HARLAN Read online

  HARLAN

  By David Whitman

  Crossroad Press Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Copyright 2011 - David Whitman

  Cover design by David Dodd

  Parts of the cover courtesy of : http://wpb-stock.deviantart.com/

  LICENSE NOTES:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Except for historical personages and events, all subject matter is a product of the imagination of the author. Any resemblances to living persons are unintentional and coincidental.

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  Chapter 1:

  Do you see give a fuck in these eyes?

  Sometimes you just have to admit when life sucks. Just when you think you know what's coming—Fucking Boom—you're knocked on your ass again. Look at this, I just started this thing, and I'm already off track.

  Let's start over.

  My name is Harlan Sexton and I am sixteen years old. This is my memoir, sort of my last will and testament. At the end of this year, I die. I pass on to the next world. No, I'm not one of those poor cancer kids. I don't have any kind of disease. I just don't like this place anymore. The way I figure is this: things have got to be more interesting in the next world, because in this one it simply feels like I watch grass grow for a living. In seven months, I plan to take some pills and just rest my head for eternity. The thing I fear most is that someone will read this and feel sorry for me. On the contrary, I expect any reader of this manuscript to actually feel happy. Finally, the reader will say, someone is going to give me the answers to life, the universe, and all that other shit. Do I have any profound answers?

  Hell no, I don't even have any good fucking questions.

  I can hear my mom creeping around downstairs. Sometimes she really scares me. She is so far removed from my reality she is like some kind of alien. I look at her, and especially my father, and I wonder if I'm really not some sort of test tube baby or something. The relationship that I have with my mom is beyond fake. I am just not the person she thinks I am, and if she really knew me she would probably take a quick exit just like yours truly at the end of the year. I'll tell you about my dad later, because there is a lot to tell. Shit, he'll probably have a whole chapter to himself.

  It's Friday night and in a half-hour I'm supposed to meet Julian Morrissey. Julian is probably the only person that I'm going to miss when I head on out of this place. He is the only person that knows about my plans to check out. He doesn't necessarily agree with me, but he's trying to understand. He's the only reason that I'm still alive right now. I was going to do myself in last month, but he convinced me that I should wait. He wanted me to give him until May to try and convince me that, yes, life is really worth living after all.

  Nothing is going to change my mind.

  On the television screen before my stoned eyes is the latest MTV show. Young adults, only slightly older than me, are dancing around and cheering at the most moronic things. They don't even bother to show music videos anymore. It's as if they consider themselves some sort of lifestyle channel. When you really think about that, it becomes nauseating. A group of executives in expensive suits are deciding what the "lifestyle" is going to be. They tell my peers what to wear; what's beautiful; what kind of girls you should be attracted to, and most importantly, what kind of music you should buy. MTV my ass, it's more like Empty-V. Look at it closely and you'll see that there's nothing there. It's almost like looking at an empty fish tank. Yeah, there are some bubbles floating around in it, maybe a colorful dead fish or two, but for the most part, it's empty. Just some smelly, stagnant water, trying desperately to show some signs of life. Even if you throw a brand new fish in there it just dies and then floats to the top.

  You may have noticed that I'm a little more perceptive than the average sixteen-year-old. Or you may just think I'm precocious, smug, and annoying—a pretentious and whiny brat. Either way, I could give a shit. Like I said to my neighbor Billy when he said his favorite football team won the Superbowl

  "Hey, Billy, come over here. Now, look deep into my eyes. Looking closely? Now, I'm gonna ask ya this. Do you see 'give a fuck' in these eyes? No? Didn't think so."

  All I really ever do is read or watch mindless movies. I never sleep. I read about five books a week, from just about every genre. I was raised by the written word.

  I turn off the television and stare out of my dark window. If there is anything that I'm really comfortable in, it's the dark. My clothes reflect this, considering that black is the only color I ever wear. Okay, now I really sound like a precocious teenager. Believe me, I'm well aware of the stereotypical teen that wears dark clothing and listens to bands like The Cure. I'm not that bad, and sometimes, I actually have a good mood. Although when this happens I usually hide it from anybody for fear of being caught.

  The strange thing is that I really laugh a lot. Almost everything makes me laugh. Life is completely absurd. The newspaper is like a complete comedy to me. Better than any play that Oscar Wilde could ever dream up. The only negative thing is that what I usually find humorous isn't the sort of thing other people find funny. I've pissed off someone many a time for laughing at the most inappropriate times. Oh, and Julian makes me laugh all the time. It's why he's my best friend.

  In the window across the street I can see my neighbor, Suzanne Miller, getting ready for a night out on the town. She's an attractive woman in her late thirties and, I have to tell you, I'm very fond of her. Her hair is dark, cut short for an almost butch look. Oh, and she had sex with me when I was fourteen. My virginity was taken away in her pool. She calls me Joelita. You know, like Lolita, the character in Nabakov's book? The first time we had sex was strange, like it was an awakening for me. I saw the world in a much different light. Before we even did anything sexually I immediately fell in love with her, probably because some part of me knew she was unattainable. I flirted with her ravenously, mostly because I couldn't help myself. For awhile, she seemed uncomfortable but she slowly began to flirt back.

