Part 54: James
James got home somewhere between seven and eight. He was starving, but he couldn’t go for the refrigerator right away, even though she had surely saved him leftovers, because if he had really been out with friends they would have eaten something. At least fast food or gas-station snacks. The cheaper, the greasier - the better. That was what people like him were supposed to eat. Not a goddamn salad every night.
And he couldn’t go for the computer, either, because she was on it - doing what? He tried to catch a glimpse as he stood idly, awkwardly in the kitchen, but all he could see was a black background and a lot of text, arranged into rectangular boxes. Not work, not Myssenger (thank God) - a message board of some sort?
James settled for the bathroom, even though he didn’t really have to go. He flushed the toilet, ran the faucet for ten seconds or so, wiped his still-dirty hands on the decorative towel, and then looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was matted, his white t-shirt stuck to his skin. He looked sweaty and tired: the way someone like him was supposed to look. The way he would look after climbing all the way to the top of the mountain with Hannah to tell her he was in love with her. (“Like” wasn’t strong enough. That was why he always said no when people asked if he liked her.)
It occurred to James that he had left his backpack on the computer chair, so Susan must have moved it. He burst out of the bathroom, letting the door hit the wall on his way out, to confront her. “Did you move my backpack?” he said accusingly.
She minimized whatever she was reading but didn’t turn around. “It’s on the couch. Did you have a good afternoon?”
“I didn’t ask where it was, I asked if you moved it.”
“Well, it didn’t grow legs and walk over there,” she replied pleasantly. “Yes, I moved it.”
“Okay. Well, in the future, can you just please not touch my things?” James said, keeping his voice as even and emotionless as he could. “If I put it there, obviously that’s where I wanted it.”
“Other people need to use the computer, honey.” She still sounded calm, almost cheerful, like she was on drugs or something. Plus there was something eerie about the way she was still staring at the screen, even though it was only showing the desktop background: a too-green field, a too-blue sky.
“What do you need the computer for?” he snapped.
“That’s really not your business. I don’t ask you what you’re doing when you’re on there. And it’s not just me. It’s your sister and your father, too.”
“Dad doesn’t even know how to turn on the computer. And Becca’s ten.”
“So? That’s not the point, James.”
“What is the point, then?” James felt his face getting red, like it always did when he was angry. His stomach growled again. “And can you actually turn around and look at me like I’m a human being?”
She spun around in the chair to face him. She looked haggard, drained - from staring at a screen for so long, probably; tired the way people do when they’ve just woken up from a nap, which was so different from the way James himself looked tired that it seemed strange to give them the same name.
xx themachine: isn’t it weird how like
xx themachine: a chiwawa (idk the spelling)
xx themachine: and a rottweiler or a great dane
xx themachine: look SO different
xx themachine: but they’re both called dogs
XxXSuicidesXGraceXxX: chihuahua lmao
XxXSuicidesXGraceXxX it’s mexican
XxXSuicidesXGraceXxX but yeah i know what you mean
She always knew what he meant. He didn’t have to explain things to her. That was why he loved her.
“The point is,” Susan said, back in the present, “you can’t just leave your stuff lying around wherever you want like you’re the only person who lives here. You’ve got your room for that.”
“My room is clean, if you haven’t noticed,” he snapped. It had been four whole days since he had cleaned his room, and apparently no one was going to acknowledge it. Now that he said it out loud, he realized that it had been bothering him.
“I did notice. And thank you for cleaning it.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know. I’m just saying I appreciate it anyway.”
“Alright, whatever. But can you just leave my backpack alone from now on?” This couldn’t be about the computer; it had to be something else. “I just really don’t like it when people mess with my things. I’ve got personal stuff in there.” This wasn’t a lie because his school papers were his personal property; they even had his name on them.
“As long as you agree to keep it out of the way,” she said, clearly getting ready to swivel back to the screen; itching for it. “Deal?”
“Sure, fine, deal.” James barely knew what he was agreeing to. Something that would be used against him at some point.
“Did you eat? There’s leftover chicken and rice in the fridge.”
“I already ate, thanks though,” James said, walking back into the kitchen anyway. Not a lie; he had eaten lunch at school. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched the last evening light fade to black through the window, feeling like he had lost. But lost what? He didn’t give a damn about the backpack, and the computer was worthless without Hannah. That was all he needed: five seconds to check if she was on, and then his mom could have the computer for the rest of the night for all he cared. But he couldn’t ask, just like he couldn’t eat.