Read Online My Beating Teenage Heart by C. K. Kelly Martin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: C. K. Kelly Martin
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free Red Wings tickets through a friend and we stopped in London halfway to Detroit and discovered this place called QT-Burgoire. The bizarre decorating scheme uses only primary colors—it looks like it was inspired by Play-Doh—but I don’t think anyone cares what it looks like once they’ve tried the burgers.
“So are you up for this thing?” Ty rubs his hands enthusiastically together. “We’ve been talking about going back for so long that it’s in danger of becoming one of those things people bring up all the time but never bother their asses trying to make actually happen.” Ty’s right—every couple months we mention it and then don’t do anything about it.
“I hat [ mee those things ,” I tell him and I know we’re both faking that the burgers actually matter, but that pretense is better than the look Ty was wearing when he stepped outside his front door.
“Me too.” Ty takes another look at my amateur bandaging job. “I can take the wheel if you want, man. It sounds like your hand is crisp .”
An hour ago I wanted my hand to hurt and now I just want it to stop. I’m happy to let Ty take the wheel. I change places with him and he drives us all the way from Strathedine to the QT-Burgoire in London two hours away. The city’s a snow trap in winter, and being the end of April the place is freshly naked, the recent thaw exposing scabby patches of grass and pieces of garbage—cigarette butts and crushed pop cans that’ll be in a Dumpster somewhere in a couple more weeks. I wolf down my QT-Burgoire burger and every last sweet potato fry that comes with it. The whole time we don’t say a word about Skylar. Ty fills me in on the highlights of the Toronto FC versus Seattle Sounders game and any school drama I’ve missed, which isn’t something we usually talk about much but I know he’s trying to carry the conversation, fill up all the spare air.
Afterwards we walk around downtown until my hand starts to ache worse and we have to find an open Shoppers Drug Mart to buy more Advil. “Why didn’t you ask the pharmacist about that Valium drip?” Ty kids once we’re back on the street.
“Morphine drip,” I correct. But a Valium drip would be better. What I need is a Valium drip permanently attached to my arm.
We both get quiet when we’re back in the car and I realize that the closer we get to Strathedine the heavier I feel. If I could get away with never going home again, I think I’d do it. Just keep driving until, for all intents and purposes, I disappear. If I was someplace else—somewhere far away—I could almost pretend to myself that Skylar was back at home in Strathedine, waiting to grow up enough to be an astronaut.
She wasn’t worried about not getting back and now she won’t. It feels like a sign—a sign that I missed.
When we reach Ty’s house maybe he can see the weight back on my shoulders because he says, “So what’s up with tomorrow? Are you …” He waits for me to jump in.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe if I wake up on time I’ll hit class.”
Ty nods patiently. “Right.” He reaches between us and claps one hand on my shoulder for a second before throwing the door open. I watch him get out of the car, my signal to climb back behind the wheel and drive home.
It’s started to rain again and that makes the night look darker than usual, but someone’s left the porch light on for me. Between that and the light seeping through the family room curtains, the house looks normal, complete. I dig my thumb into my hand as I walk up the driveway, feeling my world collapse a little with every step. Inside my father, mother and Lily are huddled together in front of the TV the same way they’ve been off and on for days. My stomach flips over at the sight of them, and my mom, with her bottomless p [ bonormal, coupils, is the first to look in my direction and mumble hello. Moose bounds across the room and jumps up on me like I’m back from World War II.
“He
“So are you up for this thing?” Ty rubs his hands enthusiastically together. “We’ve been talking about going back for so long that it’s in danger of becoming one of those things people bring up all the time but never bother their asses trying to make actually happen.” Ty’s right—every couple months we mention it and then don’t do anything about it.
“I hat [ mee those things ,” I tell him and I know we’re both faking that the burgers actually matter, but that pretense is better than the look Ty was wearing when he stepped outside his front door.
“Me too.” Ty takes another look at my amateur bandaging job. “I can take the wheel if you want, man. It sounds like your hand is crisp .”
An hour ago I wanted my hand to hurt and now I just want it to stop. I’m happy to let Ty take the wheel. I change places with him and he drives us all the way from Strathedine to the QT-Burgoire in London two hours away. The city’s a snow trap in winter, and being the end of April the place is freshly naked, the recent thaw exposing scabby patches of grass and pieces of garbage—cigarette butts and crushed pop cans that’ll be in a Dumpster somewhere in a couple more weeks. I wolf down my QT-Burgoire burger and every last sweet potato fry that comes with it. The whole time we don’t say a word about Skylar. Ty fills me in on the highlights of the Toronto FC versus Seattle Sounders game and any school drama I’ve missed, which isn’t something we usually talk about much but I know he’s trying to carry the conversation, fill up all the spare air.
Afterwards we walk around downtown until my hand starts to ache worse and we have to find an open Shoppers Drug Mart to buy more Advil. “Why didn’t you ask the pharmacist about that Valium drip?” Ty kids once we’re back on the street.
“Morphine drip,” I correct. But a Valium drip would be better. What I need is a Valium drip permanently attached to my arm.
We both get quiet when we’re back in the car and I realize that the closer we get to Strathedine the heavier I feel. If I could get away with never going home again, I think I’d do it. Just keep driving until, for all intents and purposes, I disappear. If I was someplace else—somewhere far away—I could almost pretend to myself that Skylar was back at home in Strathedine, waiting to grow up enough to be an astronaut.
She wasn’t worried about not getting back and now she won’t. It feels like a sign—a sign that I missed.
When we reach Ty’s house maybe he can see the weight back on my shoulders because he says, “So what’s up with tomorrow? Are you …” He waits for me to jump in.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe if I wake up on time I’ll hit class.”
Ty nods patiently. “Right.” He reaches between us and claps one hand on my shoulder for a second before throwing the door open. I watch him get out of the car, my signal to climb back behind the wheel and drive home.
It’s started to rain again and that makes the night look darker than usual, but someone’s left the porch light on for me. Between that and the light seeping through the family room curtains, the house looks normal, complete. I dig my thumb into my hand as I walk up the driveway, feeling my world collapse a little with every step. Inside my father, mother and Lily are huddled together in front of the TV the same way they’ve been off and on for days. My stomach flips over at the sight of them, and my mom, with her bottomless p [ bonormal, coupils, is the first to look in my direction and mumble hello. Moose bounds across the room and jumps up on me like I’m back from World War II.
“He
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