Free Punk and Zen by JD Glass Page A

yeah, roommates. I had two. Captain, otherwise
known as Cap, who was a police officer and had a room of his own, and Jackie, a
good friend who’d invited me to move in when life became unlivable at my
parents’, since they’d given me the boot because I couldn’t fit in with their
master plans for my life. But that’s another story.
    Fuck it. Since the room, located right off the living
room, was really small, Jackie and I shared a bed, which wasn’t quite the
hardship that it would seem, given that I spent half my time downstairs in
Trace’s. But when Jackie came home, and she would soon, since she worked at
another local bar and was probably doing the after-hours hangout, she’d want to
talk, at the very least, and I was in no mood to chat or to sleep next to
anyone, at all.
    I took a pillow from the bed and a blanket from the
closet and made myself a nest on the sofa. Why is it that a pullout sofa feels
terrible when you pull it out, but leave it closed, and it’s great for
sleeping? I was glad I’d left that light on by the stove because I hated
sleeping in the pitch-black dark, and Jackie always shut off the small lamp I’d
leave lit on the dresser in our room.
    Satisfied with my bed engineering, I lay down on my
side. Definite mistake. The moment my knees touched, my favorite body part
twinged. My poor buddy, all pain and no gain. I didn’t have another pillow, and
since I hate to let my head droop to the side and I didn’t feel like sleeping
on my back, I scrunched up the blankets between my knees. That was better—not
much, but better.
    I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I thought I was
dreaming when I heard Jackie come in, talking with Trace. I guess they must
have gone to the after-hours together. That wasn’t too surprising. Jackie and
Trace had been best friends since high school (in fact, I’d met Trace through
Jackie) and were twenty-three and twenty-four, respectively, to my twenty. ABC
They were definitely a lot more used to partying than I was, on every
level.
    “Hey, she’s sleeping.” Jackie’s voice was pitched low.
    “Yeah, well, it’s been a full night,” Trace whispered
back. “She hooked up with this girl and…” The rest trailed off into a quieter
whisper that I couldn’t make out, and I didn’t care. I snuggled tighter under
the blanket, forcing myself back to deeper sleep.
    In that mostly unconscious state, I thought I heard
Trace say that she needed to talk with me, and I heard Jackie say good night
and go to bed.
    I drifted further into darkness, everything silent,
and I was warm, toasty warm. A body pressed against my back, and arms wrapped
around and held me firmly, but with love.
    I dreamt of the beach, and ocean-colored eyes, and for
the first time in ages, held warmly in that embrace, I dreamt of an old friend,
maybe the best friend I’d ever had, Samantha, standing before me by the surf as
the sun went down, the light catching on the pendant I’d just given her as a
birthday present.
    She smiled at me in the setting sun. “If you’re ever
lonely, come to me. I know what it’s like to be lonely. If people hurt you,
because you’re not like them, come to me. I know what it’s like to be
different. When you hurt, when you ache, let me take that from you. I ache,
too,” I heard as a whisper in my ear. A soft hand caressed my cheek, and the
sun, surf, and Samantha disappeared. I had truly been dreaming, after all.
    I missed her so much my muscles cramped with the
longing, a hard ache that ran through my bones the way it does when you’ve
spent the night sleeping cold, and a chill chased after it as I realized it was
Trace’s voice I heard. But this time, I really couldn’t move at all; I was just
too damned tired. Trace had somehow wrapped herself behind me on the sofa. Her
body pressed against mine, her arms held me, her words sank into my brain.
Every single one of them broke my heart.
    “Let me take care of you. You will never feel lonely,
or hurt, or