‘Summer Past: Chapter 2’ excerpt from Forgotten Kids by Laurie Costello.
I roamed the second-story hall of the house. I’m not sure whose house it was, or whose parents’ house I should say, but I remember assuming the teenage resident was one of the ungrateful losers in the bedroom I had just exited. Photos lined the suburban home; an ideal life of happiness hung in the frames, but I imagined what the portrayal actually hid. The smiles seemed forced, and the secrets were waiting to burst from the eyes of each family member—even the dog’s—exposing the truth of misery most families in the area kept behind their alarm systems. Their matching outfits and professional portraits weren’t fooling me in the slightest.
Between the photos, stands, and house plants stood kids chattering, laughing, and kissing each other as if the Apocalypse was just seconds from ringing true. Groups attempted to conceal fresh stains on the wall and the oriental runner, acting as if nothing was smeared or spilled, but it was obvious that most were too inebriated to notice. I doubted their commitment to keeping the property untainted in the first place.
Being among my peers in the thin hall, I knew my trek to reach the first floor would be full of obstacles, and small breaks to let out exasperated sighs were needed. I opened a door to what had to be the master bedroom. It was clean with classy décor, a television atop a solid mahogany bureau and a bathroom in the distance with two sinks and a raised marble tub—pristine living by distracted parents. Three girls sat on the bed, two consoling the crying one between.
I knew who the sobbing damsel was from her blonde hair and slim figure: the head cheerleader of the squad, Wendy. Even though her eyes swelled from the tears and her cheeks blushed from distress, she still remained one of the more attractive girls in the class, and the two friends with her, Jessica and Melissa, were also lustful catches. Popularity could make anyone gorgeous. What was wrong? Was this a typical emotional reaction to young female drunkenness, or was it just an act, a literal cry for attention?
I couldn’t help but stare as if I was witnessing a structure implode. I had never seen such social power be so vulnerable. It forced a strange smirk. I couldn’t help myself. The two consolers looked in my direction—I must have chuckled under my breath—and I was spotted with piercing glares, silky, swinging hair, and high cleavage I couldn’t avoid no matter how hard I tried to adjust my line of sight.
“What the fuck are you doing in here, Kyle? Can’t you see we’re having a crisis?” Jessica yelled, raising her sharp eyebrows and spreading her soft palms.
“Ugh, Kyle, you’re such a pig. Get the fuck out of here!” Melissa scolded me and stabbed her cute painted nail toward the exit.
Wow, they knew my name. I said, “Whatever,” with a shrug and a nonchalant exit.
“Pssh, Crisis,” I whispered to myself, “yeah right, give me a break.” I moved along to see what was behind door number three—being severely anxious and stuck behind door one, and unwanted in and shunned from door two.
…
Carl Lawrence Knauf 