  I used to sneak over to her house after everyone was asleep and take midnight swims in her pool. Suzanne knew I did it. I often saw her looking out her window as I swam naked in the darkness. Well, anyway, one particularly hot night I was enjoying the cool feel of the water and I saw her come out the back of her patio door. Before I knew it, she was in the pool and we were kissing and...well, let's just say I returned every night for the rest of the summer. We're good friends now and, although we still have sex, she's mostly who I go to when I have a problem with other girls. Suzanne is one of the chosen few—one of the people that I will say goodbye to when I go. I love her. I haven't told her that I'm dying because I know that she wouldn't accept it. I'll probably just see her one last night and then leave a goodbye note on her pillow. Yeah, I know, it's cheap, but it'll be way too painful if I do it any other way.

  In the driveway, Julian pulls up in his brother's Mustang, interrupting me from thoughts of sex and happier times. Be
fore I can even stand up he beeps a blaringly loud horn.

  "Harlan!" My mom shouts, as if I'm completely deaf. "Julian's here!"

  "All right, Mom!"

  I grab my jacket (black, of course) and head downstairs. Before I can make it out of the back door, my mom grabs my arm.

  "What time are you going to be home?"

  "Not late," I say, and before she can say anything I'm out the door and inside Julian's car.

  The inside of the car smells musty and I look over at Julian, returning his smile. "What the hell smells?"

  "Oh sure. No hello, Julian, how are you? No hello, Julian, thanks for picking me up. No, it's 'What the hell smells?' Well screw you, Sexton. I like a little hello now and then, thank you very much. A little fucking common courtesy. A little politeness."

  I smile even wider as he pulls out of my driveway. Suzanne is looking out her window at us waving. I return the wave. "Julian."

  "Yes."

  "What the hell smells? And don't call me Sexton. You sound like a jock loser. One of those baseball cap backwards, Budweiser in the hand, frat rock listening motherfuckers."

  Julian turned the wheel and headed off. "How in the hell should I know what the smell is? Who knows who—or maybe I should say what—Ross had in the car last night?"

  Ross was Julian's brother and he was one scary bastard. He was exactly the kind of jock I had just described, only worse. To be honest, I exaggerate a little when I speak of him in the journal, but only a little. "I take it Ross doesn't know you have his car?" I asked.

  Julian grinned and scratched at his shoulder-length blond hair. "Shit no. Well, actually he probably knows now. He was supposed to use it to go out with Amanda Freeman tonight. He was in the shower when I left. Now he's going to have to take Fat Ethel."

  We both started laughing at that. It was a bittersweet laugh, however, because we both knew that before the night was over Ross, or one of his friends, was probably going to beat the shit out of at least one of us—if not both.

  "How in the hell did Ross get a date with Amanda Freeman?" I asked.

  Amanda Freeman was possibly the best looking girl in our shitty school. She's a cross between Nicole Kidman and Drew Barrymore. An attractive hybrid if there ever was one.

  "Ross acts different when he's with the girls. He knows how to turn on the charms."

  I rolled down the window, enjoying the feel of the cool air. "Well, I hope that when he runs into us he's with her. Maybe we won't get whipped as bad."

  Julian nodded and turned on the CD player. The harsh sounds of Nirvana filled the car. This was kind of a joke between us. He felt that because I admired Kurt Cobain, that I wanted to commit suicide. Hell, I liked Kurt, but not that much. He's real to me. His pain feels real, not manufactured like some of the slew of other acts that we hear so much. He's a perfect example of how one can be happy sometimes, and other times just want to crawl in a dark cave and die.

  "Think we'll get laid tonight?" Julian asked.

  We erupted into laughter. Julian was still a virgin and if it weren't for Suzanne, I would be too. He didn't know that, though.

  "I don't think the chances are very good, my friend." And then I saw him. "Hey, there's Vlad!"

  "What? Huh, where?" Julian asked, looking around as he slowed down.

  "Over there," I said, pointing.

  Vlad, whose real name neither of us knew, was walking down the street. Julian and I had dubbed him with the moniker. It was said that Vlad was a vampire. One night while talking about him, we decided that if we ever ran into him we would try to get to know him. He was an enigma and we both found him extremely interesting. Vlad always wore thick black makeup around his eyes, making him appear scarier than he probably was. We guessed that he was probably about eighteen years old. Julian's brother and his friends often beat up Vlad, and being receivers of many a Ross Morrissey beating ourselves, we felt like we had some kind of bond.

  Vlad was walking down the dark street, practically disappearing into the shadows, his black clothing working like camouflage. He looked towards us and his white face seemed to glow in the dark. Probably thinking we were just some jocks out to kick his ass, he began to increase his speed, his legs doing a kind of run-walk thing.

  "What if he's dangerous or something?" Julian asked, speeding up a little to catch up.

