted to talk to me . like he was tryingto get me out of my slump of cose I knew it wasn't just a slump a slump didn't feel lke this it didn't feel like I was si lost in my self. When I was. It was like I was in mud and I couldn't get out. Dad. Why couldint he be here now. He touched the notebook in his hands giving me a sad look I mustove hurt his feelings he was the same as me notebook alittle quirky and yet I was looking at him like I could kill him.
"I'm sorry". My voice cam out soft like it wasn't yet molded into a cookie it wasint strong it was broken but maybe that's who I was broken and cold and sad. Sad sad sad. That was me I was always going to be sad there was no changing it.
"im just I cant do it anymore".
he gave me a sympathetic glance. "yes you-". I cut him off he didn't know what he was saying.
"no I cant find words anymore". My fingers trembled my lips puckerd. I was going to cry there was always a thing that I told myself everyday. You never cry at school. He flipped a page in his notebook closing it wit a snap and a slap.
"I don't know what's wrong with you but". He gave me a small smile one that showed his frount tooth which was chipped.
"but Im here you know". He handed me a slip of paper with a G and his number. I kind of laughed I didn't know what to do.
"thanks I guess'.
"no need to metion it". He sat back on the couch picking up his notebook in his hands once more his eyes zeroing in on me. I picked up my notebook reading the chicken scratched lie that I had written I traced mmy hand over the page.
He smiled