cigarettecliche

the chapteryou've all been waiting for

Tue, 15 Aug 2006 05:41:50 GMT

At first it felt uncomfortable. But then, I realized that there wasn’t anywhere id rather be than in my room with him on top of me. We had just gotten back from a Terrior Bute show, and were sitting in my room. No one was home except for us. I was sitting on my bed, legs crossed hands folded in my lap, the way a well behaved third grader should sit while being read to. He was across the room, looking at my bookshelf. It seemed he had an opinion on every book I had ever read. Some good, some bad, but an opinion on all in the least. He wouldn’t stop talking. Alright, its not like I had something really important to say to him, or counter any of his opinions and start a debate. Or maybe I did have something to say to him, I was just waiting for silence to figure out what it was. Frustrated, I sighed and thought that maybe he was just nervous. Sac crossed the room (still ranting about the complete lack of existentialist metaphors in today’s literature)

“I just don’t understand how people can revere chuck Palahniuk as a genius when none of his…” I stopped listening. Maybe I was being slightly cynical, but he was acting like the sound of his own voice spewing this important opinion of his was the medicine to all of mankind’s problems. And even if one of his opinions could cure cancer, shouldn’t it be about something more important than underlying antagonistic references to chaos? When he finally walked across my room and sat on my bed. I scooted (scootched…?) closer to him and tucked my body underneath the comfort of his arm. He was still talking. I put my right hand on his knee and started tracing a heart with my index finger. Six hearts later, he was still talking. I leaned my head on his chest, and waited. I counted one hundred and twenty one thousands. And goddamnit, he was still talking. Despite my frustration with this situation, I knew I loved him. I loved the way he would go on and on and on about something that was really only important for him, I admired his determination to say this one opinion of his before death. I was infatuated with the way he could wrap his mind so tightly around one idea, and stay so fucking focused on it until he finally had conveyed the idea to at least one other person. I took comfort in knowing that maybe one time, the idea that he coiled around his brain could be me. I turned to face him, and I stopped him, mid sentence, mid point, mid hand gesture, mid thought, mid rant and said.

“Isaac James Preston, I am so fucking in love with you.” His jaw dropped, his right hand fell to his side and his head slowly pivoted toward me. He had a half smile and a warm glow in his eyes.

“Are you really?” I nodded my head vigorously and smiled. “good, because I am fucking in love with you too” At the same time his left had grabbed my right hand, and his right hand softly held my face. He pulled me in and just before our eager lips touched. The clock turned 11;11. I told him to make a wish. Sweet gentle kisses quickly escalated into an intense make out session. Before I could think twice (or say otherwise) my shirt was over my head and bra unhinged and laying on the floor. He laid me down and fiddles with his belt. I shimmied out of my jeans More kissing more touching. For once in my life I wasn’t feeling exposed or bare. His strong hands pulled down the simple black thong and everything felt complete. I felt whole. More kissing, more touching. It hurt, but not bad enough to stop. Looking back, I can’t think of any other way I would loose my virginity, my innocence and my naïve personality all at once. Not with any other person, not in any other room. The smell of jasmine incense heightened the experience and things started to feel good. When it was over, we laid for a couple minutes. Time slipped away, and the comfort lasted. I quickly fell asleep in his arms. Content with everything in the world. Problems would have to wait until morning. But I guess problems weren’t really a problem, because we were in love. And that’s all anyone really needs, right?

in Sac's point of view

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 05:20:22 GMT

I worked at the local McDonalds. My therapist suggested the job to my parents after my 5th court date. My mom and dad, who had stop caring after the third court date, figured it wouldn’t hurt to have Isaac get a job. I complied with their wishes. I hated fighting with them. It wasn’t that I wanted to rebel. I was just bored. I smoked and drank on a regular basis, and the only thing I was looking foreword to was my 18th birthday so I could buy my own smokes. I didn’t care about collage or jobs or the real world. I wanted to just be. I didn’t take my tests, and I really could give a shit. I was Isaac Preston, and no one could tell me what to do. I’ve been in and out of doctor’s offices, therapy centers, rehabs, and counseling offices where the same “doctors” gave me the same advice. Finish high school go to college get a job and start a family. But that isn’t what I wanted. But I still listened to them. All of them, I listened to their bullshit advice and ridiculous diagnosis. Sitting on those fake leather chairs staring at plants and weird paintings and bookshelves of self improvement literature made me want to drink bleach. Nothing made me more depressed than getting “help” for my made up problems. Apparently I had un-diagnosable emotional issues often associated with depression and bi-polar disease. And I had a drug problem. It hurt a lot to hear people telling me I was fucked up, when I knew perfectly well that I wasn’t at all. “Look,” I would stand up and say, “I’m not depressed, I’m not bi-polar, I’m a teenager. There is unhealthy about my state of mine. I smoke pot because there isn’t anything better for me to do, not because I think I need to escape from a depressing life.”
“Calm down Isaac, its alright, its often common for teenagers to react this when first receiving help.” Well I must have first received help seven or eight fucking times by now.
She changed my life. We met at a local show one night. I hated girls up until that point. They were all the same inside, twisted and vain. After a couple bad experiences I shut myself off from girls all together. They would come up and make conversation, slip me a phone number or an invitation to a party after the show. I always politely declined. I didn’t want to hurt those poor girls, after all they meant nothing to me. I had better things to concern myself with. But something about her changed me, even with the first glance. She captivated me. I saw her from across the bar and she was just different. In the way she dressed, and styled her hair and walked and held her body. She was different. She was walking over to use my lighter. Her voice was so straight foreword and to the point, and the way she smoked her Marlborough so expertly, I knew this girl was worth my time. Even the sound of her voice comforted and calmed me more than any other cigarette joint or drink ever would. And she knew about the music we were here to see. She wasn’t here for the fashion, or the chain smoking, or the boys. She was here for what really mattered. The music. At the end of the night I wanted to pull her next to me and feel her heartbeat. I walked her home, and kissed her the way she deserved to be kissed. That memory is better than any memory of ever being high. I wanted to be her best friend, no, closer than that. I longed to show her my secrets, and I wanted to see hers. I promised her I’d be back. I walked home with my heart pounding my ribcage. I was falling, no tumbling, down four flights of stairs in love with this beautiful quirky innocent girl. I somehow managed to get home and into my bed, safe and sound. I laid down and Imagined her with me, my arm around her middle rising and falling slowly in time to her steady breath. I felt sick and dizzy and at the same time excited and fearless. Just thinking about this and what it could become. And then, nothing felt right. What is the point of going to shows, driving aimlessly, watching a movie, falling asleep, if she wasn’t right there beside me? I wanted to keep he safe.

