treatswords

His truck hummed outside, I stared out my window and tried to sneak out as quietly as I could. I pictured my dad running down the stairs, out the door screaming, “Where the fuck are you going?”

His truck was yellow, the brightest yellow I had ever seen. But in the night, it looked like butterscotch.

His window was cracked and I could hear him whistling.

I hopped in the passenger seat.

“Wanna swig?”

He held out a bottle of spiced rum, only backwash remaining.

I wanted to impress him, so I took a long pull.

He took off down the road, we finished the bottle while listening to the sounds of the night.

He pulled up to his house.

It sat on a slanted hill, surrounded by a thick layer of brush.

It had always reminded me of the instant pudding I used to eat as a kid.

A vanilla color with a drop of yellow thrown in.

We went inside.

I stayed too long, he pushed me out without telling me to leave.

I waved goodbye watching a yellow fish bubble to the surface of it’s tank in his living room.

My heart ached. But I am not sure when it didn’t. It had lived in a permanent state of broken for some time now.

I muttered under my breath as I walked home.

“I will not see him again.”

“He probably won’t reach out to you anyway.”

“But if he does….you will NOT reply.”

“Do you want to keep feeling this way?”

I walked into my yard.

I heard the slam of a door.

My dad was letting the dog out.

He looked up at me and looked at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“What time is it?”
“Late.”

“Where were you? How long have you been gone?”

“Out and not long.”

“Jesus! You wreak of booze!”

“I know.”

I shut the door and went downstairs.

I tucked myself under my banana colored comforter.

I swore off the yellow truck, the pudding house. I swore myself off of him. His blonde hair, gapped-teeth and crescent shaped birth mark that curved above his right eye.

I swore off the color yellow.

I would burn my comforter in the morning.