One Song
It’s been so lonely without you in my arms
Every day keeps passing yet I yearn for you more
I feel like a bird without its song
Trapped alone down here without you
But I know that I don’t belong
That heaven has no place for me beside you.
So, the only thing I can do.
Is to tell your truth.
-Glory
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I’m an terrible person at lying, the worst you’ve ever seen in Crystal Cove or any town near us. It’s really bad. So when that man by the hot dog stand spotted my blotchy face and whizzed breath, he shouted to make sure I was okay. Naturally, I told him that I had forgotten my shoes at the local shoe export which was a sheer lie. I never even heard of a shoe export, and I certainly was too broke to buy anything.
He didn’t buy it, I could tell from his look that he knew I was lying but I simply couldn’t bring myself to care.
It was too late to call a cab or anything, so I just walked the streets, dreading every single moment that passed. I couldn’t go back to the apartment complex, not after the stunt I had pulled. So with a heavy heart, I decided to continue my solo journey, walking to the only station in town.
If I couldn’t go back, the best I could do was go forward. The station wasn’t too far ahead, but the temperature was freezing and the heavy snow made it hard to walk as if I was walking in mud.
I was certainly lucky when I got to the station because I only had to wait ten minutes for a train to arrive and there weren’t many people strolling about. The few that were standing under the green roof of the station were either drunk, lost, homeless, or some combination of the three.
It was fun watching the crowd for a while. Night had a way of revealing the true nature of people and it was half tempting to figure out who everyone was. In the corner, a trio of drunk college girls laughed and bawled like crazy, their high shrieks piercing the night. While, on a different scale, a drunk man snored away on a worn bench, his frayed and tattered brown jacket wrapped around his thin form to protect against the bitter elements.
But like most things in the world, the passing excitement of watching the crowd only temporarily distracted me from the feelings I so desperately wanted to hide from.
I deserved it, I shouldn’t have blown up at my friends but I was angry. Angry that the world kept throwing punches even though I was down, that people could have fun while I worried about where my next meal was, and the very fact that they could think that they were safe when my whole life was in constant danger. Life was unfair, it picked on people like me and avoided those who deserved it.
And to make things even worse, today was the day I had lost Bernardo so everything was even more fucked up than usual.
That’s why I wanted to get on the train, to take me far away from everything so that I may forget my troubles and past.
When the train arrived, the bubbling anticipation weaned and I found myself dreading the mechanical machine. Usually, I like riding trains at night when time permits itself, with the lights of the city down and the sky inky black so that even the dullest stars can shine bright in comparison to the skylight. But I wasn’t quite in the mood as I stepped onto the train and walked towards an empty compartment in the back, picking up one of those cheesy magazines to occupy myself as I waited for the men in black suits to go down the halls, passing steaming cups of coffee to the passenger.
It just felt different and depressing as I read about the growing AIDS epidemic in the local news article before throwing it at the seat opposite of me. Reading it made me angry and at this point, I just wanted to curl up in a bowl and do nothing. So I took off my hunting hat, and used it as a cushion against the hard window, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift.
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All of a sudden the train jerked forward, stirring me from my restless slumber as I watched three drunk men join my empty compartment. I watched them stumble toward my section before taking a seat, their clothes reeking of whisky and cigars that pervaded like a thick smog through the small space.
They reminded me of my dad, that drunk bastard who spent all night at the bar and left me in the care of my psychotic mother. Watching them, I felt dread creep up on me, noticing mud splattered on their nice suits and the way their eyes darted across the compartment as if they were searching for trouble.
Anyway, we were sitting there, alone and in the dark, and all of a sudden the ring leader of the gang spoke, another whiff of whisky hitting me full force, “Hey faggot!”
They were eyeing my coat, spotting the darn pin I wore that was decorated with the rainbow flag. I know I was corny for wearing it, but it was a gift given to me by Bernado who made me promise that I would always wear it.
