Contours

Riding down by the park under the warm glints of the streetlights and leaving behind a muddy trail representing how far they've come, Johnny gets memories rushing past his mind like the landscape outside a speeding car's window. Simon winks back to the twinkling stars knowing to ever keep his days on count or telling the miles traversed on every adventure they had either taken or given. They remember the days they used to hate each other like it was just last week and now, taking a look around, the holes of emptiness they've filled, the hours they've spent or wasted, all that was something these folks embraced for it has gone to be pleasure.

Simon hangs his chin over his pal's shoulder letting out a ton of sadness to weigh him still. The other only laughs not because it was funny but because deep inside he'd like to cry. Fill the brims and flood the deserts. At least now he was going somewhere to lie down and empty his mind.

The silhouette of Simon's house appeared yonder, amidst the dusk skyline. A cheeky chihuahua owned by a neighbor, she snarled and barked her best when he was dropped off in his front yard. Johnny's home was just a block away one known as a place where no watermelons grew. Home sweet home that is, a place to rest at for as long as he breathed.

Upon his arrival home Johnny was greeted by an unfamiliar quietness. His family of three, a solitude mother and a younger sibling including himself lived east of New Coralton, a town in the Cape Amberes. They were a cheerful bunch - cacophonic would be an understatement. Ironically, the eldest son set himself a little apart from the rest and that made his darling mother blame his traits on the modern age.

The house was unlit inside except for the bottom floor. In fact, as he got off the bicycle and walked towards the front door whilst watching the window, he could tell that only the television was on.

Maybe it was him or it was because he never came back home so late from no reasonable occasion. Either way, he entered almost too careful as not to make a noise. Interrogation was not the least of his worries. How would he explain himself? Say he skipped school to go street fighting because the apple of his eye would be there? Not a thought. His mind was a hell lot fuddled right now to come up with some good excuse.

This afternoon had been one hell of a drive. The fella fell partially exhausted yet still managed to take stealthy footsteps past the kitchen table, halfway through the sitting room and up the winder stairs. Even if the rooms were totally dark at most, Johnny could still find his way around. Talk about practice from the evening of the midnight snack heist.

Unexpectedly, he heard a thudding knock at the door he has just walked in. At first he thought that his mother might've invited over a colleague of hers again. So he went on to answer the door trying to figure out a welcoming expression to greet the guest with. Then before he could grip the handle, the door suddenly slid open.

"What the heck?" The teen yelled out, intending to let everyone know something was wrong. From the gap a man peered inside. Scanned the room and before finally setting his sight at the boy.

Surprisingly, maybe the worst way possible, the intruder was not your typical guy in stripped jumpers and balaclava. Instead of the stereotypical thief, a man whose orange hair was neatly combed had shoes polished to their quality shine. Dressed in a half-jacket suit over a crisp white shirt that set him an air of professionalism and elegance. In his charming smile that Johnny wanted to believe was cursed, it would be hard to ignore him in any setting.

As the man stepped inside the dimly lit space, he started to feel the walls for a light switch. And at once the room was instantly flooded by brightness. Everything came in a daze at first, but after rubbing his for a bit, Johnny followed the man's eyes. And there on the sofa, his mom was passed out. A mug of coffee was on the table and cold by now.

"Yep. It's scram o'clock now! Goodbye have a nice trip." Said the notorious teen, sarcastically. He jumped to the mysterious man's way. An awkward dance of left and right takes the stage. The moves like Jagger are interrupted by a hand that suddenly yanks at Johnny's face throwing him to the side.

"I'd love a glass of water, thank you." Ordered the guy sonorously so, slightly leaning forward and getting his knees apart.

"Freak! The hell do you think you are? Wrong house dude, wrong house."

"That's an order..." Obnoxiously. "Now hurry up because trust me you do not...want me -"

"Believe me by every fibre of my being I do not want you."

"Bothered."

An immense silence filled the room. Johnny was shook by the man's unbridled behavior. For a moment he merely stood on the spot almost as if he'd been planted there. He didn't really know what to make of this situation or rather what the situation could make of him. The air around the place seemed thinner whilst alexithymia sickened him.

"Argh! Children."

A resonant sensation ran through his body. Johnny felt a little more adamant than ever before. At times he was as stubborn as a beagle. Just when the aggravating stranger came to think he had yet again intimidated a kid, Johnny went round the kitchen and did as he said. Still silent, Johnny managed his countenance making sure he kept an eye on the very unwelcomed guest. He proceeded to settle himself right beside his mother - still with the glass of water - and shook her gently until she woke.

"Oh you little son of a -"

"Mother there's an insane man in front of us."

"Insane man you call me?"

"On your next visit make sure you bring yourself a sandwich."

"You know what? I don't argue with kids"

"Good thing I'm the man of the house, mister. You said it yourself remember?"

"Yes yes alright kid. Good point."

" I know. Now scram."

"Honey that's not how to talk to adults." His mother came between the quarrel, adjusting her posture to address the visiter herself. It didn't take long for her to recognise the face although it did for the name.

"Brandon! Have you forgotten?" He jogged her memory which didn't settle right with the son. He abhorred Brandon despite having met him minutes ago. And joke's on whomever abides by the phrase, ' don't judge a book by its cover' because Johnny couldn't care less to oppose that. Hate on him but making a character out of someone just by looking at them always turned out to be correct and never far off from the truth. To stimulate his judgement it only takes a chit chat with the person or simply observing their moral behavior.

As he listened, he discovered that this freak that he forgot the name of already and his mother come from way back. Talking years before he was born and a few after that. To his surprise, the guy's character seemed to have changed when talking to his mother. Either he truly despised children or him in particular or he was a womanizer. Of course he wasn't flirting on his first reunion with an old friend however Johnny decided not to head upstairs. Johnny also evinced development of trust issues.

The last time he was able to cope with such plight he passed his thoughts onto a page. You would not be wrong to call it a love letter but anyway the previous piece went up in flames.

Respectfully, Johnny went to the dining room after picking up a notebook and black pen which were lying on the table beside his mother's coffee. A self-proclaimed and compassionate woman she was as well as a workaholic. At times her oldest son stated his concerns but then she would not hesitate to make a mug of delicate dirt juice whenever she was tired out.

There, he sat himself down and turned to a page far inside the notebook then sighed.

'Hey, it's him again.' He began to write.

'He you counted a friend although in your presence he remained stranger. But hey, don't worry for you will not have to face him again. That voice of his no longer has to make your ears bleed. Just ink on a page for him to pass the days of his thoughts.

It's funny, isn't it? Funny just how everytime he gave you a genuine smile from across the array, sometimes a wave of delight flowing from his hand as he did, you never ceased to darken the mood - a little pretence could do a guy a little sometimes. Even so, no blame is placed on you at all.'

'Hey, it's me again. And it's over now. Thanks to you I have become a better version of whoever I am because when I followed like a shadow I realized that I was an idiot also a coward. Despite that too, I was able to kick away the inhibition and approach you so. This time, I understand why courage is knowing it will hurt but doing it anyway - stupidity not so different.

So now, may I disappear just like your last cigarette. Reappear in your blunt memory. Wherever I am in this world I will love you the same way I hate you. From then on, we can share a contour of the same twisted lies...'