Post by landon lukasiak on May 19, 2016 8:17:08 GMT -5
They didn’t care he was bisexual—no—because they considered themselves to be very progressive parents. Yet, once an addict—always an addict despite the fact he’d been clean for four years. Even when his father had had his heart attack—they still hid the pills and booze in locked cabinets when he’d come visit. So—he stopped visiting because he was tired of his mother sneaking into the guest room to see if he was still breathing. Part of him couldn’t blame her. How many times did a woman need to find her son living in an abandoned church nodded out and filthy before she’d break? Good ol’California dreaming. Southern California was a cesspool despite what ritzed up dreams the rest of the world had about it. He left when he finished his first round of mandatory rehabilitation. He’d been clean almost six months before he headed out to Las Vegas. His biggest mistake was doing it alone. It didn’t take much time at all for him to give in to a little peer pressure before he was using again. Deeper and deeper he spiraled until he’d decided to just—end it all.
Twenty-two years old, no job and estranged from the only family he had—he found a cheap casino and hotel far enough off the strip to not draw attention to himself. He’d rented a room for the weekend with enough H to kill a horse. The first night he simply used for the high—the next he was ready to so goodbye to this god forsaken world because what was more artistic than ending your own life like a rock star? Except, the card he’d used to rent the room had been reported stolen after the first night and the casino wasn’t as friendly as he’d assumed. They sent in one of their security people—a six foot dreamboat of a guy with soft blond hair and the kind of blue eyes he’d only read about in poetry. He’d been sleeping—when the door opened. In a panicked daze he’d fallen out of the bed, tangled in the white sheets and slammed his head into the end table.
He couldn’t recall much after that because it had all blurred into one long memory—the detox convulsions and pain. The constant chills and burning sensation—some methadone to ease the edge. Through the entire journey, his blond guardian angel with the squinty blue eyes had been by his side, and he’d fallen into a deep love for him.
Unfortunately, that love was far from mutual, but a friendship begat from that fateful night they first met. Here, four years later, Landon was stone cold sober—as far as illegal substances was concerned. He did have the occasional drink from time to time—but with watchful eyes always on him. Never drink alone, and never drink to get drunk. So he didn’t and he’d been able to keep himself clean for this long. The first year or two he’d drive between South Beach and Las Vegas—rooming with West’s sister from another mister, the pretty little goth girl, Roxi. She and Landon became fast friends. It baffled the young man’s mind that he’d found not one but two wonderful people at the very peak of his despair.
Through Roxi he learned more about his hero. He was originally from a small town in South East Arkansas near the Louisiana border. He had four sisters and his unofficial claim to family in her. He was an amateur MMA fighter and boxer—and his striking skills were amazing per Roxi. She’d also go on to tell him about how he’d come to Las Vegas—how he used to train in New Orleans as a wrestler—how he’d fallen madly in love with a woman who only led him on and used him in return. West was an introvert, Roxi had told him. He enjoyed being alone and never had much to say—he was also a workaholic.
All these layers just added to the complexity and mystery that surrounded West McFadden—and he felt himself even more drawn to him than normal. Of course, time would take its toll on their friendship. Eventually he’d become so accustomed to West’s nature that the feelings started to become as distant of a memory as that night in the Lucky 13.
Now, they were bros. Friends—and life in Las Vegas was ultimately better than it had ever been for his past twenty-nine years.
He skateboarded and listened to ska. He’d drown himself in emo poetry when he was down and jam out to pop punk bands when he was feeling alright. Singing in the garage—dirt biking with McFadden in the desert. It was all an improvement from the inviting look of staring down a gun barrel. Nights were better spent suited up at the Paper Moon waiting tables than nodding out with strangers and some good horse.
McFadden would pluck the ukulele and he’d strum his six-string out in the dunes beneath the shade of his favorite rock—the big reddish-brown one that felt smooth on the side from wind erosion. Sunsets were more colorful—food tasted better.
Four years sober.
