Part 1.

I hate everything about myself.

I hate that I have his nose, the color of his hideous eyes, and his jawline.
"You're so handsome, just like your father." My grandmother said to me at his funeral. I wanted to scream at her and tell her what a fool she was to think of that man as handsome. Maybe if my eyes were as innocent as his were when he was seventeen, or my jaw was more soft like his, then I'd take it as a compliment. But no, my eyes are far from innocent, my jaw is far from soft. My eyes are scared and scarred and my jaw is swollen and tight. Now I look in the mirror after his funeral, and all I see is him. I see his anger, impatience, and madness in me. I hate that my eyes are dull. And he at my age, his eyes were sparkling.
I hate that he never experienced what I experienced. I hate that I have his anger right now. The more I look at myself in the mirror, the more I want to shatter it into the tiniest pieces. My mother unexpectedly comes in. I don't move or even jump a little. I continue to stare. She walks towards me and rests her hand on my shoulder.
"You're a good kid, do you know that?" A tear trickles down her cheek. And all I can think now is what a beautiful light she is. Even in my darkest moments, she seems to be a glow that breaks through the tiniest cracks.
"Sometimes, I feel like the worst thing on this earth."
She takes a step back. Unable to look at me, she says, "Don't say that, Evan." My head finally moves out of the fixation it was in for an hour, and I look vacantly at her. Words don't exit my mouth. All I do is take a few steps closer to her and hug her.
"We are going to your grandmother's house for dinner." She tells me as we both back away.
"Okay," I respond and watch her leave the room.

..................

Conversation clutters the round oak-wood-table. Food like mashed potato's, chicken, and green beans flood my plate. Looking at that plate taunts me. I want to throw up just by looking at it.
"Evan, you're not hungry?" Grandma slips me a cup of water. I nod my head. Surprisingly, she doesn't argue that I should eat. She withdraws her concerned eyes and smiles politely at me instead.
"So, Laurie, how are you?" Grandma turns her attention to my mom. Words don't exit her mouth, she conveys sorrow through a shrug and fiddles with some green beans on her plate. I can read the energy in a room pretty well, and I think everyone can agree that right now we don't need to speak.
Everyone eats in silence.
After an hour of me playing with my hoodie strings, my mom finally decides to give me the green light to go start the car for her. Before leaving the front door, muffled voices follow me down the hall. I can't exactly comprehend what they're saying. It's probably some condolence shit, anyway. The air cuts me like a knife as I step outside. The weather app on my phone says "22 Fahrenheit," but it feels like it's negative one hundred degrees right now. I unlock the car and instantly shove and twist the keys inside the ignition lock. The warm air slowly starts creeping out of the vents, comforting my shivering body. I close the door and stare at the wheel until my skin feels normal again. My mom comes into the passenger seat, which, honestly, scares me at first.
"You scared me, Mom," I laugh.
"Sorry, but you are driving home tonight."
She pats my shoulder, and I start pulling out of the driveway. I only got my license five months ago, and this is the first time my mom is letting me fully drive home. It's a thirty-minute drive to my house, so it can't be that bad.
I hope it's not that bad.
The car ride was an experience of low-tuned radio music, uncomfortable silence, and the sound of passing cars. Luckily, we are home now. Mom goes to her room, and I hear the shower turn on instantly. I go to my room, pull the bong out of my bedside table along with my lighter and bud, and climb out the bedroom window onto my roof. The cold air doesn't bother me as much when I'm high. On that note, nothing really bothers me when I'm high. I am in a state of pure tranquility once my lungs inhale the cannabis. Lighting the bud, I inhale the smoke flowing up the pipe, and then I exhale.
Inhale and exhale.
It takes about two of those to finally feel a buzz. Then, it takes four more to feel a high. My eyelids become heavy, and I rest my head against my window. Looking up, the stars look funny. I don't know why, but I just giggle. Laughs leave my mouth uncontrollably. Soon, it comes to an end due to the deafening sound of a message ding. I roll my eyes and pick up my phone. A message from Derek pops up on my phone.

Yo, I see you smoking outside my window. Do you mind if I join?

Ryan is my next-door neighbor; it also happens that we are best friends. Call it serendipitous. I type back, "sure."
Sooner than later, he is right next to me, smoking my bong. I'm glad he hasn't heard about my father's death yet. I don't want people to know anyway. It will probably appear on the Facebook page of a funeral home, praising what a wonderful man he was. It's a good thing most people know he wasn't.
"Midterms are coming next week," Derek says as he blows out smoke. I smile.
"Have you studied at all?" I ask.
"Hell no. What makes you think I study?" Derek passes me the bong. I'm too high to even talk right now, so I just shrug.
"I'm failing at least three classes. On that note, I should be studying. Goodbye, Evan." He grabs my shoulder and taps it. "Thanks, man."
"Anytime." I cough out smoke.

..................