Scanlines

by Todd Keisling

It’s funny how one night of adolescent curiosity changed our lives forever.

God and I haven’t seen eye to eye in a long time, but whatever.

Bullshit. There are no new starts for me. Wish I could rewind this horror film, but that ain’t happening. All I can do is hit Play and keep the tape rolling.

Our communication was clear in our appearance and body language, a silent understanding between friends: we were in a bad place, and none of us knew how to get out of it.

I thought I knew everything when I was seventeen, but in hindsight, looking back on these painful moments, I know now that I knew nothing. Silly me.

What kid truly comprehends the inevitability of death? Not me, not then.

Who had time for ghosts and the words of dead men? Why worry about superstitious dangers? How many cracks have I stepped on without breaking Mom’s back? I’ve lost count of how many black cats have crossed my path. We—I—grew up in a time when none of that mattered because tomorrow was a million years away. Even now, as my peers are back home living with their parents, unable to afford what society promised them twenty years ago, we’re all still living day to day. Living in the moment. We have no time for superstition because, hey, I need to meet my hourly quota for the day, week, month so I can pay my bills and continue surviving.

Today I know better. That voice was always my own. We escaped Stauford, but we never escaped ourselves.

I sat there for a few minutes, listening to the radio, and screamed until I was hoarse. I screamed for Nelle. I screamed for Danny and Jordan. But mostly, I screamed for me.