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Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 8 "About Michaela. Ask me anything you want to know about her. I'll tell you. This is stupid. No sense losing my head over a piece of ass. It's cool. What do you want to know about her?" "Nothing. I mean, everything, but not from you. I kinda want to let it unfold naturally, you know. It's more fun that way, like a Christmas present." Brandon blew air out his nose and said, "Kyle, why don't you get down on your knees and beg me to kick your ass?" Dad banged on the wall and told us both to shut the hell up. We waited in silence until we were sure that was it from him, and Brandon pulled me up by my throat. Brandon and I are of similar build, except that I'm a little taller and he's a little stronger. This always left my body exposed but gave me an excellent vantage point to witness the seconds before he let into me. Whoever said the Ottomans were superior warriors because they had the high ground was full of shit. Sometimes, you know, if everything was quiet and I had no petty obligations to distract me, I thought I could see God. I don't mean to get all metaphysical; I know it's meaningless, but I'm just saying. The kitchen table sat in front of a set of French windows on the east side of the house, and I liked to take my coffee there in my pajamas, feel the early sun, and stare out the windows. In these moments I believed the world to make perfect sense and would wonder how I ever suspected otherwise. I refueled, healed, and felt the world align around me, and I was grateful. It showed me that the life around me-my family, school, and everything-wasn't really "life" at all. All that was actually in the way, distracting me from life. |
