I’ve never been good at making friends, and after starting high school, I realized this would never change. I was isolated freshman year, I was isolated sophomore year, and in a few weeks when junior year starts, I will continue to reside in solitude.
I’ve always done fine on my own, I enjoy being by myself. People get on my nerves more than anything. Still, I’ve found staring at the ceiling alone in my room for hours on end can get old. My parents seem to be tired of it too.
“Leo, you’ve spent your entire summer in your bedroom.” My mom gives me one of her disapproving looks. I get this look at least three times a day.
“I have everything I need in here.” I say.
“No sunlight, no exercise, no human interaction. You need to go out and get some fresh air.” She walks over the dirty clothes on my floor and pulls up my blinds.
I roll my eyes. “Do I really need any of that?”
I get the look. “Go walk your dog.”
“Ground’s too hot for his paws.”
“Then go walk yourself. I’m not going to let you spend the last weeks of your summer cooped up in here.”
“I’ll take him out tonight.”
“No, you need some sunlight, some vitamin D.”
I hold up my half-empty bottle of Sunny-D.
“That doesn’t count.” She says. “I’m serious, go to the pool. Drive to the desert, walk to the park. Do something, Leo.”
Whatever. I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and stretch. She leaves my room. I pull on some shorts and a tank top. I shove my feet into an old pair of tennis shoes and grab my keys off the kitchen table. I call Alton to the truck and heft him into it. He’s a three year old pound mutt, Bernese Mountain dog and something. Great dog, he loves to lay in my room and do nothing.
My truck is a beat up old Chevy Suburban, I love my truck. It rumbles to life and I back out of the driveway. Although I tend to prefer my room, I do love the desert: the mountains, the miles of open nothingness, the smell of sagebrush. There’s this shallow canyon I always go to, I can drive right up to it. From there, it’s a short hike to this great spot with a nice bristlecone pine tree for shade. It’s harder to hike in the spring when there’s water flowing, but it’s dried up right now and the perfect spot to relax well away from my mother—who I love dearly.
We get to the canyon and Alton jumps out before I can stop him, he skids down the gravelly slope to the bottom of the canyon. The sun beats down on us, sagebrush and exposed roots pull at my clothes and Alton’s fur, he knows where we’re going.
I plop down on a rock shaped like a flattened armchair right underneath the tree. Alton lays in the cool sand and I pour some water into a little bowl for him. This dog is my best friend and the only one I need. This dog and the desert are the only things I need to be happy, it’s crazy my mom doesn’t understand that.
I watch a blue belly climb to the top of a rock a few feet away in the sun, he starts doing pushups and only just gets away before Alton can catch him. Gnats buzz in my ears, a bluebird lands on a piece of sagebrush a flits away. A few vultures circle in the distance, doves call in the tree above me. Alton returns from his hunt for the lizard and I give him some more water.
Clouds drift lazily overhead and as the sun begins to set the wind begins to blow. I get tired of rubbing sand out of my eyes and decide it’s time to go home.
Despite the breeze, I’m dripping sweat by the time we reach the truck. The drive back is almost surreal, it always is. Travelling from the serene, peaceful aura of the desert to the quiet bustle town. It’s like going from one world to another. I get home and Mom is making dinner: pork chops, corkscrew pasta, and green beans.
“Where’d you go?” Dad asks, he’s sitting on the couch watching Good Eats. Without me.
“Desert, what’d I miss?” I quickly realize it’s just a rerun, one of my favorites—barbeque pulled pork.
Dad catches me up, even though he must know there’s no need—I know this recipe by heart. I have an unhealthy obsession with this show. I don’t like most of the shows other kids my age watch, but I am a diehard foodie, especially when it comes to Alton Brown.
“Dinner time.” Mom calls us from the kitchen, we turn off the TV and gather at the table. Mom is no professional chef but her food is good. I don’t need homemade pasta and fresh green beans, cooking is more of a hobby, not a lifestyle.
“When was the last time you checked the mail?” Mom asks, and I know this is going to be about school, which will turn into talk about extracurriculars and college and the future, all of which I try very hard not to think about.
“Dunno.”
“Take your dog and check it after dinner.” Dad says without making eye contact.
I don’t say anything, just nod and stuff my face with pasta. We finish dinner and I clean up, hoping they’ll forget about the mail if I play good son. No luck. As I finish the dishes Dad hands me Alton’s leash.
I huff and grab the mail keys before heading out. Alton pulls on his leash, I was never very strict about training him but he doesn’t bark and he comes to his name. He walks better off leash anyways. I unlock box number six and look through the mail. There it is. A letter from Dorrington High School, home of the cowboys. I sigh and stuff it into my pocket.
I walk Alton around for a few minutes before going home. “Did you get your schedule?” Mom asks before I’ve even let him off the leash.
“Nope, but they send ‘em out later and later every year.” This has proven true for several years now, so she buys it.
In the quiet of my room, Alton lying at my feet, I rip the letter open. I get the typical core classes, of course. English III, Algebra II, and US History are expected. I have algebra with Mr. Stewart, though, which I know will dampen my junior year. I also got Bio II, which I’m not thrilled about, but three science credits are mandatory. French III, because language credits are also required and I didn’t want Spanish. My electives are Drawing II and Environmental Science. I can’t say I’m thrilled about any of it, but at least I won’t have to deal with PE. I only needed two credits and I got rid of those freshman and sophomore year.
Fucking Mr. Stewart. I am not excited to see that guy again. He always got pissed at me freshman year when I would read for English. I did my goddamn work, he had no reason to be a dick about reading. I could have been bullshitting with the kids at my table or throwing pencils across the room.
God, that douche pisses me off.
He always picks favorites, and his favorites are always the jocks, the sporty kids. The obnoxious, entitled ones.
I sigh and relax, no reason to get mad when I’m not even in his class yet. I roll over and stare at my CD shelf, I love CD’s. I have well over a hundred, music is one of my passions. Not that I’m a musician but there’s nothing I love more than sitting in my truck, in the desert, listening to one of my favorite songs with Alton sitting in the seat next to me. I think he loves my truck and my music as much as I do. Although, I think he’d prefer somewhere colder than the desert.
I pick out one of my favorite albums—Steal This Album by System of a Down, crazy band. Great band, of course, but weird dudes.
The heavy, angry music always relaxes me, and I can’t help but laugh at some of the lyrics. After a few minutes of lying in bed listen to my stereo, I realize how hot it is, I strip off my shorts and open the window all the way.
Cool desert air glides over my bare legs and arms, bits of sand scrape my skin. The smell of sagebrush wafts in, Alton hold his head up. Wind ruffles his fur, he looks like a painting. I imagine rolling hills and colorful desert flowers behind him instead of my white wall. It’s a beautiful image.
Steal This Album ends and I put in Shinedown, another one of my favorite bands. Leave a Whisper is a beautiful album.
I fall asleep to that album but wake up freezing in the middle of the night, I close the window, turn off my radio, and pull my covers to my chin. I wake up a couple hours later sweating my balls off.
This is my usual summer pattern. I sleep until ten the next day.
At around three Mom comes into my room. “Are we really going to go through this again today?”
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