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 04:23:07 GMT

“Why’d you do it?” She pressed. Her small voice sounded troubled and upset. Even thought Ashland and I were the only two people on the hard tiled floor of the locker room, I still felt uncomfortable talking to her about this. Her large glassy eyes pleaded for an answer.
I stared into them as I started, “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She gave me another desperate look. Ashland was really good at acting like she cared, good enough for daytime television.
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me now,” her words were crystal clear, I could see straight through them. “I don’t want you to keep doing this to yourself. It makes me really sad.” Oh, like she really fucking cared I met her yesterday when she transferred from New Hampshire and now she’s all concerned. I think I should be the concerned one, she corners people in locker rooms and acts like she wants to know your life story.
“I’m not a fucking charity case.” I spat at her as I made my way to the door. The bell rang, and I was gone.

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 05:41:03 GMT

It doesn’t matter where I was that day, or what I was doing. Where I had been, or what I was going to do later. Even If it did matter, I wouldn’t have been able to remember, there would be holes and pieces missing from the story. The only thing that happened on April 16th was his death. I didn‘t understand Jason until he died. Jason hung himself in my living room, he was 18, and had been suffering his whole life, My dad didn’t love him, My mom abandoned him for alcohol way back when he was still in treatment. Like everyone else I had ever come in contact with, I had no idea what to make of Jason. But I know that Jason sacrificed himself to help the world grow. When Jason was little he had lots and lots of night terrors. He would scream and yell and shake and cry. And not remember what it was he was yelling about. Jason had to sleep in a room with pads on the fucking wall so he wouldn’t unintentionally hurt himself while having those “dreams” that weren’t really dreams at all. When Jason was fully committed, my dad kind of stopped coming home at night. He stopped visiting Jason with us. He may or may not have stopped visiting Jason all together. The “treatment facility” where Jason stayed had the same wallpaper decorating the entire hospital, I mean treatment facility. The white background clashed with the horrible pink and blue flowers that were thrown so randomly against the paper it was sickening. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing that same pattern. Seeing Jason was incredibly uncomfortable. I had no idea what to say to him. So I didn’t say anything. My mom didn’t say anything. The doctors did nothing to help him. What can you give an eleven year old who has a screaming fit every night that he can’t remember. There’s only so much medicine a boy can take. For all he knew, Jason was in a fucking psycho ward for no reason. I don’t blame Jason for taking his life. He couldn’t ever go to college and live in a dorm, people would have to watch him constantly, and take things away from his room at night, Jason couldn’t ever get married and have kids. The kids would have the same problem too. Jason would be so goddamn loaded from all the Prosom Xanax and Frisium he couldn’t hold a pencil, let alone a job. Life was pointless for him to continue. I finally understood why I was on earth when I saw his lifeless body swaying softly from the railing of the balcony of which he threw himself off of. He hadn’t written a note but the song playing in the background explained a lot. Adam’s Song, by Blink-182.

I never thought I'd die alone
I laughed the loudest who'd have known?
I traced the cord back to the wall
No wonder it was never plugged in at all
I took my time, I hurried up
The choice was mine I didn't think enough
I'm too depressed to go on
You'll be sorry when I'm gone

The truth was I wasn’t that sorry for him to be gone, I was sorry for my mom and dad who had to deal with this mess. By hanging himself my mom had to put the fucking bottle down for two seconds and call the cops And my dad had to come home and try to give a shit.

I never conquered, rarely came
16 just held such better days
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside
The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over we'd survived
I couldn't wait till I got home
To pass the time in my room alone

I never thought I'd die alone
Another six months I'll be unknown
Give all my things to all my friends
You'll never step foot in my room again
You'll close it off, board it up
Remember the time that I spilled the cup
Of apple juice in the hall
Please tell mom this is not her fault

That last line really struck me, all the times Jason had been cooped up in a small padded room he would blame my parents for this, saying things like “you’re the ones who made me like this” and “its your fault I’m in here wasting away” Things he didn’t mean.

I never conquered, rarely came
16 just held such better days
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside
The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over we'd survived
I couldn't wait till I got home
To pass the time in my room alone

I never conquered, rarely came
But tomorrow holds such better days
Days when I can still feel alive

Jason never felt alive, I think the last breath of air he ever took was his first taste of reality

When I can't wait to get outside
The world is wide, the time goes by
The tour is over, I've survived
I can't wait till I get home
To pass the time in my room alone.

More... again

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 03:36:08 GMT

I went on a walk that morning, I guess I needed time out of my house. At first my steps were fast, and purposeful, but since I wasn’t going anywhere in particular I figured, why not enjoy what is around me. I listened for birds singing sweet songs. Sweet songs that represented their feelings, Elation, depression, anger. I could feel the birds emotions when the high chirps flew through my open ears. I picked a branch of lilacs and tucked it into my loose ponytail. I counted how many sprinklers were dousing large green lawns liberally with water. My Biology teacher always said that water was the key to life. I don’t think he’s right. I think an imagination is key to living, really living. Along the way a dog started following me. I figured maybe he had escaped from a year near by, and any minute the frantic and extremely embarrassed owner would come and pull it back home. She would be just getting ready for work, curlers in her hair, make- up half done, wearing nylons, but only had time to put on slippers when she realized her beloved dog was roaming the city streets. But after a couple blocks, It hadn’t stopped. I turned around and looked at its collar, But it didn’t have one. No address, no family to run home too. Its big brown eyes longed for love. The poor dog hadn’t felt a human hand in a long time. I squatted down and hugged it, he sniffed my hair and my ears, and licked my face. The wet slobber dripped onto my shirt and soaked through to my skin. Its overgrown black coat had traces of broken sticks and leaves with in it. I needed to give the dog a bath back home. It needed a home for today. I picked up a stick and threw it in the opposite direction, The dog dutifully ran back and retrieved it, his long tail wagging with delight. We walked and talked. I asked him about his life, why he had no home. He told me we were destined to meet today. He needed a name. I thought about Destiny, but that sounded too girly, and weird on a dog. Fido, was too… standard, So I named him Ivory. If anything it was ironic. I let Ivory into my house. I had never had a pet, mostly because my house wasn’t meant for a pet. There were expensive rugs and furniture that stains would never come out of. The wooden chairs and cabinets would get scratched, and ruined, and then sold at a garage sale years later for seventy five dollars. I ushered Ivory to my backyard and closed both gates so he was free to roam and explore. I grabbed the Sea foam green cordless phone off of its matching charger, and called Sac.

“Hey you,” Sac answered. My stomach dropped just hearing the sound of his voice. I had never done heroin, but I bet if its 500 times better than your best orgasm, Sac was 5 million times better than heroin.

“Can you come over and help me give a dog a bath?”

He laughed, “What?”

I started over, “Well, I found a dog when I was walking, and he’s kinda dirty, can you help me give him a bath? Please?”

