The suburbs will eat you alive

Small town boredom at the end of the world (part 1)

At the end of last year, I moved back in with my parents and back to my hometown. In two weeks, I will leave again. I wrote this short story in the weeks leading up to the move back. I was anxious about being back in a small town for the first time since the pandemic and became stuck on the idea that you can never truly escape your hometown, no matter how much you reject it as a teenager.

These months back in my small suburban town have been much more freeing than I imagined, partly because I escape up to London a few times a week, partly because I’m less pompous and melodramatic than I was at 17. Yet this story was born from the ideas I used to have about the suffocation of small towns. So, if you’ve ever lived in one, have settled in one or moved back temporarily, you might enjoy it.

If I hold my breath long enough I might pass out. If I pass out he won’t be able to leave.

A reluctant exhale escapes my lips. I tug anxiously at the hangnail attached to my thumb. I frown and pull it harder and harder until half of the nail comes off with it. “Aaagh fuck,” I cry out involuntarily.

“What happened?” Daniel asks, turning to face me. He suspects that I’m being overdramatic. I am not.

“Look at my nail.” I stare at the screaming pink flesh where the nail had been in horror. The raw, wrinkled skin reminds me of a small, newborn animal.

Daniel sits on the edge of my bed and takes my hand in his. I used to dream of moments like these. Romantic scenes were scattered across my brain like stars. I don’t dream of them anymore. I learned quickly that nothing is ever as exciting when it’s really happening. Everything is always so much better in my head.

Daniel holds his right hand out in front of him, revealing a missing nail on his pinkie finger. “Same thing happened to me,” he says, uninterested. “It didn’t hurt. Just fell off in the shower. Looks weird though.” He wriggles his bare finger.

This must mean we’re soulmates, I conclude. Two nail-less freaks who found each other in the dull suburban sprawl. Instead, I say, “That’s weird” and then he leaves, taking his nine remaining fingernails with him.