summer scene

it is too dark outside to know the time. the summer never stops to breathe, a constant exhale of music and vibrance and drunk teenagers, shifting from party to party. everything is so much more colourful. but not now. it’s night, the darkest night that he could imagine.

he is standing in the automatic doorway to a spar, the doors spread and kept apart. he feels as though he was in their way. the humidity melts away his drunken worry — though giving way to something else.
the air conditioning settles on his skin like anxious kisses, pecking the pale hairs down his back. he’s thinking about that scene in after dark, where the two characters sat in a denny’s, mumbling about nothing. he feels like nothing and everything at once, the cold air bringing him down from wherever he’s been for the last week.
he walks into the spar. the fluorescent lights greet him, dousing him with the inescapable anxiety of being seen.
the shop is obfuscated. he’s looking for a specific place to be. he cannot name it, nor has been told what it is. his mind is ringing with talking heads, and he thinks about what he was told,
you’re doing so good, you’re doing so good
i always knew you would do so good
the spar is empty. late night radio plays music heard at no other time of day. he walks past the fridges, and sees himself in the frost. his hair seemed to leak onto his face, spilling colour and sweat down him.
he was lanky, his shirt unwashed, the band on it becoming non-existent, their tour dates washed with hair dye and sweat. in the face of frozen chips, he sees something unformed, but true. it drowns the noise out.
he moves around and into the confectionary aisle. the only aisle that matters. he finds the only other person here.
they are sat on the floor, looking up, their hair bleached and slicked. they wear countless sweaters, torn tights and eyeliner that douses their tired eyes. it’s the hottest days of summer and they wear sweaters. he had never seen them before. he had met every person in this town over the last few nights, every art kid, every punk and every thoughtless skater but still, this person sat there, an anomaly.
he stands near them.
look at how the lights move, they say, their head swaying.
the fluorescent lights, hung, move gently. the air conditioning hummed behind the half-real music. he sits down beside them. the ambience sets like ice across the floor, smothering the two of them in the unreal
this is it, they say, this is where you’re supposed to be
he looks at them. he has no idea what they mean. the lights move from left to right, like film reel looping. the same scene plays over and over in his head.
he thinks about that room, that hazy excuse for a bedroom. it cowered in a yellow, shadeless light, a bed made of unmade sheets. yellowing pillows. he remembers the smell, the taste of dust and skin.

you’re doing so good.
he remembers how dry his mouth was. he remembers how he felt so deserted. the bed was shifted diagonally across the room to avoid catching daylight. that is all he remembers, but it looped again and again. it had no right to be so loud. he does not want to remember, he realised.
you should sit here.
he wants to be away from somebody, many people, everybody. his mother, specifically.  in some arcane way, he has proven her worries right. he sits down.
this is the very centre, they say, you’re going to have to be here for a while. you’ll want to leave sooner than you think but, for now, this is where you’ll have to be.
i don’t understand what you mean
hey, i get it. talking about it doesn't help. just staying in the centre is everything you can do right now. you’re hurting
their words made his head spin. a slow, thoughtless rocking. he looks at the lights again. in little moments, he feels the world move around him.
he stayed still, but felt the spar fall to pieces. there were so many lights, so much noise.
the film passes through and through, filtering through the spools and reels of coming and going. he sits there for as long as he can, and couldn’t remember leaving.
he stands outside the shop, dizzy as the sky turns to an unforgiving blue. he remembers it all. he starts to walk home, or maybe to the next party, wherever he feels the safest. He still doesn’t know.