“Okay, I’ll be right there… see you soon…” His voice trailed off at the end. He was obviously confused, but I couldn’t explain my situation any better. I found a ball in the garage and threw it to Ivory and he faithfully brought it back to me. I unwound the garden hose and turned it on. I let Ivory drink form the running stream. His pink tongue lapped and lapped for minutes on end. I NEED AN ENDING TO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m sorry I need to do this. I really thought that this would work from the beginning, but now, at the end of summer I’m not sure what I see in the future for us. Some things have changed and need to be on my own for a while. I love you, however, you hold me down. You were the first person to really see me for who I am, but, I know we can‘t be together anymore. You are too amazing for me. So I need to break this off before we get any more attached. I’m leaving tonight, maybe New York or Chicago, someplace where I can really find myself. Don’t take this too hard because I really can’t explain everything I feel right now. I just know I can’t be with you. Not right now. I‘ll be around. - S

Salty tears filled my eyes and dripped down my torn face one by one dropping consistently onto the letter placed in on my lap. My face scrunched and contorted, snot leaked out of my open nose. Was this some kind of joke? But why would he fucking joke about this. My insides churned and flipped, My body shook with fear. The only question that came to my mind was why? Why me? Why would he leave? Why is he going so far away? Why didn’t he call? Why does this hurt so much? My fists tightened and lifted up toward the window to my left. The only thing I wanted to do at that moment was fucking hit that stupid god damn piece of shit window. So that’s what I did. My right hand cracked the glass, and with the second swing there were four cuts on my hand. Two more swings created more and more cuts. More pain, more anguish. I swung at it until all the glass had been punched out, The crimson blood flowed freely from the wounds on my knuckles. I cried harder and harder, and picked up a shard of glass. There was a perfect razor edge to it. I started on the back of my left hand. Where no glass had tainted the pale soft skin yet. I pushed the glass hard. My head cleared and I could finally taste the oxygen I breathed. My head tilted back in comfort, my soaking wet lips curled into a sick smile. Is this what you wanted Sac? I can do more. One cut turned into four which quickly turned into fourteen. And soon enough my arms and hands were dripping with dark blood. My anger was in puddles all over the hardwood floors, Inching closer to the tables and chairs that used to decorate the dining room. Now they just watched my self destruction. They wanted to turn away, but this kind of temper tantrum was too good not to watch. And I just laughed. Although nothing about this situation was funny. He wasn’t going to come back. And he just left me here. I never felt more alone in my life. I stopped to think of how many other teenage girls were sitting in the middle of their dinning rooms wallowing a pool of their own blood, and laughing about how she caused this to happen. Not many.

After you read this can you fill out a small survey...?

After she cuts herself should she:

1. Tell someone (Sac, Mom, national help line...?)
OR
Have someone random find out (make a new freind...?)

2. Should she conitnue cutting herself?
OR
Have this be a one time deal

3. Should this memory be continued throught out the story, flashbacks
OR
One scene

In General:

4. What kind of ending should this movie have? (IE, Garden State where the guy comes back right away and realizes he is in love with her. The Breakup, where they go their separate ways for a while then meet up again. have someone die....)

5. Should this story be just the summer of them meeting, or continue on for a couple years?

6. What would you want to see in the story, any certain activity between her and Sac, her and her mom, Sac and her mom.. etc?

7. Is there anything you don't liek about this story? if so what? (a critique of how to make it better would be appreciated)

8. Should I give more description to her?
OR
keep her identity and features a mystery?

Thank you so much all critism will be greatly appreciated. even if its small i really need something to work on!

Thu, 15 Jun 2006 18:06:02 GMT

This is the order I want it to go in.

I never really thought much of life. It was just… there. I never took advantages of situations, but I never really regretted anything either. I mostly thought it was overrated. I didn’t want to grow up. I had no desire to become my mother, or worse, my grandmother. There wasn’t anything that interested me, my talents were pretty much limited to thinking, and laughing at my own jokes. I was nothing special. I wasn’t pretty or smart, or good at anything worth while, I didn’t have passions or goals. I was a waste of a person. Getting a job, and being tied down, all seemed like walking into a trap. Why would I want to work? It seemed endless. Find a job, get married have kids, live in a house, and die. Why should I bother with steps two three and four, when I can skip right to step five and get it over with. I wouldn‘t travel to Asia or Africa. I wouldn‘t become famous. My grades were average, and I didn’t excel in anything. Growing up wasn‘t an option for me. The little yellow pills that I took once in the morning prevented my anxiety attacks, but did nothing to change the fact that I was probably going to kill myself before I was 27.

I wasn’t obsessed with death. But it crossed my mind often. Maybe like twice a month. I hoped I would get lucky, and get killed, so I wouldn’t have to do it myself. Maybe get hit by a truck, or fall down stairs. Something accidental so my parents could still think of me the same way. So people wouldn’t wonder what went wrong. I wasn’t crazy. But, I wasn’t happy either. Nothing made me feel whole. Not pancakes on a Sunday morning. Not walking in the middle of the street, or smelling lilacs. I didn‘t dance in the rain, or play in the snow. I didn‘t enjoy sun. I wanted to brake out in painful hives every time my frail body stepped outside the safety of my house. Music kept me entertained, but it wasn’t my life. I didn’t go to many concerts. My favorite bands didn’t play concerts anymore anyway. I wasn’t original. I was lame. A square. School was a fucking joke. The teachers didn’t notice me. I slipped under the radar. I didn’t care too much. I just looked. And noticed. I noticed that Aubrey Stuckly always left Math to pee at 10: 28 every third day. I tired to figure out reasons why every third day. Like maybe she drank a different amount of water everyday. Or maybe she ate different things for breakfast each morning. I entertained myself with these thoughts, but I knew I would never really know why she peed every third day. I didn’t really want to know. Because her reason was probably really simple. Knowing the truth made things boring. I could stay in my head all day.

     "Its raining," I observed. I always point out the obvious. However, it wasn't exactly raining. Big fat rain drops fell and splashed on the ground, but not fast, and not a lot. Some could call it a drizzle. As with other words, I didn't like it because it had Z's. I didn't like Zebras, Zeros or Zimbabwe. I didn't really like saying Xylophone either. but it was forgivable, you can't punish the word xylophone for sounding like a Z, after all it wasn't its fault.
     "Thanks Captain obvious...." Sac retorted. I liked Sac, short for Isaac, and no Z's. The day was Thursday June 17th. I had nothing to do but spend my time with him. His right hand grazed the small of my back as he stood up. "What are we going to do today?" I couldn't tell why he asked me. The look in his eyes was hinting he had a plan. This look drove me insane. I could usually tell what people were thinking if they looked me in the eye. Sac was different. He never made sense. He paced the living room My eyes followed him. Either he was still formulating his plan, or figuring out how to tell me. Sac and I were "Thought dyslexic". Our minds worked slightly backwards, and too fast. The words made sense in our heads, but if they were projected out of our minds, it took a while for people to figure out. So we had to think extensively before we said anything. Finally he spoke. "I have a plan." His voice was soft when he talked with me, but to others it hardened. To adults he sounded deeper, more rehearsed. Around others, he was a president making a speech. But, with me he didn’t care who he needed to impress. Sac was 6'4. Abnormally tall for a 17 year old. His blonde faux hawk made it up to 6'5. Yet he only weighed 166 pounds. Sac looked like someone with a vacuum cornered him, and sucked all the fat from his body. He wore a child’s T-shirt. It was green, not lime green, or forest green, but also not a true Kelly green. It was the green that can only be made in a factory. His Beige corduroys hung low on his hips and dragged on the ground. He looked cool. Those stereo-typical boys from high school that girls wanted to be with.
     "Let me get changed I guess." usually stayed in my pajamas until I knew what was in stall for the day. I hated changing an excessive amount of times. I also hated wearing clothes with out washing them first. Two weeks ago I would have made any boy wait and watch TV while I got ready. But things have changed since I met him. He followed me into my bedroom. The carpet was filled with stains, that showed I grew up in this room. Grape juice from grade school, nail polish from pre teen years, bleach from DIY jeans, and recently cigarette burns. I flicked on the lights. Two overhead ceiling fans held three light bulbs each, but only 4 of the six worked. I hated my room. It was clean, but cluttered. You could say it was “lived in“, but that wouldn’t be an accurate description of who lived there. I threw off my hoodie and quickly reached for a bra. I glanced at Sac, Instead of turning away like a normal boy, he still gazed in my eyes. I turned toward the vanity, and placed Secret brand deodorant in my arm pits, the gel was cold on my skin, but it smelled warm. I then reached for the perfume. Lovely, by Sarah Jessica Parker. The liquid in the bottle was either half empty or half full. I still thought about which it would be while I put a white shirt on. It had colored hearts across the chest.
     The sound of music startled me. "Sorry, the quiet was bothering me" Isaac explained. The CD he had put in was Fall Out Boy's Evening Out With Your Girl. I hadn't listened to Fall Out Boy since I had a memorial service for the band I once adored. You may already know that they went on a major record label, and they are currently fucking twelve year olds and rolling on a grand’s worth of coke, but that’s beside the point.
     "Nice choice" I told him quietly. His blithe smile made my stomach flip. I picked out a pair of jeans from the dresser, and stepped into them. I fastened my off- white volcom belt and stood before the mirror. As I was checking my body for smudges or stickers, Sac pushed himself off my bed and came up and hugged me from behind. It was easy for him to do this, because he was so tall. and I was so little.
     "I wouldn't give you up for anything."

     I had been doing nothing for three days straight. I sat at my computer watching the minutes tick by. There was a glass of juice on my desk. It tasted like cranberry. Or grape. Possibly both. The color of the juice turned pink when the sun hit it. It shimmered onto the desk. Looking at the glistening liquid made me think that nothing in my life would ever be as simple and complex as the glass of juice. It was sitting there doing nothing, but it hurt to look at. I swiped with my right hand. The back of my knuckles hit the clear tall glass and as it fell the floor I watched the color changed from purple to pink and back again. The tears streaming down my face were a mixture of rage and passion. I hadn't cried since I was five. I pulled my knees into my chest and wept for the life that I wouldn't ever have. That glass of juice forced every bit of emotion out of me. When I felt drained, I got really mad that I was crying on a beautiful summer day instead of doing something remotely productive. I hadn't changed my shirt in 4 days, I was lazy.
      There was a concert at some local community center that had interested me a few weeks back. I decided to take a shower, get dressed. and go to the concert. As I walked there I thought about what kinds of people were going to be there. Was I supposed to go to concerts alone? Who cares. The place looked sketchy, and run down, with cigarette butts everywhere. There was a soft sweet smell in the air, mixed with piss and vomit. Wonderful. I took the last few gulps of my water bottle containing a mixture of liquor and soda. It tasted like shit, but it left me feeling detached The steps leading up to the door were cement. I could see spots of ground up rock, and gravel. I wondered if rocks had feelings. Did they want to be in the cement? The man taking tickets had plugs in his ears. I bet he could stick his little finger through the hole. I couldn't stop staring at it. The hole was huge. He noticed me staring, but didn't say anything. Good. That way I won't have to explain myself. The first band just gotten done playing, and people trudged downstairs to the bar. They all needed a cigarette. I decided to sit at a table and pretend as though someone was coming to meet me. It was a good plan. I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my bag. I then realized I had no light. Fuck. I glanced around the room looking for someone, anyone with a lighter. And then, I saw him. Tall, skinny, blonde. He looked at me. I strolled over as carefree as possible, when, really, I was about to fall over. "Hey, can I use your light?" I pointed toward the neon blue lighter lying in the middle of the table.
     "Sure," he gestured, as if it was mine for the taking. Once it was lit I took a long drag, It felt so good to finally have one. I wouldn't risk smoking while my mom was around. Too dangerous. I stood awkwardly for about 27 seconds when I asked,
     "Hey can I sit with you guys, my friends kind of ditched me...." my voice trailed off as I looked at all of the faces around the rectangular table. I focused on the blonde one the longest.
     "Yeah, here," The boy that spoke had messy brown hair, and crooked teeth, his voice sounded like it was a struggle for him to talk. He pulled up a wooden chair. I sank down into it. I thought about their lives, what color their carpet was, and if their TV had a bad glare when you watched it. Did they wash their hair or their body first in the shower?
     "What did you think of the show?" His voice surprised me. It sounded stiff, and controlled.
      "Oh well, I just got here, I caught the end, it sounded pretty good. The drummer was off." I stuttered on the last part. I wasn't sure if that was supposed to go first or last in the sentence. The blonde one looked at me, and when I noticed I sheepishly looked away. We conversed about the band for a couple of minutes. They all seemed to think I was a good judge of music.
     "Do you have a name?“ The blonde one interrupted me. I told him what it was. He smiled at the sound of it, like it reminded him of something from his childhood. The next band was scheduled to play at 8:15, It was 8:12. I wanted to dance. With him. The band, “bracelet” was some college kids with too much time on their hands. They were alright. Better than I could play. But I wanted to listen to music that I had never heard. Not something that anyone else in this world could play with a lesson or two. I desired music unique and quirky. The next few bands played, and just when I felt like I wanted to leave, he would look at me, like he knew what I was thinking. His blonde hair changed color slightly with the lights from the band. His teeth were straight, clean and white. My head barely reached his chest. If I was to lay down next to him, I could feel his heartbeat. Sweat dropped from my forehead as the night went on. I loved dancing, I loved the loud music and the crowd pushing against you. Enamored with it, I promised to do this; go to local concerts, often. By 11:15 everyone had gone except for us. We sat at the same table and chain smoked cigarettes like we were dying. He offered to walk me home, since his friends left with the car. I never had a boyfriend. Boys didn’t generally think of me. I kept to myself. I wasn’t shy, I just never had anything important to say. Sac opened up and told me anything he was thinking, and I listened. I prayed that he didn’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. I hoped that he wasn’t into guys. I wanted him to hold me at night. At my doorstep, he leaned in, and softly kissed my lips. I was trembling.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And he left my doorstep and walked out into the night.

“How?” I questioned, he didn’t have my phone number or anything.

“I promise I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I moved to the shower and turned on the water. There were two taps a hot and cold. But instead of the hot being on the left it was on the right, and the cold on the left. It took getting used to but now, it was so completely normal. I think the people who we bought the house from tried to DIY the bathroom, and just ended up making a mess. It was always on the list of things to get fixed, but when he left, my mom was just too smashed to care what temperature her shower was. Tragic really, I was going to either become a dead beat mom, or an alcoholic. Possibly both. But I could just be a nice alcoholic who paid for their children’s living expenses. I undressed slowly. Analyzing every piece of clothing, carefully determining whether or not I should wash it. The laundry hamper was looking quite full, and I was taking a hot shower first thing. The talking fish on my TV told me not to waste water. I would hate to disappoint the little guy. I pulled the shower curtain open and stepped in. The hot bullets of water shot at my back piercing open the stress of living, and let it bleed and fall into the drain. My sore and tired body immediately relaxed. The shampoo bottle I held In my hand was almost empty. I shook it twice and the clear liquid oozed out from the cap. I brought my hand to my head and worked the solution into my roots in a counterclockwise motion. Just like the commercial advised me to. I stood with my back to the water, instead of with my stomach to the water. My boobs weren’t big enough to stand facing the water. As I was thinking, some of the lathery foam dripped into my eyes and stung as my hand violently rubbed to remedy the situation. I picked up a small pink disposable razor and dragged it across my right shin. Shaving was the necessary evil, I would probably be happier with out it, but lets face it, anyone would rather be unhappy but have smooth hairless legs, than be happy and feel like a dog, a wet hairy dog, or a camp counselor. Maybe I should just grow out my hair, wind them into dreadlocks and tie dye my own t-shirts, and start smoking mass amounts of pot. Oh, and wear wool socks with Birkenstocks, and listen to phish all the time. That would be the life. Except I hate Phish, and Birkenstocks. Wool itches and tie dye is really tacky. I only smoke cigarettes.

The shower was almost out of hot water, I turned the right knob until it stopped and I conditioned my hair. After I toweled off I skipped quietly into my room. Careful not to make any noise incase she had a case of the Monday hangover blues. In my room the farthest corner from the door stood a dresser. Plain cedar wood carved only like 6 years ago. I probably could have put my clothes in this dresser, but my indolence got the best of me, and I lived out of a laundry basket. I pulled out a pair of jeans and took a whiff. They smelled like deodorant and cigarettes. good enough. I stepped into them right foot first. Yesterday I had used my left foot first. It was always healthy to alternate the way you put pants on, that way I hoped not to develop OCD. This was quite possibly already a symptom of OCD. Seeing as thought I was already counting and doing rituals with they way I put my pants on. I was to afraid to look into OCD, mostly because I probably had it. I laid on my bed and let my hair dry while I read an old fashion magazine. I flipped through the brightly colored pages, and looked at the thin models that filled the pages with so much light. They were tall and pretty. Eccentric and beautiful. I could see them sitting in a swanky Paris club tittering in French to other models and actresses. Smoking expensive cigarettes with holders. Wearing Versace dresses and Prada shoes. Drinking Cristal champagne, They were the epitome of classic. I suddenly felt ugly and insecure. I wanted to crawl in a dark hole and wallow in my ugly-ness. My off center nose and cooked ears would look better in seclusion. No one would really miss me if I left to live in a hole. My mom would be sad that I couldn’t make her drinks anymore, but she’d get over it eventually. I didn’t really have friends. In fact, my disappearance would most likely go unnoticed for a few days if not a whole week. DING DONG Oh damnit, the door. I ran and slid into the living room, and opened the front door. What stood so plainly in front of me is something I would never have expected.

“Sac?” I questioned. Although I knew it was him. How could I forget a person like him, so tall and thin and soft.

“Yeah, I told you I’d be back.” The words pored smoothly out of his mouth like red wine. The sight of him, Sac, standing there in front of me, crunched my stomach together, and loosened all my muscles. He worked like a massage with out even laying a finger on me. His bright green eyes held such passion, even with just greeting me. I felt like I had known Sac forever. His long arms wrapped around my small body and pulled me into a tight embrace. He smelled like warm cigarettes and faint cologne. He looked the same as he did last night. No, he looked even better.

“Oh, sorry. Did you want to come in?” Red dripped slowly into my cheeks as I lead him into the living room no one ever sat in. The couch was an olive green and the walls sort of a gray white color. There were silver vases, and bowls for decoration that hadn’t been moved in two years. Dust was collecting under the couch and on top of the table. It felt awkward to have him in my house, where my life was displayed for him to see. I hadn’t had company over for a long time. “Do you want something to eat? Water? Anything?” I finally said breaking the silence.

“No. Thank anyway. Actually I was wondering if you could come out with me, I want to show you something.” His inviting voice was too hard to resist.

“Yeah, uhh. Hold on. I just need to go talk to my mom. Can you wait here for a few minutes?” I offered. I didn’t want to leave him, even for a second. He was my brand of heroin.

“Yeah sure. I’ll be here.” His voice sounded nervous. I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he thought I would escape through my bathroom window and run away. Maybe he was just as excited and nervous and happy as I was. He felt the same way as I did, he didn’t want his heart to be broken. I hurdled up the stairs taking two at a time and went into my mothers bedroom. I needed an excuse fast.

“Mom, can I go to the library and get ahead with school reading?” I stammered. It took a while for me to get the words out of my mouth.

“Yeah, whatever, I’m going to work at 1, I’m on call for a while, don’t wait up, I’ll call you sometime this evening. Soon as I get a break.” My mom mumbled, she was obviously still tired. She needed her rest before she went to the hospital.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later, Bye mom.” It was really unfortunate that she was super nice when there wasn’t much alcohol in her system, We’d have a much better relationship.

Before returning to him, I bounded into my room and decided I needed to get ready. I just simply could not go out in baggy jeans and an oversized red sweatshirt. I changed into a Grey shirt and a black zip up. I put concealer on zits just forming. I rarely wore makeup, But this occasion deserved a little lip gloss, and mascara. His eyes lit up as I walked back into the living room. “Ready?” I chirped. My voice came out too high and overexcited. Hopefully he didn’t notice how I couldn’t talk normally around him.

“Yeah, Lets hit the road.” he answered. His face cringed, “Please don’t tell me I really said ‘Hit the road,”

I sighed, “Yeah, I’m afraid you did.” I giggled. So did he, and we walked out of my house as he shook his head. The white light of day caught my eye I clamped my eyelids shut and stepped out the front door. His green Chevy Impala was parked across the street. The sun hit it and the car sparkled. Opening the door I saw a map fall out of the side pocket, It landed in a puddle. “Sorry,” I mumbled, “it just fell out.” He took it from my small hands and set in on the sidewalk.

“Maybe someone will find this more useful than we will.” His voice was so accepting, and understanding. I sat down into the fabric seats of his car. They were warm from the sun, but I felt so amazingly content. I would have changed nothing. Sac started the car, and drove through suburbia. He decided to take me out to lunch first. I wasn’t that hungry, I wasn’t ever that hungry. The quiet streets of Pleasantville all looked the same. Sure the houses were painted different colors, Chartreuse, Mahogany, Mauve. And Instead of one tree, there were two, there were sometimes roses instead of daises adorning the perfectly manicured lawns, But the houses were all the same. The same families lived inside and argued about Billy’s learning disability, or Samantha’s weight Issues. Different problems. Same argument. I knew that would be me someday, I’d live in one of those houses, mow my lawn in the same way, use the same decorations for Christmas, there wasn’t an escape. My life was leading down a black hole. There wasn’t anything I could do to change my future. I would be exactly like my mother, her mother, and her mother. I just wanted it to all be over and done with, but Sac sat next to me and held my left hand on the stick. He kept me safe.

There was a family crossing the street. The mother looked tired as her age showed in her face. There was an infant strapped to her back and a toddler waddling along at her feet. The toddler tripped and scraped his knee. The screams of his pain intensified as the mother picked up the wailing boy and slung him on her hip.

“Momma’s here, shhh Its alright baby.” the mother cooed. Sac pressed the gas and we drove on. The CD playing in his car was some hardcore band. They were actually pretty good, The guitar work was actually decent. The screaming gave me sort-of a headache, mostly because I tried to figure out what they were screaming, and I just ended up frustrated.

“I missed you,” He openly admitted.

“You saw me last night.” I stated.

“Yeah, but the nine hours I was away from you I felt like something was missing, I didn’t sleep last night.” I didn’t know how to react to that statement, Granted I didn’t think about him until he showed up at my door.

“Then why did you leave last night?” I challenged him.

“I left, because well…” He paused. I knew what he was thinking. He left because he was scared that things wouldn’t go right. Too far, or he’d end up ruining his chance, our chance for this to work. He didn’t want to do that to me, or himself.

“Its okay, I know.” I was startled by the sound of my voice. I hadn’t meant to say that. Both of my hands instinctively clamped to my mouth. “oops” I mumbled through my hands” Sac smiled and sighed. He drove with this left hand on the wheel. He looked at me, his beautiful eyes stared through my soul, and for the first time, I felt like I belonged here. “Can I tell you something?” I asked.

“You can tell me anything, I will always listen to you.”

I decided to clean my room. I needed to stop living like a third grader. My room was on the first floor of my house. The weekend we moved in, I had the flu. Not even water would stay down. My fever spiked to 102 and my body shivered even with three layers of clothing on. I parked myself in the empty room next to the bathroom. It had blue carpet and white walls, it invited me to stay. I laid in that room all day. Sometimes I dozed and dreamed, but mostly I stared at the walls. My parents had moved all our possessions into their respected rooms, except for mine. My father’s big hands carried me out of the room, and set me down somewhere else. When I woke up, I was in the same room, except my things had been moved in for me. It all seemed to fit, except for the fact that I was in the room. I was out of place, A peacock in and ant farm.

I gathered a box of garbage bags, and started with the desk. Craft sets, beading kits, markers, crayons and notebooks. Things my parents bought to keep me occupied. I asked too many questions when I was little.

One day in particular, we were walking in Chicago, a family vacation. We passed a homeless man. I wanted to give him my ice cream, he looked sad. “Mommy, how come he has no shoes?”

“He doesn’t have a job to pay for them”

“Why not?”

“Just because.

“Can I help him find one?”

“No”

“Why not?”

“because I said so damnit”

“Can I at least give him my ice cream?”

“No, keep walking, we can’t be late.”

“I think he wants help, why doesn’t he live with his mommy?”

“Because he’s a worthless piece of shit for a son, his parents don’t want him, stop asking so goddamned many questions.” I took four more steps then turned around and went the opposite way, My mom didn’t notice. The green trees and black fences rushed passed as I found the spot where was lying. I poked his coat. It didn’t seem to do anything. There were 5 visible layers of tattered and torn shirts. I poked harder. His old eyes opened with a jolt. Their deep gray matched the sidewalk where he slept every night. I held out my strawberry cone, the sides dripping over the edge and landing on my small hand. He took it without saying anything, and bit off of the side. His eyelids shut in satisfaction of the sweet cream turning into liquid under his tongue. I ran back the same way, and found my mom waiting on a park bench. She looked mad, but didn’t say anything to me. She grabbed my hand that was sticky from the ice cream and walked heavily down the street. I stopped asking questions later that night. My dad just thought I was bored, when really, I just didn’t feel like getting yelled at.

I filled up 3 garbage bags with crap. And I put the desk out on the curb, so cheap families could use it for their daughter. People in this town tended to take other people’s unwanted stuff. I then went onto the closet. And took another 4 garbage bags for clothes and shoes I hadn’t worn in forever. Dresses from Easters long ago. Before my dad left we would have Easter dinner at his parents house. They were really uptight, and didn’t like little children that much I guess. I would always have to dress up in stiff pastel colored dresses, and sit in a chair that matched the wallpaper in their dining room. I always put my napkin in my lap. I cried in the bathroom during desert. When it was time to leave I escaped to my fathers black sedan. And waited there while my dad escorted my mom to the car. AS we drove back to our house, I gazed longingly at the trees zipping by. I wanted so desperately to walk underneath them. That opportunity never came, just as fast as the trees went by, Dad left, and Mom got too wasted to care.

I organized my CD’s and clothes, and bed sheets and make up. Soon enough, my room didn’t look like it belonged to an 8 year old. It looked kind of like a jail cell, with blue carpets. There were only two stuffed animals I decided to keep. A cow and a dragon. They didn’t have names. I put them on the top self of my closet, face to face, just in case they wanted to talk. I pictured them talking about green rain forests with black ant and purple caterpillars. Maybe they would talk about noisy city littered with Mc Donald’s wrappers and drugs needles. Things that most stuffed animals wouldn’t ever get a chance to see with their own eyes. Things I had never seen with my own eyes. I promised them both that when I got out of this house, I would take them with me, to experience live first hand.

