Perfect Playlist - Chapter 2 - Candle in the Wind

"I know! I know me running off like that was stupid. This is my answer to a statement transported through lengths upon lengths of telephone cables emerging through a receiver miles away from it's source; a boy named Casey. I feel I've lost him ten fold with every inch of distance between us. My stomach feels unsettled and it's rumbling and groaning. Jack Daniels, vodka, and colt 45 don't sit well together. Add in some weed and you've got a complete loss of inhibition and a lack of reasoning.

I sometimes wonder if I truly do have a split personality. I feel like I'm having an out of body experience during my numerous binges. I feel all the guilt and the shame afterwards, and I get to watch the other side of me have the care free happiness that you get from being high and blitzed. At the present moment the part of me that is responsible for rash actions is subdued in a haze of drugs and alcohol. The good part of me, the part of me I strive to keep present, is the part of me he loves. He some how manages to bring out that good in me. "Yes, I'm In Philly. I took my car you jerk. No, I'll drive myself home you stay there. You're family doesn't know me, so why should I know me? Wait I mean you. It's really hard to make an eloquent point when you're shit faced.

"Don't tell me what to do, you smoked a cigarette once. Weed's not that different, in fact I hear¦I hear that cigarettes are worse for your health. This is probably a good point in some way, but I'm too screwed up to remember it anymore. "Listen, no I'm serious. I don't remember all the details but¦What's it matter how much gas I have, I can let out all the gas I¦Oh you mean in the car. I don't know I'll have to; OH MY FREAKING GOD!! Something cold and clammy pulls at my ankle. I looked down and saw a passed out pot head sleeping at my feet. I am just realizing where I am, because quite frankly I forgot. The beige paint is peeling off the walls, probably white at sometime. No trespassing signs sit on cinder blocks which serve as makeshift tables for this drunken parade of wasted youth. Bottles litter the ground and a gray haze from the cigarettes and the joints sits low in the room.

I feel so low, so disgusted with myself. For once I actually stop to think, and I ask myself, why am I here? I already know why, it's because I have no where else to turn. Jude, my beloved brother, would tell me that Casey is not part of the grand plan he has for me. He would tell me that he has my fate planned out and that he wouldn't allow something as useless as romance to get in the way of it. He's such a macho bull-shitter. If it weren't for women it would be men like Jude screwing everything up so we'd have to redo it all again.

I have your basic Betty Crocker mother and leave it to beaver father, and I'm not complaining. But if I were to ask them what should I do if Casey's parents don't condone dating they would tell me to stop dating him. If I told them that I can't give up on him, that I love him with all my heart, that my life is slowly becoming intertwined with his, I know what they would say. The words would drip off their tongue and the cliché would sting with its age and overuse. Their response would be there are many other fish in the sea.

What logic is there in making anyone and everyone so plain. I know he's not just another guy, he's Casey. He's the only boy in the world who doesn't ask for sex, he's the only boy in the world that remembers my favorite color, he's the only boy who tries to help me with my problems instead of saying that I'm nagging. He's the only boy I can live with. I know where he's been, and for some reason I want to be where he is going. How do you tell your parents that. It's a really ridiculous scenario when the children have to censor the parents.

I drop the bottle in my hand, trying to avoid hitting any of the many passed out beings on the floor. Unfortunately for one my aim isn't accurate at the moment and I hear a muffled yelp. My manner now adopts more seriousness and sobriety then before.

"Casey, you can't keep hiding us from your parents. An exasperated sigh then silence comes from the other side of the phone. Most would let someone respond, but I know Casey better then I know myself. For some reason he has always hated silence, he would rather me continue pressing him with more questions then just sit there in a cold dark quiet. "Casey, your parents have to at least respect how you feel for me. They don't have to like me, it's not their decision who you love and can't love. Your dad can't put you in prison for love. I know that was corny but you get the idea.

I can feel his frustration through the phone. The stress he has is potent enough to change the air in a drug den in Philadelphia, miles away from the small town of Tomlinsville. That or it could be asbestos. The phone crackles before he speaks.

"If my father found out, I don't know what he'd do. He makes Adolf Hitler look like mother Theresa. The man thinks I shouldn't date till after college, and he even wants to pick the girls. The only reason I am allowed to see friends is because of my mothers opinion, but she's not much better when it comes to dating. She has this whole thing about class and-- As soon as I hear the word class the subdued part of me awakens, and rage in alcoholic form courses with the blood in my veins.

