I readjusted the strap on my shoulder from my school bag. God this strap is so itchy.

I rounded the corner onto the avenue, the funeral home coming into view. I live in New Jersey; my home placed snug inside the middle of a convenience store and a funeral home. I would have to go back out again to pick up my little brother from elementary school, but I had time to relax.

I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Alina, I’m nineteen and in my senior year of high school. Yeah, I got left back for being absent too many days. But that was when my parents divorced each other, and the responsibility as a motherly figure passed onto me. My father became an alcoholic and stayed in his bedroom all day, downing beer after beer. It became my job to watch over my eight year old brother, Harley.
​
My home, well my apartment, was pretty small. It was a dull brown building with a black fire escape decorating the front. Fortunately, the fire escape laid right by my bedroom window, so I could hang out there whenever I pleased.

​Right next to the funeral parlor was a small tattoo joint. They also did piercings, but their specialty was tattoos.

​I was good friends with their best inker, and provided him with lunch and occasionally dinner. He was living off the air he was breathing, and was barely getting enough money from his paycheck to pay his rent. I thought I’d help the guy out because back when my dad was sober, he’d do my dad’s tattoos. And boy did that man have talent. Sometimes, when I was younger, I would just stare at the work on my dad’s arms all day. I couldn’t believe this tattoo artist could do that. It was a masterpiece. I felt that providing him with food was the least I could do. I even offered to have him stay at the apartment until he could get himself situated, but he always declined. His name was Frank. Frank Iero.
​
Anyways, before entering my humble home, I stopped at the little deli on the corner.

​The little bell connected to the glass door ringed, and the cashier looked up from his magazine – which I believed to be porn – and smiled.

​It was a small store, with almost everything. From soap to soda it had anything you needed to stay afloat. Well except clothes and books and stuff.

​I walked down the aisle, my shoulder brushing up against the hanging rack of chips, and made my way to the freezers at the back of the store.
​
There were freezers filled with drinks and ice-cream, lining up the whole back wall of the store, and a little door at the far right that led to the back where the garbage cans and a small makeshift bonfire was. The cashier would sometimes get his friends and they would smoke some pot back there; it reeked.
​
I slid open the sliding door and grabbed a can of Monster. My mouth watered in excitement. I absolutely loved this stuff.
​
I readjusted the strap on my bag to my other shoulder – okay this was getting annoying - and walked back to the front of the store.
​
There was a small area next to the paying counter where food – like sandwiches and stuff - were supposed to be made, but since almost all the kids working here were crack heads, that only happened ever so often.
​
There was an array of candy sprawled out underneath the countertop. I grabbed a Twix bar and tossed it on the counter along with my Monster Energy, hearing the small clinking noise it made when it hit the wood.
​
The cashier put his porn magazine down and looked at the objects placed in front of him. He didn’t wear a uniform because come on; a job like this really didn’t require one. Instead he wore a muscle shirt, and – from what I could see – jeans and his hair was sticking out in random places, like he had just got out of bed. He had tattoos lining up and down his arms, and he smelled faintly of nicotine.
​
“Six fifty,” the cashier rasped.

​I knew it probably cost more, but I knew the cashier pretty well, so he always gave me discounts.

​I shoved a hand in my hoodie, and fished out seven singles. I counted the crumpled green paper just to make sure, and then set it in the cashier’s outstretched hand.

​He put my items in a black plastic bag and handed it to me.

“Thanks Pete, keep the change,” I smiled, grabbing the bag and turning to walk out.

“No problem,” he replied, leaning back against the display of cigarettes behind him, grabbing his porn magazine.

A rush of cold wind met my face as I opened the door. It was a pretty muggy out, and there was absolutely no hope for it getting any better.

I walked down the sidewalk, stepping on every. Single. Crack, just for the fun of it. It was the stupid little things that made my day.

As I approached the apartment building, I jammed my hand back into my black Iron Maiden hoodie and got out my key ring.

I didn’t have that many keys. There was one for the storm door, one for the door to get into my apartment, and one for the post office three blocks down.

I opened the storm door and the almost always unlocked wood door, and walked down the hall.
At the very end of the hallway was the stairs to the second and third floors, and the roof. It was rumored there was a pigeon flyer that would come in every evening to fly his birds, but everyone was crazy here.
I didn’t live in the best neighborhood. There were a lot of drunks, and sometimes you would hear about a kid found dead in a lake from a stupid biking accident. But we all knew that wasn’t the case. But whether you were a drunk or a stony, if you knew how to play the game, you never got caught. And by now, everyone knew how to keep themselves hidden.

The landlord lived on the first floor and really never gave a damn about rent. As long as he had some money from someone by the end of the month he was satisfied.

I walked up the muck colored carpet stairs, holding my breath to prevent myself from inhaling the disgusting smell of weed. Or at least what I thought was weed.

I lived on the second floor in the dead center. Most of the people that lived here were either old ladies, drunks, or the occasional God devoted preacher, who almost always ended up moving out after a period of two months.

When I reached my front door, I opened the door, turning the knob and heading inside. I was careful to shut the door as quietly as possible even though my dad wasn’t going to see (or care) who came in.
I went straight into my room, shutting the door, and setting down my shoulder bag.

My room was pretty small; nothing extravagant. There was a small bed in the left corner of the room. My bed was unmade but I didn’t really care. The window was right next to my bed, and to the right of it was a desk, pens and papers scattered everywhere. There was a maroon colored rug on my hard wood floor, and on the right side of my room was my closet. I had a pile of clothes in the bottom right corner, along with a stack of books. My wall was a baby blue, but you could barely see it since my walls were covered in punk rock posters. From Iron Maiden to Nirvana; it was all there.