My silence didn’t seem to bother them as they continued hollering and shouting degenerate terms at me. I had pulled my hat down over my ear in an attempt to block out the noise, wishing that I could disappear into the leather seat and hide with the shadows.
Despite ignoring them, they continued hollering after me, giggling like a bunch of old-time friends who were having a lovely time and all. Pathetic really, a bunch of filthy pigs who could only knock down those who were already down.
And they knew what they were doing, laughing as I fidgeted nervously with my coat. I hated them, they were not the last or the first. When I was kicked out of my parent’s house back in Little Rock, Rhode Island, I was beaten up right in the alleyway by a sandwich shop as a fat-assed co sat in his cruiser nearly feet away, laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world, a real comedy those son of a bitches.
It was times like these that made me wish I had Bernado’s strength, he never let anyone make fun of him or his family. I wasn’t like him, had no strength or anything and the best I could do was pray the train would stop soon.
By the time we got to the next stop, I immediately left the train and entered a silent little train station just outside the outskirts of the city. My heart raced and I knelt underneath an arch, taking time to gather up my breath, breathing in the stinging cold.
You wouldn’t even believe it had snowed earlier at all. There was hardly any snow on the sidewalk except for miniature patches that glister underneath the city lamps, sparking like a thousand splendid dreams. But it was still cold, so I put on my hunting hat before suddenly my blood turned cold.
God, my heart was jumping all over the place and I swore it was going to jump right out in the street as I turned, the familiar stench of whisky singed my nose.
It was the three men back from the train, they must follow me, those clowns, trying to ruff me up. They sure as hell did just that, as I stepped back but I knew what was coming before they even did it.
The leader of the group, the one with the hole in his front tooth, punched me. I didn’t even have time to doge or even duck. All I felt was this stinging pain in my stomach.
I wasn’t knocked out though, because I remember being on my knees, staring down at the cold concrete as I tried to keep my lunch in me. The trouble was that I forgot to look up, and before I knew it, I was getting pummeled.
They were punching me everywhere, ripping at my exposed skin and clothes as blood seeped out of my mouth. I tried to curl up, but they kicked me in the ribs till I sure as hell felt one of them break under the assault. Blood pooled around me, soaking me to the bone as I shivered, coughing up bile and more plasma.
I was crying, tears, blood, and black vomit stinging my eyes and pouring down my face. A pretty depressing sight, don’t you think? They continued to throw punches and kicks, I whimpering on the cold floor, wishing it all to stop as I cried for Bernado. Nobody was willing to help me, nobody at all. I was alone and the thought drove in with every single connected hit.
Tom Gordon, the leader of the group as I found out later, just watched his goonies beat me up before grabbing my face roughly. On his finger, he wore two brass rings, plain ones that he had made in shop class when he was just a delinquent in high school. And I watched his fist rise up, out of my sight before it connected with my face, tearing into my bottom lip and shattering two of my teeth up to the gum line.
I don’t remember the rest, at that point I passed out, waking only to see their fleeting movement in the night as I lay there, shivering and cold. They stole my jacket, my hat, my dignity, and everything that mattered to me.
The trouble was I thought I was dying, everything seemed so distant and far away, and a part of me wanted to give up then and there. I couldn’t breathe, every breath sucked away all of my energy, and for a while, I thought of the news my body would bring.
The movies lied, dying wasn’t fun nor was it painless. I’m not kidding.
Just as I was about to blackout, a friendly light decided to illuminate my pathetic body, radiating it with warmth. It was just my luck, all the world could see my miserable self as I lay dying.
And yet, as the world faded away and the bitterness inside me took hold, the last I remember was a gentle face picking me up.
A part of me thought I was hallucinating, for a split second the charming smile on Bernardo’s face welcomed me as he stared back at me.
The world thought it was funny, pathetic really, I thought as I drifted off, closing my eyes as I breathed my last breath.