“I handled myself just fine against ol’ Crack Head over there, didn’t I?” she asked, hooking a thumb behind her.
“Never mind. Whatever. Do what you want.” I stuffed the first taco in my mouth and started heading home.
“A’ight,” Esmer said as if releasing an exhale. “You wanna know why I’m here? I got pissed at my aunt because she was a total bitch to me earlier for no reason. And I mean no reason. I just asked her about some old picture I found in one of her empty bedrooms and she freaked.”
I picked up my pace but she matched it without much effort.
“I mean, I understand not wanting to talk about your family, especially if you’re not on good terms with them, but I was being totally polite about it. Why couldn’t she just say she didn’t wanna talk about it? Why couldn’t she, I don’t know, treat me like a person instead of an inconvenience?”
I shook the excess salsa drippings from my fingers and cast a sideways glance her way. She was watching the ground, face scrunched, the top and longest layer of her red hair rippling in the breeze.
“You’d think after all I’ve been through, I’d be used to being treated like shit but…it still sucks. I mean, I know I’m messed up, but aren’t we all? And don’t everybody deserve a little respect, especially if we’re trying to be respectful?”
The hurt crease between her eyes had me cursing under my breath. I couldn’t leave her now. Not like this. “I’m sorry your aunt is mean, but her place is still safer than it is here. What’s her address?”
Esmer looked up with a grin. “Are you offering to walk me home?”
“This does not mean I’m a good person, so don’t get any funny ideas about us being friends,” I said, raising a menacing finger.
She pretended to look aghast. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Charlie boy.”
“Good. Stop calling me that.”
She finished her beer and tossed the can in the street. “Are you going to eat that second taco?”
“Yeah,” I said, holding it out of reach.
“Okay.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but then her stomach started gurgling.
I handed over my precious taco a few seconds later with a defeated sigh.
“So we’ve established why I’m out here,” she said in between bites. “Why are you?”
“Every once in a while, the unfairness of my sister’s condition and the stupid non-relationship we have with our parents sends me into a rage. So I pay a visit to the closest rage room.”
“Huh,” Esmer said, suddenly thoughtful. “Well, I’ve got some cigarettes if you want to bum a smoke. They always calm me down.”
She pulled out a half empty box of cigarettes which I promptly snatched out of her hand.
Esmer blinked at me, an objection on her lips.
“People die of natural causes and accidents all the time, but occasionally you get a really stupid person who takes their own life. Don’t be stupid, Esmer.” I tossed the box into a nearby trashcan. “These things will kill you.”
“What gives you the right to lecture me?” she demanded. “What do you know about me anyway?”
“Too much, in my opinion.”
“I don’t need your charity,” she said acidly. “I’ll find my own way back to Aunt Dinah’s.”
I scoffed. “Sure you will. Do you even know where you are or where she lives or how to get there from here?”
Esmer looked around at the street signs, her brow set in determination. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
“All right.” I gave her a two-fingered salute. “Good luck. See you in art class.” I walked down the sidewalk, toward home.
It took longer than I thought it would. I was almost a block away before I heard her shout.
“Charlie!”
I casually swiveled around. Cars passed by on the street next to us. The stoplight turned red, forcing the car at the front of the line to slam on its brakes. A chorus of horns sounded in protest.
I waited.
Esmer sighed loudly. I couldn’t see her face but her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I need help.”
I loped back to her. “Where does Aunt Dinah live?”
January 3rd, 1800
Another century gone. Dymeka and I lay by the fire on New Year’s Day, holding each other but not uttering a word. My thoughts weigh heavily on my mind but it has taken me three days to write something, anything. Dymeka must have been absorbed by his thoughts as well for we have not said much of anything to each other. In our heavy silence, I can only guess what he is thinking. But my thoughts are mostly on this unbearable regret and shame. I wish to end this miserable existence, but alas, I cannot.
I cut my hand some time ago, just to see what would happen. The wound closed up only moments after the knife left my skin. The blood remained, which I washed away, but there was no mark, no trace that I ever did any harm to myself. Later, I was stocking the fireplace and touched the flame accidentally. I felt its keen sting but my skin remained untouched. The only proof of the incident was the scorch mark on my sleeve. During these trials, I purposefully starved myself and though I did feel unbelievable hunger for a few days afterwards, I was able to ignore the pain and move about my chores unperturbed. My tongue felt parched from lack of water but I still spoke fluently. I checked my body daily for signs of abuse but found no trace. I am truly undead. Like those monsters one always heard of in fairytales; a creature frozen, unchanging, as time flies past it.
Forever.
I am beside myself with self-loathing. How could I have ever wanted this life? Truly, I wanted to be with Dymeka forever, but I had no idea how long eternity would be. Death seemed so willing to grant us our desire. Mistress of deceit. She said there were no repercussions, save the ones we ourselves created. But how could we
