He stood alone, a boy of sixteen with dark eyes and a faded blue baseball cap. His vision tunneled from the beer in his hand, his body light from the joint he had just smoked. Alone. He had smoked it alone. It was this desire that had brought him outside of the house away from the party that raged within. He didn’t know the girl that lived here, he had come in tow with a few friends who had all but abandoned him to a maze of unfamiliar faces and red plastic cups upon arrival. Claustrophobia and anxiety had set in but he rolled up his release and smoked it to the head.He had no desire to return to the inside of the house. The day had been humid, but the night brought with it a cool wind that made his inebriated body tingle. Walking around the side of the house he heard (felt?) the leaves in the trees rustle. There were windows here, three of them. The glass was new, it stuck out amid the peeling gray paint of the house. Two brightly lit, except for the one he now stood in front of. A flickering light came from this one, gently pushing its way into the night.He looked in upon a girl and a guy, both seniors from his school. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Varsity cheerleader and varsity running back. He had heard this girl confess her undying love for her man many times in the not so whispered conversations in the hall between periods. They undressed each other with reckless abandon, foreplay consisting of a hard tug on her bra and a toss of her panties. He was on top at first, but it didn’t last long, she took over moving slow at first but quickly speeding to a rough pace, her hips flexing in the glow of the candle that burned nearby. They never kissed. Never touched with hands. Never even really looked at each other.“Passionless, mechanical”, the unseen boy thought at the window. “This is love confused with lust, a defect of people my age.”He moved on to the next window, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the brighter light. The scene within shocked him for a second, but only a second. A beautiful girl with long blond hair and bright blue eyes ran a steak knife across the top of her forearm. She repeated this twice, than three times. The blood from the cuts ran down her arm and dropped from her fingertips in a steady rhythm to stain the white carpet beneath. The look on her face as she made the cuts was one of pure release. He knew that it was an outlet for all the ugliness beneath her skin, she wished to let it free with the pain, just as he did the opposite with the drugs. He would have cried for her but he found tears impossible when he was high. Even when his father beat his mother, locked in his room above with a joint burning, he could not bring himself to cry.He moved on. A group of people his age sat around the kitchen table playing cards and taking shots. A girl fell off of her chair and landed in a heap on the floor, drawing howls of laughter from the others. “Why do they laugh?” He wondered. “I find no humor in the teenage condition, they actually drink for fun?” He felt so comfortable watching them, seeing a part of life without being a part of life. And all that separated him from them was a thin sheet of glass.