California
by Jan

page version - https://januarygracemorgan.neocities.org/california.html


You're eleven when your first boyfriend tells you that when he saves up the money, he's gonna move to California and take you with him. He's just gotten a promotion at his job, and he's taking things serious now, serious enough it almost scares you. He can tell, you think, and you know he can tell for sure when you ask him what you'll do over there for school.

"Jesus, Faith," he laughs, and you laugh with him after a second, "since when have you gave a damn about school? You can drop out, they won't give a fuck and your mom sure as hell won't either, if that's what you're worried about."

It's not what you're worried about, but you nod anyway. Your mom wouldn't notice that you'd moved to California, forget school, but they've given you to some social worker at school now and she'd probably call the cops if you leave. You hate her, even if you know she's not lying when she says she's trying to help; it's when she says she's /just/ trying to help that she's lying. She asks you about your boyfriend, and your mom's boyfriend, and all their friends, and you don't know if she thinks you're stupid or that you genuinely want to talk to her, but neither option is good enough for you to like her.

"Why California?" you ask him. It sounds like a nice place, sure, but an expensive one, and not one he'd ever mentioned before. You'll ask Marty about dropping out later, you decide. He probably wouldn't mind, and he could get the school to forget about it. It's not leaving school that worried you, really — you've never done anything while you're there, anyway — it's just the idea of it. High-school dropout isn't such a bad title, you reason, but middle-school dropout is some kind of tragic charity case.

"I've got friends down there," he tells you, "they could get you a job, too. We could move in together, a real little nuclear family." He looks proud as he says it, and you're proud too for a moment, letting yourself get caught up in his dream of living like real people do.

"That better not mean you're gonna try knocking me up," you joke. He laughs and punches your shoulder as he leans forward.

"Shit, they'd really be on my ass about that. Maybe we could get a couple cats, name them something stupid and hide them from our homeowners associationship."

You really do laugh at that, and you lay your head down in his lap as he grins at you. You don't like to let yourself imagine living well anymore, but times like this you can't help it. He brushes his hand over the side of your cheek and you lean into it as he slides the other around your waist, curling you into him. You sit up to lean back onto his couch, hooking one leg around his hips as you shift.

"You gonna wait until you graduate before we move, surely?" You ask. He groans and nods his head, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you closer to him as he talks.

"I think I have to, at this point. My mom is paying for what the scholarship doesn't cover, so if I don't she'd kill me. Especially if she found out I'd dropped out to live with you," he sighs, "she kinda hates you, and if you left too she'd think you were being a bad influence on me, or something."

You rub his thigh sympathetically. You've never been grateful for your mom, and you're sure nobody else could've been thankful for her either, but it's moments like this you're closest to it. You can't imagine anyone caring so much about your life. The college stuff you kind of get, 'cause she's paying for it, but you're not causing her any trouble and she still wants you gone. You don't know what her deal is, but as he unzips your shorts, you decide not to worry about it anymore. Live and let live, or whatever.