A Product of My Environment

Mir Niejalke

Content Warning: recreational drug use and death

A record player scratches. I imagine that’s what it sounded like when God created the heavens and the Earth. Something of that magnitude had to make noise, right? The sound seemed fitting, given the circumstances I was in. Stars wheeled above my eyes, and if I squinted, I could see what Van Gogh was going on about when he painted Starry Night. I couldn’t help but keep looking up. Behind me, the lights of our porch seeped into the yard where I lay, the music from a shitty speaker and the record player battling with it. The battle was stacking up and the king of the hill was turning out to witness Torren and Bee’s latest argument.

Everyone else had left the party ages ago, and I was only sticking around to help Torren pack things up. I know it doesn’t look that way given my current activity, but I’d be up as soon as they were done. They’d been at it since Pattie had left, and I could have sworn the stars made a digital clock as the argument ticked on.

“Why the fuck are they even still together?” I muttered to myself as I took another puff of my joint. As I breathed out, the smoke was snatched up by a nebula and spat back out further into the winding galaxy.

The grass beneath me had stopped itching long ago, and I heard the blades grunting with the effort of holding me up off the dirt. A rogue breeze blew a dandelion towards me, and it kissed my cheek as it continued its fateful trip. In its wake, a trail of red grazed my forearm, resting over my chest, dancing like cave paintings.

Torren tended to look that way, I thought to myself. Light and gentle; the kind of guy to leave a subtle impression. No lofty imaginations, or head in the clouds. He moved like an athlete, like at any moment he’d break into a sprint and leave us all behind. You could read that ambition in his nose, the way it was so long and straight, like the road ahead. If you knew his parents, you’d understand the pressure he was under and also where he got his nose. They were pushing him fast towards a medical career, probably in paediatrics. A strong, clear goal worth being dedicated to. I don’t think Bee would fit in the car travelling that road.

She was the total opposite of Torren. A cloud of vape perpetually followed her, smelling of cinnamon ice. If I had ever met a magical being, Bee was it. Never depressed, constantly kind, gentle yet chaotic, she flitted about like a butterfly, from boy to girl to boy, hobby to job to hustle, family to family, house to house. Maybe she just had ADHD, or maybe she was just a product of her ever-changing environment, and the only thing she wouldn’t change was that lifestyle. Yeah, Torren’s straight and narrow road wouldn’t suffice for a creature like Bee.

Silence.

The stars had started a second spin around, another 360o. Red stars had joined the fray now, shimmering so prettily. They stood still and marked the circular journey of their companions. Chill jazz music filled my ears, so much so that I could nearly feel it in my throat. King of the Hill. The grass kept groaning, but the wind had stopped. I trailed my hand through the grass, caressing each deserving blade. I closed my eyes and felt the ground spin beneath me delightfully.

How did I move through the world, I wondered? Not like Bee or Torren, that’s for sure. Right now, I felt like a forest fire. My mum would say that I managed to bring everything into me and ruin it in an instant, with no warning. That seemed to hold up. My friends all left after I burned them. Frankly, I was pain waiting to happen, nerves psyching themselves up, the thing that activated your fight or flight that waits at the foot of your bed. Not that I was violent, not by any means. My dedication to the bit, the plot, whatever you call it, often made me act like a bit of a dick. I think my dad forced me to read too many books as a kid, and I got into Game of Thrones way too early, so I’ve been living in my fantasy-centric imagination ever since. Maybe I took the badass heroine traits too far and just became a mean and callous person —a product of my imaginary environment.

A thud and drag sounded next to me on the grass. Lazily, I opened my eyes and reached over without looking to pet my new companion. I found long hair, soft skin, honey-sticky fingertips and the soft curve of a woman’s hips. I passed over the joint and it was snatched up by the cold night air. I blinked slowly, and the red stars went out of focus. I blinked again, and they disappeared —such a shame.

“Who do you blame for the way you are? You believe in the power of the cosmos, so was it your mum for giving birth at the time she did, or was it God for putting the stars there for you to be born under?”

Silence.

Another thud sounded to my other side, and I looked over to find Torren breathing heavily, staring up at the stars just like me.

“I’d blame my mum. She always said she wanted a Pisces baby and she’s never forgiven me for being a Leo. Actually, I don’t think she’s forgiven me for anything.”

Silence.

Art by Jasmin Small

“One day, I’ll be the daughter she wishes she had. She never wanted one, and before long she won’t have one. Then I’ll be all the way up there, with God’s mighty record player, jazzing out as one of these stars. And then, someone on some website will buy me and name me after a dead friend. I think that would be nice.”

Silence. It must have been a bad fight.

Finally, “I don’t think I’ll make it to med school,” Torren mumbled tearfully. We lay there in silence all night. I sobered up and fell asleep right there, and that’s how we got here.

“I asked if you saw anything last night, when your friend died?” the Constable queried. The End. If you or anyone you know is affected by the content of this piece, please contact one of the support services below: