That night I have a nice little pity party.
Lily texts me with an apology and a long explanation, but I don’t really care.
I get home, and Mom offers me an apology and a longer explanation, but I don’t really care.
I don’t text Lily back and don’t respond to my mom.
Instead I go up to my room and let my anger boil over. I turn up my stereo, daring my mom to come upstairs to tell me to turn it down, but nope, she doesn’t.
I’ve been searching so long, trying to work things out.
But not anymore.
I just—I just really—
I don’t care anymore.
Nothing’s going to be all right anymore.
Nothing.
And I tell myself this the next day when morning comes.
And the following day.
I even tell myself this when the second session of summer school starts, and the group of five kids isn’t as interesting and colorful as the first batch.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m going to come in and endure the few hours of class and then leave. Without saying a word. Without getting to know anybody.
Because it doesn’t matter.
It’s the same thing over and over again.
Walking uphill and being turned around and around.
I feel like a broken man but am constantly and continually reminded that I’m just a boy just a little boy just a boy Chris boy oh BOY.
And in the midst of running and walking and feeling the anger inside day and night, it’s funny how time flies.