I set the black plastic bag from the store on my desk and checked my calendar. Monday, March twenty second. Remember how I said how I occasionally make dinner for Frank the tattoo artist? Well, today was one of those days.

I cracked open the can of Monster, chipping the black nail polish on my index finger. Oh well.

I took a huge gulp, and then took a trip to the kitchen.

I opened the refrigerator and saw what we had; leftovers. I grabbed a tub of spaghetti, and put it in the microwave to heat it up.

When the timer hit zero, I removed the food from the microwave and set it on the counter. I grabbed a brown bag that I use for Harley’s lunches and put it in there. I grabbed a can of Coke and set that in the bag too. And just like that I had a dinner for the tattoo artist.

I snatched the bag from the counter and headed back out the door, racing down the stairs. I pushed open the door with my side and shut it behind me.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the dirty Jersey air before walking down the street.

When I opened the door to the tattoo parlor, the sound of the buzzing needle and the smell of wet ink filled my nose, as I spotted out who I was looking for.

Frank was sitting in a brown leather barber chair, spinning around in it carelessly. When he saw me, he smiled, getting up from the chair. I grinned holding up the brown paper bag.

Frank was short for his age, which was twenty four. He was exactly 4’9”. I remember him telling me that one night when I was bringing him dinner. He was filled with tattoos, but the only visible ones at the moment were the ones on his hands and neck. He wore a grey long sleeved shirt, jeans, and converse. He had short black hair, and beautiful hazel eyes.

“Alina! Thanks so much babe, you’re the best,” he thanked, when he reached me.

“No problem Frank. You know I’m always there for you,” I replied, handing him the bag.

“It’s spaghetti and Coke,” I said when he peered into the bag, trying to identify the contents. “I’ll be here tomorrow with breakfast.”

It was around four thirty by then and the shop closes at six. I always brought his food early in case all his
appointments were done for the day.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate this Lina,” Frank sighed, his smile ever so present.

“Don’t worry about it Frankie. If you ever need a place to stay, the door’s always open.”

“You know I could never do that to you, but you’re sweet for offering. You should get going, before it gets late. If you ever need me, you know where I am.”

I nodded and his kissed my forehead, sending me off without another word.

Back out on the street, I headed back towards the brown colored building, but not without making a quick pit stop.

I pulled open the glass door to the funeral parlor, the cold air from the air conditioner rushing up to meet my face.

A man in a black suit standing next to the entrance to a wake smiled at me as I walked in. He was tan and had a fro. He stood straight and tall, his hands folded in front of him as he stood by the doors.

“Hey Ray,” I called, walking over to him.

“Hey Alina, how are you?” Ray asked, moving away from the doors.

“I’m fine. Just wanted to see how you were doing before I go get Harley.”

“I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking. How is it at home?”

Ray Toro was like my best friend. I didn’t have many friends in school. I don’t know, maybe I just wasn’t that like able. But Ray, Ray understood me like no one else. He knew what it was like for me at home and he knew how to make me feel better. Even though he was twenty six and I was only nineteen, we had a special bond.

“Same as it’s always been,” I said, answering his question about my family. “I should just face it. Dad’s never getting clean.”

Ray tilted my chin up softly to look him in the eye, because at this point I had been staring down at my sneakers. “It’ll get better, I promise. You know my door’s always open for you and Harley.”
It was funny in my mind, how I always offered my home to Frank and he declined, and how Ray always offered his home and I declined. My dad may be a drunk, but he was my dad none the less.

“Thanks Ray,” I smiled.

He pulled me in for a hug, rubbing my back. He always knew how to comfort me.

We stood there for a while, and by the time I noticed the change in scenery, was when I started to panic. It was really dark out and I had to pick up Harley! Dammit!

“Ray I gotta go. Harley-I-“

“Go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he reassured, setting his hands on my shoulders for good measure.
I smiled, kissed his cheek, and raced out of the funeral parlor, only to stop short when my feet met the curb.

Harley was getting out of the school bus pulled over right in front of our ugly brown apartment building.
Once he was off the yellow school bus, I had him in an embrace, and his tiny arms hugged my torso.

“I’m so sorry Har,” I apologized, kissing the top of his brown head. “I totally lost track of time.”

“It’s okay Lina. After school lasted a little longer anyway,” he responded, breaking our hug.

“Okay. I promise I’ll be on time tomorrow. Are you hungry?”

He nodded vigorously, and I took his petite hand, leading him into the building.

I fixed Harley some dinner, and finished off the Monster I left in my bedroom. There was no way I was making myself food, so I just stole bits and pieces of the French fries that were on Harley’s plate, along with the chicken tenders.

When he was done I cleared his plate, setting it in the sink, while he went to his room to do whatever homework he didn’t finish in school.

I went to my room and started on my algebra, while munching on my Twix, and blasting Black Flag.
By the time I finished my homework it was at least nine, and I had finished off my Black Flag marathon an hour before.

I changed into some basketball shorts and a tank top, hanging my hoodie on the wood chair pushed into my desk. I discarded my worn clothes into the pile in the corner of the room. Boy, I needed to get to the Laundromat this week.

I went into the bathroom to meet Harley brushing his teeth. He smiled at me with a toothpaste filled mouth, and I laughed, grabbing my own toothbrush.

After doing what I needed to do in the bathroom, I tucked Harley into bed and went into my own room.
I was so worn that I didn’t even bother staying in the small living room we had to watch MTV for a couple of hours like I usually do. I just snuggled up under the covers and let the sound of the wind from my open window lull me to sleep.

Notes

First story posted! I have a lot of plans for this story. Leave a comment below and tell me what you guys think!
xoxopoison