What if I told you that you drain the colors from the world when you leave…and I sit and watch them fade wondering if we’ll ever meet again? ~LL 04/05/2016
Warm sunlight spilled through his townhouse’s courtyard as he sat out by the reflecting pool, his eyes shut, simply breathing. Meditation was something he’d embraced since he’d made the journey to sobriety. The sound of the wind dancing the chimes mixed with the twittering birds made for a pleasant musical serenity. He blinked his eyes open and exhaled. Eighty-four degrees was hot—though it would only be hotter as the year rolled from Spring to Summer. For a moment, he missed the cool breeze that’d roll in from the Pacific when he’d lie around the sand of South Beach or on the hills of Montecito.
He rocked back on his tailbone, and lay out on the black and lime yoga mat he’d been sitting on and stared up at the plate shingles of his beige adobe villa rental. Not expecting a pair of thin legs and knee-high black belted boots, he jumped with a start, nearly rolling into the reflection pond in the courtyard that was not terribly far from where he’d been meditating.
“Relax, jumpy,” Roxi laughed as he rolled his eyes and rocked back up onto his elbows for support. “Where’s Kade? She was supposed to help me with my hair.”
Landon shrugged. He shared the townhouse with his and Roxi’s mutual friend, Kayden Dean, an androgynous hair-dresser and fellow skater Landon had been friends with back home. “Don’t sneak up on people, fuck,” he complained. “I dunno, man—she was gone when I woke up.”
Roxi bit her cherry painted lower lip and released a frustrated sigh. “That girl,” she murmured. “Well—you wanna go in town with me then?”
Lukasiak shook his head no and glanced back up at the scale like roofing of the joint villas. The little courtyard was surrounded by the entrances of all 3 of the villa homes, each identically crafted like the other. While most simply passed the courtyard by, he always enjoyed sitting in the little garden and simply breathe. Given his neighbors were this woman and her boyfriend—and then an elderly lady and her three Pekinese dogs—it was typically a quiet neighborhood.
“I just wanna lay here,” Landon said with a smirk. “—maybe hop on the bike and head out to the dunes—or go hiking up around the sandstones.”
Roxi rolled her eyes. She was the complete opposite of her dear friend when it came to the outdoors life. She loathed it. “You’re on your own then, Lando,” Roxi remarked as the pat him on the head as if he was a puppy. “I’m gonna go see if Brock’s awake yet. If you see, Kade—holler at me, K?”
“Yep,” Landon mumbled as he lay back onto the mat. Still the wind tickled the chimes and the wind sang their sweet melody. This was bliss.
Twenty-two years old, no job and estranged from the only family he had—he found a cheap casino and hotel far enough off the strip to not draw attention to himself. He’d rented a room for the weekend with enough H to kill a horse. The first night he simply used for the high—the next he was ready to so goodbye to this god forsaken world because what was more artistic than ending your own life like a rock star? Except, the card he’d used to rent the room had been reported stolen after the first night and the casino wasn’t as friendly as he’d assumed. They sent in one of their security people—a six foot dreamboat of a guy with soft blond hair and the kind of blue eyes he’d only read about in poetry. He’d been sleeping—when the door opened. In a panicked daze he’d fallen out of the bed, tangled in the white sheets and slammed his head into the end table.
He couldn’t recall much after that because it had all blurred into one long memory—the detox convulsions and pain. The constant chills and burning sensation—some methadone to ease the edge. Through the entire journey, his blond guardian angel with the squinty blue eyes had been by his side, and he’d fallen into a deep love for him.
Unfortunately, that love was far from mutual, but a friendship begat from that fateful night they first met. Here, four years later, Landon was stone cold sober—as far as illegal substances was concerned. He did have the occasional drink from time to time—but with watchful eyes always on him. Never drink alone, and never drink to get drunk. So he didn’t and he’d been able to keep himself clean for this long. The first year or two he’d drive between South Beach and Las Vegas—rooming with West’s sister from another mister, the pretty little goth girl, Roxi. She and Landon became fast friends. It baffled the young man’s mind that he’d found not one but two wonderful people at the very peak of his despair.