  "Come on, Julian, if he was dangerous don't you think your brother would be dead by now?" I asked, although I was a little nervous myself. "How many times have we seen Ross beating on the poor guy? If Vlad was dangerous, we'd know it."

  "Please leave me alone," Vlad muttered, just as Julian managed to get the car close enough to speak.

  "We don't want any trouble, man. We just want to talk to you."

  "Uh, Harlan," Julian said, his voice sounding a little high.

  I put my hand up to Julian's face and continued to try and get the attention of the creature of the night.

  "Come on, man," I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

  "Uh, Harlan," Julian repeated, this time his voice rising a trifle higher.

  "Dammit, Julian! I'm trying—"

  Then I saw them.

  Ross Morrissey was driving Fat Ethel down the street, his fingers clutched to the steering wheel furiously. Fat Ethel was Julian's father's station wagon, the ugliest car in our glorious small town of Rawley. Thick black clouds were streaming from the back, making it appear like Ross had driven it out of the gates of Hell. It appeared that Ross's date with Amanda was off because a carload of his beer-swilling friends could be seen through the bug-splattered window.

  "Oh, dear Lord," I said, and then I almost screamed aloud at the white moon that was suddenly thrust into my face.

  Vlad was running next to the car door, his mascara covered eyes wide. "Please," he said, eyeing up Fat Ethel and her scary passengers. "You guys have to take me with you. They're coming to kill me."

  Without hesitation, I opened the car door and Vlad jumped inside, accompanied by a faint odor of flowers. As Fat Ethel pulled closer, I noticed that something was wrong with Ross's face—unless he happened to get a major tan since the last time I saw him. His face was entirely dark, making the analogy of the car from hell even more accurate.

  "Holy shit, Julian. What in the hell happened to your brother?" I asked as Ross came at us, shrieking from his car window like he was on fire, his bulging eyes wild with fury.

  "I'm clueless," Julian said, slamming his foot on the gas, sending the car barreling down the street.

  "I did it," Vlad said from the back seat.

  I turned around as Julian cut sharply around a corner. I could see Fat Ethel flying down the street, her speed increasing. "You did what?"

  "I painted him," Vlad said.

  Vlad's black lipstick was smeared messily on both sides of his lips. His dark shaggy hair hung around his high cheekbones. He looked very feminine—like an emaciated Robert Smith.

  Julian turned around as well, almost losing control of the Mustang.

  "Will you watch the goddam road!" I shouted.

  "What the hell do you care, Harlan?" Julian asked, smiling despite the fact that we were probably going to get the shit kicked out of us. "You're gonna die anyway."

  "Yeah, well maybe I want to do it myself, dickhead," I turned back around and saw Fat Ethel skidding around the corner. It appeared that Ross was gaining on us. "What do you mean you painted him?" I asked Vlad.

  "He was sitting with that girl and I walked up and threw a water balloon filled with paint on them," Vlad said, smiling nervously.

  His voice was high and raspy. If he were a girl, I would have thought it was sexy.

  "Real paint?" I asked, stunned at his audacity. Even Julian and I wouldn't pull a stunt like that. "On Amanda too?"

  "Well," Vlad said, a ghost of a smile on his painted face. "It was water based, so it should wash out. And, yes, I got some on the girl too."

  I looked over at my friend. "Uh, Julian, I think you better pull over somewhere. W
e should ditch the Mustang and just take off. Sooner or later your brother is going to catch us."

  "Screw that," Julian said, jerking the wheel left, slamming me into the passenger door. "If Vlad back there can have enough balls to do something like that to my brother, then we should have the courage to keep the Mustang for the night." Julian looked into the rear view mirror at Vlad as he turned down yet another street. "And by the way, are you out of your fucking mind? My brother is going to murder you. I can't say I don't appreciate what you did, though. The only problem is that by letting you get in the car I just made myself guilty by association. Not that he wasn't going to kill me already for taking his car. Oh, well."

  I had to laugh at that, despite the fact that I was just as dead. We were talking Pain City when we were caught.

  "Appreciate it? Hell, I worship the ground he stands on," I said, glancing back to see if Fat Ethel was anywhere to be seen. It wasn't. "Julian, I think you lost him."

  "Yeah right," Julian said. "If I know my brother, he probably is just trying to head us off."

  Julian pulled into a side street and turned around. "I'll just go in the opposite direction. That will really screw him up."

  I looked back over at Vlad and offered my hand. "My name is Harlan and this here is Julian."

  "My name is Gary, but you can keep calling me Vlad. I kind of like it."

  "Are you really a vampire, Vlad?" Julian asked. He winced as I punched him in the leg.

  "That's what they say," Vlad said mysteriously. Julian and I just sort of looked at each other fearfully. "I don't drink from my friends, though."

  I think he was kidding. Hell, I hoped he was kidding. Some people just seem to have this incredibly dry sense of humor. They are able to say the most deadpan of comments without cracking a smile. Vlad was probably just one of them. He was smiling anyway, or was that just the way his lipstick seemed to be smeared?