I continued to stare at the while walls, just as I did when I was eight, but instead of looking at nothing, I saw years of emotion. The first time I heard my parents fighting was through these walls. The walls saw my body change from child to now almost adult. The walls bared witness to my first cigarette, joint and shot. These walls memorized my daily routine. The way I waited a minute and six seconds after I put on deodorant, to put a shirt on. The way I scraped off my mascara brush twice before attempting to apply the goopy black substance to my eyelashes. These walls could remember my first time with Sac They could recall when he told me he would never leave me. They captured my loss of innocence like a photographer captures shots of candles and trees. These walls felt as much pain as I did growing up. The night Jake packed a suitcase, my mom threw her wine glass at the wall. It shattered into 457 pieces and I bet the walls still felt each and every piece hit with such passion. My whole life was displayed through these walls. I suddenly felt exposed and alone. Anyone who wished could look at these walls and see my life story.

I slept in the new room for three nights before I started to feel like an actor in a sleeping pill commercial. I slept with out interruption, and woke up rested, and ready to begin my day! Something was missing. I thought and thought about what it was that didn’t make sense. There was one piece missing from the puzzle. Then I stumbled upon it. Maybe I wanted this story to be told, Maybe my reason in life was to share the way I’ve felt… forever. I knew I was born to tell this story, my story.

COMMENTS WOULD BE SUPER DUPER GOOD BAD WHATEVER!

more to be added to this

Thu, 15 Jun 2006 03:09:11 GMT

I woke up late. Around Ten or Eleven. The sun slowly crept into my room through the openings in my Venetian blinds, creating horizontal slats of light across the blue carpet. I found the sun to be the only thing I could rely on. It rose and fell everyday with such an even pace. It had been going for so long, and had no intention of quitting now. When I was younger I drew pictures of the sun, sometimes it had sunglasses. That got old fast. I know pictured the sun to be an elderly man. A man whose life harvested so many memories and experiences, he had trouble remembering specific details. I pictured the sun sitting down to an early breakfast before he had to go to “work”. A warm soothing cup of coffee infused with milk and just the right amount of sugar. He had no particular accent, But his strong black hands showed where his family and ancestors had come from. Enough Imagination for now. I thought while I stretched. I should take a shower, and start this day off right. I lifted my tired body off of my bed with a hefty push and grabbed a black plastic brush. The bathroom was lit with 8 vanity bulbs on top of the Mirror. They gave of a slightly orange hue. My face looked tanner than it actually was. I hated my bathroom. It was boring. Plain blue walls with nasty blue and white checkered wallpaper. The shower curtain didn’t match. I thought about which colors I would want it to be instead. Yellow…Actually, that wouldn’t be good. I then remembered that yellow was the color of pee. In which case would lead to some confusion. You see, If a bathroom had yellow walls, people would go into the bathroom and think, “wow, I have to pee” when in fact they were really in there to get a tissue, or put on lip gloss. This thought mix-up would cause those poor souls to sit on a cold toilet with no pants on and try and pee. Or, if this said person really had to go number two, and thought he/she needed to pee too I shudder to think of the pain they suffer through. Painting a bathroom yellow would be a disaster.
I moved to the shower and turned on the water. There were two taps a hot and cold. But instead of the hot being on the left it was on the right, and the cold on the left. It took getting used to but now, it was so completely normal. I think the people who we bought the house from tried to DIY the bathroom, and just ended up making a mess. It was always on the list of things to get fixed, but when he left, my mom was just too smashed to care what temperature her shower was. Tragic really, I was going to either become a dead beat mom, or an alcoholic. Possibly both. But I could just be a nice alcoholic who paid for their children’s living expenses. I undressed slowly. Analyzing every piece of clothing determining whether or not I should wash it. The laundry hamper was looking quite full, and I was taking a hot shower first thing. The talking fish on my TV told me not to waste water. I would hate to disappoint the little guy. I pulled the shower curtain open and stepped in. The hot bullets of water shot at my back piercing open the stress of living, and let it bleed and fall into the drain. My sore and tired body immediately relaxed. The shampoo bottle I held In my hand was almost empty. I shook it twice and the clear liquid oozed out from the cap. I brought my hand to my head and worked the solution into my roots in a counterclockwise motion. Just like the commercial advised me to. I stood with my back to the water, instead of with my stomach to the water. My boobs weren’t big enough to stand facing the water. As I was thinking, some of the lathery foam dripped into my eyes and stung as my hand violently rubbed to remedy the situation. I picked up a small pink disposable razor and dragged it across my right shin. Shaving was the necessary evil, I would probably be happier with out it, but lets face it, anyone would rather be unhappy but have smooth hairless legs, than be happy and feel like a dog, a wet hairy dog, or a camp counselor. Maybe I should just grow out my hair, wind them into dreadlocks and tie dye my own t-shirts, and start smoking mass amounts of pot. Oh, and wear wool socks with Birkenstocks, and listen to phish all the time. That would be the life. Except I hate Phish, and Birkenstocks. Wool itches and tie dye is really tacky. I only smoke cigarettes.
The shower was almost out of hot water, I turned the right knob until it stopped and I conditioned my hair. After I toweled off and skipped quietly into my room. Careful not to make any noise incase she had a case of the Monday hangover blues. In my room the farthest corner from the door stood a dresser. Plain cedar wood carved only like 6 years ago. I probably could have put my clothes in this dresser, but my indolence got the best of me, and I lived out of a laundry basket. I pulled out a pair of jeans and took a whiff they smelled like deodorant and cigarettes. good enough. I stepped into them right foot first. Yesterday I had used my left foot first. It was always healthy to alternate the way you put pants on, that way I hoped not to develop OCD. This was quite possibly already a symptom of OCD. I was to afraid to look into OCD, mostly because I probably had it. I laid on my bed and let my hair dry while I read an old fashion magazine. I flipped through the brightly colored pages, and looked at the thin models that filled the pages with so much light. They were tall and pretty. Eccentric and beautiful. I could see them sitting in a swanky Paris club tittering in French to other models and actresses. Smoking expensive cigarettes with holders. Wearing Versace dresses and Prada shoes. Drinking Cristal champagne, They were the epitome of classic. I suddenly felt ugly and insecure. I wanted to crawl in a dark hole and wallow in my ugly-ness. My off center nose and cooked ears would look better in seclusion. No one would really miss me if I left to live in the forest. My mom would be sad that I couldn’t make her drinks anymore, but she’d get over it eventually. I didn’t really have friends. In fact, my disappearance would most likely go unnoticed for a few days if not a whole week. DING DONG Oh damnit, the door. I ran and slid into the living room, and opened the front door. What stood so plainly in front of me is something I would never have expected.
“Sac?” I questioned. Although I knew it was him. How could I forget a person like him, so tall and thin and soft.
“Yeah, I told you I’d be back.” The words pored smoothly out of his mouth like red wine. The sight of him, sac, standing there in front of me, crunched my stomach together, and loosened all my muscles. He worked like a massage with out even laying a finger on me. His bright green eyes held such passion, even with just greeting me. I felt like I had known sac forever. His long arms wrapped around my small body and pulled me into a tight embrace. He smelled like warm cigarettes and faint cologne. He looked the same as he did last night. No, he looked even better.
“Oh, sorry. Did you want to come in?” Red dripped slowly into my cheeks as I lead him into the living room no one ever sat in. The couch was an olive green and the walls sort of a gray white color. There were silver vases, and bowls for decoration that hadn’t been moved in two years. Dust was collecting under the couch and on top of the table. It felt awkward to have him in my house, where my life was displayed for him to see. I hadn’t had company over for a long time. “Do you want something to eat? Water? Anything?” I finally said breaking the silence.
“No. Thank anyway. Actually I was wondering if you could come out with me, I want to show you something.” His inviting voice was too hard to resist.
“Yeah, uhh. Hold on. I just need to go talk to my mom. Can you wait here for a few minutes?” I offered. I didn’t want to leave him, even for a second. He was my brand of heroin.
“Yeah sure. I’ll be here.” His voice sounded nervous. I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he thought I would escape through my bathroom window and run away. Maybe he was just as excited and nervous and happy as I was. He felt the same way as I did, he didn’t want his heart to be broken. I hurdled up the stairs taking two at a time and went into my mothers bedroom. I needed an excuse fast.
“Mom, can I go to the library and get ahead with school reading?” I stammered. It took a while for me to get the words out of my mouth.
“Yeah, whatever, I’m going to work at 1, I’m on call for a while, don’t wait up, I’ll call you sometime this evening. Soon as I get a break.” My mom mumbled, she was obviously still tired. She needed her rest before she went to the hospital.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later, Bye mom.” It was really unfortunate that she was super nice when there wasn’t much alcohol in her system, We’d have a much better relationship. Before returning to him, I bounded into my room and decided I needed to get ready. I just simply could not go out in baggy jeans and an oversized red sweatshirt. I changed into a Grey shirt and a black zip up. I put concealer on zits just forming. I rarely wore makeup, But this occasion deserved a little lip gloss, and mascara. His eyes lit up as I walked back into the living room. “Ready?” I chirped. My voice came out too high and overexcited. Hopefully he didn’t notice how I couldn’t talk normally around him.
“Yeah, Lets hit the road.” he answered. His face cringed, “Please don’t tell me I really said ‘Hit the road,” I sighed.
“Yeah, I’m afraid you did.” I giggled. So did he, and we walked out of my house as he shook his head. The white light of day caught my eye I clamped my eyelids shut and stepped out the front door.