Through Roxi he learned more about his hero. He was originally from a small town in South East Arkansas near the Louisiana border. He had four sisters and his unofficial claim to family in her. He was an amateur MMA fighter and boxer—and his striking skills were amazing per Roxi. She’d also go on to tell him about how he’d come to Las Vegas—how he used to train in New Orleans as a wrestler—how he’d fallen madly in love with a woman who only led him on and used him in return. West was an introvert, Roxi had told him. He enjoyed being alone and never had much to say—he was also a workaholic.
All these layers just added to the complexity and mystery that surrounded West McFadden—and he felt himself even more drawn to him than normal. Of course, time would take its toll on their friendship. Eventually he’d become so accustomed to West’s nature that the feelings started to become as distant of a memory as that night in the Lucky 13.
Now, they were bros. Friends—and life in Las Vegas was ultimately better than it had ever been for his past twenty-nine years.
He skateboarded and listened to ska. He’d drown himself in emo poetry when he was down and jam out to pop punk bands when he was feeling alright. Singing in the garage—dirt biking with McFadden in the desert. It was all an improvement from the inviting look of staring down a gun barrel. Nights were better spent suited up at the Paper Moon waiting tables than nodding out with strangers and some good horse.
McFadden would pluck the ukulele and he’d strum his six-string out in the dunes beneath the shade of his favorite rock—the big reddish-brown one that felt smooth on the side from wind erosion. Sunsets were more colorful—food tasted better.
Four years sober.
What if I told you that you drain the colors from the world when you leave…and I sit and watch them fade wondering if we’ll ever meet again? ~LL 04/05/2016
Warm sunlight spilled through his townhouse’s courtyard as he sat out by the reflecting pool, his eyes shut, simply breathing. Meditation was something he’d embraced since he’d made the journey to sobriety. The sound of the wind dancing the chimes mixed with the twittering birds made for a pleasant musical serenity. He blinked his eyes open and exhaled. Eighty-four degrees was hot—though it would only be hotter as the year rolled from Spring to Summer. For a moment, he missed the cool breeze that’d roll in from the Pacific when he’d lie around the sand of South Beach or on the hills of Montecito.
He rocked back on his tailbone, and lay out on the black and lime yoga mat he’d been sitting on and stared up at the plate shingles of his beige adobe villa rental. Not expecting a pair of thin legs and knee-high black belted boots, he jumped with a start, nearly rolling into the reflection pond in the courtyard that was not terribly far from where he’d been meditating.
“Relax, jumpy,” Roxi laughed as he rolled his eyes and rocked back up onto his elbows for support. “Where’s Kade? She was supposed to help me with my hair.”
Landon shrugged. He shared the townhouse with his and Roxi’s mutual friend, Kayden Dean, an androgynous hair-dresser and fellow skater Landon had been friends with back home. “Don’t sneak up on people, fuck,” he complained. “I dunno, man—she was gone when I woke up.”
Roxi bit her cherry painted lower lip and released a frustrated sigh. “That girl,” she murmured. “Well—you wanna go in town with me then?”
Lukasiak shook his head no and glanced back up at the scale like roofing of the joint villas. The little courtyard was surrounded by the entrances of all 3 of the villa homes, each identically crafted like the other. While most simply passed the courtyard by, he always enjoyed sitting in the little garden and simply breathe. Given his neighbors were this woman and her boyfriend—and then an elderly lady and her three Pekinese dogs—it was typically a quiet neighborhood.
“I just wanna lay here,” Landon said with a smirk. “—maybe hop on the bike and head out to the dunes—or go hiking up around the sandstones.”
Roxi rolled her eyes. She was the complete opposite of her dear friend when it came to the outdoors life. She loathed it. “You’re on your own then, Lando,” Roxi remarked as the pat him on the head as if he was a puppy. “I’m gonna go see if Brock’s awake yet. If you see, Kade—holler at me, K?”
“Yep,” Landon mumbled as he lay back onto the mat. Still the wind tickled the chimes and the wind sang their sweet melody. This was bliss.