Last Night I Sang to the Monster Read Online Free

my heart was freezing up, like it was in the middle of a storm and there were things running through my mind, things that were stomping on me, telling me things I didn’t want to know—bad things—and I wanted to take a bat to my own brain. I didn’t, I mean, I just didn’t know what to do so I just smiled at her and nodded. God, there I was with a stupid smile and I hated myself and I thought that maybe there was a knife inside of me, trying to cut me up. I don’t know how I did it, but I did it—I got up and got my book bag. “I have a study session with Antonio and Gloria.” I was trembling and I don’t know how I made myself move or talk or do anything.
    “Do you have to go?” She sounded like a little girl. It was like she was begging me to stay. I was breathing so damn fast that I couldn’t breathe. I know that doesn’t make any sense.
    I needed something. I really needed something. I found my feetmoving towards Tommy’s house. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t been there.
    “Dude,” he said, “You look really weirded out, man. I mean, you could really use something.”
    “Yeah,” I whispered.
    That was the first time I did coke.
    My body, it was electric. For the first time in my life I felt as if I had a real heart and a real body and I knew that there was this fire in me that could have lit up the entire universe. No book had ever made me feel that way. No human being had ever made me feel like that.
    God, it was incredible to feel so perfect. Look, God didn’t write the word perfect on my heart. But cocaine did what God didn’t. Wow. Perfect.
    I was on fire. I mean it. On fire! The truth is that I wanted to die. It would have been beautiful to die feeling so alive. I knew I’d never be that perfect again.

REMEMBERING
    I’m riding a tricycle. I’m four. What I’m remembering must be a dream because I have lots of brothers and sisters. I’m wearing a white shirt and black pants and nice dress shoes that hurt my feet. I’m playing with all my brothers and sisters on my dad’s perfect lawn.
    I just want to be alone. I walk away from everyone and I find this very cool tricycle. I start riding it and I’m singing to myself. I’m happy. I look back and see that all my brothers and sisters and my mom and my dad are all piling into the car. My mom is carrying a present. It’s really pretty with a white silk ribbon. And then the car drives away.
    I wave at them. Bye. Bye. I keep riding my tricycle. I keep singing. I’m happy. I don’t like it when there’s a lot of noise.
    But then, the car comes back and my mother says. “Where were you?”
    And I say, “I was here.”
    “You scared us. We didn’t know where you were. You’re a bad boy scaring me like that.”
    She sounds really, really mad. “I’m sorry,” I say. I feel a knot in my stomach.
    And my mom says, “You’re a bad boy.”
    I want to know why I’m a bad boy. Sometimes, that’s what I say: Zach, you’re a bad boy. That’s really weird, I know. I tear myself up sometimes.

WHY I DON’T BELIEVE IN CHANGE
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    It’s not as if my dad was the only father in the world who drank.
    He worked hard and he never missed work. Not ever. Every day, up at 5:30 in the morning, making his own coffee, making his own lunch, going to work.
    And, hell, at the end of the day, the guy was all beat to shit. Sometimes, he came in after work and he could barely talk he was so tired. He’d take a shower and pour himself a drink. He didn’t hook up with other women and stuff like that. He stuck it out, took care of us. So the guy drank. Hey, there are worse things. And look, my mom, she could be great, but there were days she just sat there, tears rolling down her face. She wasn’t very interactive.
    Santiago came home and made noise, threatening to kill us all, then laughed, stoned, that guy. Crazy. But he always took off. And left us to our quiet house.
    The really sad part was that I was afraid of my mom. That’s not