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Walking the halls

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Marcel Ray Duriez

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“you think you've never been wrong before?"-alex "sure i have why just last week I bought bobbi brown sandwash petal lip gloss when the pink blossom color would have looked so much better with my complexion. needless to say the purchase was a total disaster"- brittney "ill bet"-alex. "havent you ever been wrong before?"-brittany "absolutely. last week, when i robbed that bank over by the walgreens, I told the teller to hand over all the fifties he had in the till. what i really should have asked for was the twenties 'cause there were way more twenties than fifties"- alex "what a disaster"- brittany”

“I made him a promise." Kevin dragged his stare away from Neil's face to follow Andrew's progress. "He's waiting to see if I can keep it." "I don't understand." Kevin said nothing for so long Neil almost gave up waiting for an answer. Finally he explained, "Andrew on his drugs is useless, but Andrew off his drugs is worse. His high school counselor saw the difference between his junior and senior years and swore this medicine saved his life. A sober Andrew is…" Kevin thought for a moment, trying to remember her exact words, and crooked his fingers at Neil as he quoted, "destructive and joyless. "Andrew has neither purpose nor ambition," Kevin said. "I was the first person who ever looked at Andrew and told him he was worth something. When he comes off these drugs and has nothing else to hold him up I will give him something to build his life around." "He agreed to this?" Neil asked. "But he's fighting you every step of the way. Why?" "When I first said you would be Court, why were you upset with me?" "Because I knew it'd never happen," Neil said, "but I wanted it anyway." Kevin said nothing. Neil waited, then realized he'd answered his own question.”

“I lay my fantasy in the backseat of Isa's car and slide in next to her. She snuggles up, using me as her personal pillow, her blond curls sprawled over my crotch. I close my eyes for a second, trying to get the image out of my head. And I don't know what to do with my hands. My right one is on the door armrest. My left one hovers over Brittany. I hesitate. Who am I kidding? I'm not a virgin. I'm an eighteen-year-old guy who can deal with having a hot, passed-out girl next to me. Why am I afraid of putting my arm where it's comfortable, right over her midsection? I hold my breath as I settle my arm on her. She cuddles closer and I'm feeling weird and light-headed. Either it's the aftereffects from the joint or . . . I don't want to think about the "or." Her long hair is wrapped around my thigh. Without thinking, I weave my hands in her hair and watch as the silky strands slowly fall through the V's between my fingers.”

“Why can't you call me Alex?" I ask, my head down while I stare at the food in front of me. "If I wanted to call you Alex, I wouldn't have bothered to name you Alejandro. Don't you like your given name?" My muscles tense. I was named after a father who is no longer alive, leaving me the responsibility of being the designated man of the house. Alejandro, Alejandro Jr., Junior . . . it's all the same to me. "Would it matter?" I mumble as I pick up a tortilla. I look up, trying to gauge her reaction. Her back is to me as she cleans dishes in the sink. "No." "Alex wants to pretend he's white," Carlos chimes in. "You can change your name, bro, but nobody'd mistake you for anythin' other than Mexicano." "Carlos, collate la boca," I warn. I don't want to be white. I just don't want to be associated with my father. "Por favor, you two," our mother pleads. "Enough fighting for one day." "Mojado," Carlos sings, egging me on by calling me a wetback. I've had enough of Carlos's mouth; he's gone too far. I stand, my chair scraping the floor. Carlos follows and steps in front of me, closing the space between us. He knows I could kick his ass. His overblown ego is gonna get him in trouble with the wrong person one of these days. "Carlos, sit down," mi'ama orders. "Dirty beaner," Carlos drawls at me in a fake deep accent. "Better yet, es un Ganguero." "Carlos!" mi'ama reprimands sharply as she comes forward, but I get in between them and grab my brother's collar. "Yeah, that's all anyone will ever think of me," I tell him. "But you keep talkin' trash and they'll think that of you, too." "Brother, they'll think that of me anyway. Whether I want them to or not." I release him. "You're wrong, Carlos. You can do better, be better." "Than you?" "Yeah, better than me and you know it," I say. "Now apologize to mi'ama for talkin' smack in front of her." One look in my eyes and Carlos knows I'm not kidding around. "Sorry, Ma," he says, then sits back down. I don't miss his glare, though, as his ego got knocked down a peg.”

“Where's Shelley?" I ask, scanning the room. "Playing checkers, as usual," Georgia says, pointing to the corner. Shelley isn't facing me, but I recognize the back of her head and her wheelchair. She's squealing, a hint that she won the game. As I get closer to her, I catch a glimpse of who's playing against her. The dark hair should have been a clue that my life is about to be turned upside down, but it doesn't fully register. I freeze. It can't be. My imagination must be going berserk. But when he turns around and those familiar dark eyes pierce mine, reality zings up my spine like a lightning bolt. Alex is here. Ten steps away from me. Oh, God, every feeling I've ever had for him comes rushing back like a tidal wave. I don't know what to do or say. I turn back to Georgia, wondering if she knew Alex was here. One look at her hopeful face tells me she did.”