Last Night I Sang to the Monster Read Online Free PDF Page B

He was saying something to me. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. My mind wanders sometimes. And then I heard Adam ask me, “What do you see when you see that picture?”
    “What picture?”
    “The picture you’re staring at.”
    I guess I had been staring at the picture. I didn’t know what to say. “They’re your sons,” I said.
    “Yes.”
    “So, well, I guess I see your sons.”
    Adam, he doesn’t roll his eyes. He’s a real professional. But he does sometimes give people a snarky smile. That’s what he gave me. “But what does it make you think of?”
    “I have a brother.”
    “How old is he?”
    “He’s three years older than me.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “His name’s Santiago.”
    “Do you have a picture like that, of the both of you—when you were little?”
    “Yeah. My mom had one in her room.”
    “What’s going on in the photograph?”
    “My brother is hugging me.”
    “How old are you in the photograph?”
    “Two.”
    “Are you smiling?”
    “Look, Adam, I don’t want to talk about the photograph. It’s just an old picture. It doesn’t mean anything.”
    “Okay. Listen, is it all right if I ask you a question, Zach?”
    “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”
    “Did you love your brother?”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “You don’t remember?”
    “No, Adam, I don’t.”
    He knew I was lying. I guess I didn’t care. Look, I don’t want to remember should count as I don’t remember. That’s what I was thinking.

IN THE COUNTRY OF DREAMS
I have this idea stuck in my head that you have to be born beautiful in order to dream beautiful things. God didn’t write beautiful on my heart. I’m stuck with all my bad dreams. Bad dreams for bad boys. I guess that’s the way it is for me. Look, there’s nothing I can do about it.

DREAMS AND THINGS I HATE
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    I keep having this dream. It’s like being in hell. It’s like I’m being punished and I have to watch the same scary movie over and over. And even though I know the movie by heart, it still scares me because there’s always a monster lurking in the dark.
    That monster wants me dead.
    I wonder if I’m the only one who has a monster.
    It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.
    I think I know why there are so many addicts in the world.
    Running, that’s what I’m doing in the dream. I’m running through the streets and I’m barefoot. My feet are bleeding but I can’t stop and I’m trembling and scared, the storm inside me, strong as a tornado, twisting and twisting. All the pieces of paper I have on the floor of my brain are flying around like birds gone crazy and I’m torn up as hell and I’m running and running and it seems as though I’ll be running forever. It’s night and it’s cold and everything is dead and quiet and hollow and I can hear the echoes of my own breathing in the dark and empty streets. I can’t see where I’m going because the darkness stretches forever and the sweat is stinging my eyes. But that doesn’t stop my feet from running. It’s like my feet can tell my brain what to do. My feet, they’re always taking me places I don’t want to go—especially in my dreams. I’m scared. I hate that I’m so scared. It feels as if my heart if going to be torn out of my body. I don’t even know what I’m scared of.
    The monster. I’m scared of the monster.
    And all of a sudden I’m home. The lawn is soft as cotton and cool on my bloody feet and I think of my father who is the god of the lawn and I want to cry. I want the lawn to hold me but that’s a crazy thought because a lawn doesn’t have arms and hands and a heart and what good is it to have arms and a heart anyway because, hell, they’ve never done me any good.
    When I go inside the house, it’s as empty as the streets. I start to realize that I’m dying of thirst so I try to get a glass of water from the faucet but nothing comes out. No water. I’m going to die, I’m going to die. I know that if I don’t drink I really am going to