Idlewild

by James Frankie Thomas

Fay and I had no choice but to sit together. She sat down. I sat next to her. My butt touched her butt. I mean, we were basically having sex.

To this day I’m chronically sleep-deprived for no reason except that staying up too late, past the point of exhaustion, remains a pleasurable form of self-harm.

I was suddenly overwhelmed by how big other people’s lives were, and how little I knew about them at any given moment.

I regret who I was back then. At the same time, I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy in the same way again. And I don’t know what to do with that.