"CLASS?! Do you want to talk about class?! Your mother admitted her first marriage was for money! She sits and watches your father beat the living shit out of you, then she cleans the mess up afterwards! Don't deny it either you told me all of that! He tries to defend them weakly, probably some crap about them doing what they think is right for their child, I didn't listen. Instead I made a brutal point, or at least the unforgiving part of myself did.

"Maybe you should grow a spine and speak up to them. Jesus Christ Casey you can't sit back and watch them control and methodically destroy every part of you! I know what it's doing. Everyday you seem to be¦Colder, more emotionless. I want the guy who smiles any time he sees me, could make me laugh in a second. Don't let them take that from me.

I can hear his breathing change. I know that breath. It's the breath that comes in times of deep thought. I know it better when I'm close to him, feeling his chest rise and fall with his cycling thoughts. He manages a small stifled laugh. "What's so funny? Of course a predictable question but to a guy anything a girl does is unpredictable. He manages another stifled laugh and responds. "If you're this fucked up and hard to handle when you meet my parents, it'll be an interesting situation.

I'm smiling and I think, no I know, that he is smiling to. Maybe I didn't hear him right, maybe the drugs are changing my perceptions of the spoken word. "Really, you're going to tell them and I'm going to meet them? I say this brimming with excitement. It's like New Years, I'm counting down to an inevitable result. Something that is always guaranteed to happen; change.

No more secrecy, no more acting like friends in front of teachers his parents know. No more telling my parents that his parents are traveling. No more lies or deceit.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. As soon as I tell my parents about you they are definitely going to want to see you. Have you ever been interrogated before? At first I really started to think if I ever was interrogated or not, but then I realized he was kidding. He continues anyway. "They are probably going to react very¦harsh to you. Especially my father. I quickly respond, hard to do while this intoxicated. I'm so excited that I don't care about the problems lying ahead in the future. I feel free in the knowledge that the veil of secrecy is now about to be lifted forever.

"What's he going to do kill me? Come on, I'll be fine. I'm not going to back down from this and you can't stop me Casey. My stubborn nature has set itself not to take no for an answer. I'll be there faster then a speeding bullet to meet them, I'll drive all night if I have to. "Layla, I'm sure you will agree with me when I say you should wait. I don't think you should see them when you're¦well like this. Alright he has a point. He's so thoughtful, making sure I don't see his parents when I'm a drunken mess.

"I'm sorry babe. I say as calm and as gently as possible. A warm feeling, a feeling better then being comfortable by a fire place, pervades every part of my soul. This sensation can't be met by any artificial means like drugs. This is real, this is what makes life worth living. I am ignoring the hurrying footsteps of the now awakened and startled druggies on the floor. I am just standing, separate from this realm of existence in a place built from true happiness. I'm not reacting to the druggies pulling out their guns and aiming them at the door. I don't even flinch at the door being kicked in, the breeze it creates blowing out the candle in front of me. I say, softly, sweetly, these few words. "Casey, I love- I couldn't finish my sentence.

I felt the first of four bullets enter my right abdomen. I'm not sure if I screamed or not. I look upon the face of the man who is shooting at me. A silver badge is glinting in my eyes, and another round hits me in the shoulder. The force of the bullet hitting my shoulder pushes me backwards, and I start to fall over. As I fall I see something familiar about his eyes. The pale green color reminds me of someone. I slam into the ground, the pain starting to turn into something unexpected; euphoric sadness. I know my death is imminent, but I'm not worried or scared. All my thoughts, all my focus, is upon Casey.

What will become of Casey. What will become of him now that our future is lost. I see the man who is tearing my life from me bullet by bullet. He is standing over me, pointing his pistol at my chest. My attention is focused on his eyes again. I know that pale cloudy green, but I can't figure out where I've seen it before.

As I try to look closer I am blinded from another flash from his pistol and another round has hit me in the chest. My sadness for Casey increases as the world becomes dimmer. I hope Casey knows how I feel, I hope he knows what my last words were going to be. I can see the fourth round spiraling for my forehead. I am so in tune with my senses that I can see my reflection upon the spiraling bullet. I'm crying, and I look so desperate to live. What kind of man could take the life of someone so mercilessly?

I feel the round press against my forehead and the spinning creates an odd sensation. I can feel each rotation until suddenly everything is dark. The familiar beat of my heart is absent, but I can hear everything. "Alright, secure the area, tag the perps. Get a trace on this call, I want to know who this bitch was talking to. My first meeting with Casey's father.