Pieces of Ice

Clink.

He stared at the bottom of his glass, into the remains of his drink. He sighed, swallowed the drops that were left, and reached for the bottle again.

Ginger ale just didn't cut it. He needed to drown his sorrows, and ginger ale was not doing the job. There wasn't anything stronger, though. Even if there were, he was only sixteen.

Sixteen, nearly seventeen. Just three short days and he'd be seventeen. He couldn't care less. It was just another number. It was supposed to carry all sorts of benefits but, like when he turned thirteen, nothing really changed.

A song played through his head. Another Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody.... He looked around the room for the thousandth time. The bright flashing lights gave him a headache, and the thundering bass rattled his teeth. He frowned and turned back to his drink.

One gigantic screw-up. His whole life had been one big mistake. He knew no happiness, and often screamed at the stars in sorrow and frustration. Nothing made sense. He couldn't figure anything out. Comparing himself to other people, he couldn't see why....

Nobody cared. At times like this, he noticed that he was alone. There was no one he could talk to. Nobody to confide in. All this pain just built up inside him, weighing down his heart, keeping him from enjoying anything.

The pace of the music changed. Some people moved off the floor, but most of them, it seemed, stayed and danced with somebody they cared for.

He screamed on the inside, frustration and pain reaching a pinnacle. He wanted to yell at the happy couples on the dance floor, "Wake up! How can you be so happy when there is so much sadness around you?"

He scanned the edges of the room, his expression blank. He saw her, and blinked. It wasn't her. The light was playing tricks on his eyes. His thoughts strayed, and he took another drink, pulverizing an ice cube into shards with his teeth.

He looked around the room some more, and saw somebody else. He thought about asking her to dance, but quickly discarded the idea. He was a coward at heart. Few things scared him -- not heights, not snakes. Two things scared him, and one of them was rejection.

He had been rejected too many times. The expression "once bitten, twice shy" was his mantra.

He looked at the people around him. If they were his friends, as they claimed, why didn't they see that something was wrong with him? He certainly thought it was obvious. If he left, would they notice? Not leaving the dance, but really leaving; going away to someplace distant and starting over. Would anybody miss him? Probably not. Hardly anybody noticed him now.

In that new place, wherever that was, would anything change?

Probably not.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

He raised the glass to his mouth again. He swallowed a piece of ice, and it slithered down his throat.

That's all these people are. Pieces of ice. Cold and hard. Indifferent to the problems of those around them. They left a cold feeling after they touched you. Unless of course you were a piece of ice yourself.

If there was so much love in the world, why couldn't he find any? Lord knew he had plenty to give.

His heart was melting, overflowing. Another tear ran down his cheek. He was crying -- crying in public -- and nobody noticed. They all drank their sodas and laughed. Ha ha.

He wished he could die. What was he missing? What great secret had been revealed the day he called in sick? He could kill himself, but death frightened him as well. The great beyond. Eternal darkness.

It was more than he could bear. He raised his glass once more, and got a piece of ice lodged in his throat. Coughing, more tears rolled down his cheeks, and he had trouble breathing for a few moments.

Somebody turned to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He wiped off his face. "Yeah, sure. I'm fine."

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