more....

Sun, 04 Jun 2006 02:36:15 GMT

I never really thought much of life. It was just… there. I never took advantages of situations, but I never really regretted anything either. I mostly thought it was overrated. I didn’t want to grow up. I didn’t want to become My mother, or worse, my grandmother. There wasn’t anything that interested me, my talents were limited to thinking, and laughing at my own jokes. I was nothing special. Jobs, and being tied down, it all seemed like walking into a trap. Why would I want to work? It seemed endless. Find a job, get married have kids, live in a house, and die. Why should I bother with steps two three and four, when I can skip right to step five and get it over with. I wouldn‘t travel to Asia or Africa. I wouldn‘t become famous. My grades were average, and I didn’t excel in anything. Growing up wasn‘t an option for me. The little yellow pills that I took once in the morning prevented my anxiety attacks, but did nothing to change the fact that I was probably going to kill myself before I was 27.

I wasn’t obsessed with death. But it crossed my mind often. Maybe like twice a month. I hoped I would get lucky, and get killed, so I wouldn’t have to do it myself. Maybe get hit by a truck, or fall down stairs. Something accidental so my parents could still think of me the same way. So people wouldn’t wonder what went wrong. I wasn’t crazy. But, I wasn’t happy either. Nothing made me feel whole. Not pancakes on a Sunday morning. Not walking in the middle of the street, or smelling lilacs. Days when I didn’t have homework, I would spend mindlessly watching TV. I didn‘t dance in the rain, or play in the snow. I didn‘t enjoy sun. I pretended I broke out in painful hives every time my frail body stepped outside the safety of my house. Music kept me entertained, but it wasn’t my life. I didn’t go to many concerts. My favorite bands didn’t play concerts anymore anyway. I wasn’t original. I was lame. A square. School was a fucking joke. The teachers didn’t notice me. I slipped under the radar. I didn’t care too much. I just looked. And noticed. I noticed that Aubrey Stuckly always left Math to pee at 10: 28 every third day. I tired to figure out reasons why every third day. Like maybe she drank a different amount of water everyday. Or maybe she ate different things for breakfast each morning. I entertained myself with these thoughts, but I knew I would never really know why she peed every third day. I didn’t really want to know. Because her reason was probably really simple. Knowing the truth made things boring. I could stay in my head all day.

end pages... possibly...?

Sun, 04 Jun 2006 02:28:44 GMT

I decided to clean my room. I needed to stop living like a third grader. My room was on the first floor of my house. The weekend we moved in, I had the flu. Not even water would stay down. I parked myself in the empty room next to the bathroom. It was yellow with blue carpets. I lied in that room all day. Sometimes I dozed and dreamed, but mostly I stared at the walls. My parents had moved our possessions into their respected rooms, except for mine. My father’s big hands carried me out of the room, and laid me on a mattress somewhere else. When I woke up, I was in my new room, with all my stuff. I still had it all too. I gathered a box of garbage bags, and started with the desk. Craft sets, beading kits, markers, crayons and notebooks. Things my parents bought me to occupy me. I asked too many questions when I was little.
One day in particular, we were walking in Chicago, a family vacation. We passed a homeless man. I wanted to give him my ice cream, he looked sad. “mommy, how come he has no shoes?”
“He doesn’t have a job to pay for them”
“Why not?”
“Just because.
“Can I help him find one?”
“No”
“Why not?”
“because I said so damnit”
“Can I at least give him my ice cream?”
“No, keep walking, we can’t be late.”
“I think he wants help, why doesn’t he live with his mommy?”
“Because he’s a worthless piece of shit for a son, his parents don’t want him, stop asking so goddamned many questions.” I started walking the opposite way, The green trees and black fences rushed passed as I found the spot where he laid. I poked his coat. It didn’t seem to do anything. There were 5 visible layers of tattered and torn shirts. I poked harder. His old eyes opened with a jolt. The deep gray (grey) matched the sidewalk where he slept every night. I held out my strawberry cone, the sides dripping over the edge and landing on my small hand. He took it without saying anything, and bit off of the side. His eyelids shut in satisfaction of the sweet cream turning into liquid under his tongue. I ran back the same way, and found my mom waiting on a park bench. She looked mad, but didn’t say anything to me. She grabbed my hand that was sticky from the ice cream and walked heavily down the street. I stopped asking questions later that night. My dad just thought I was bored, when really, I just didn’t feel like getting yelled at for asking questions.
I filled up 3 garbage bags with crap. And I put the desk out on the curb, so cheap families could use it for their daughter. People in this town tended to take other people’s unwanted stuff. I then went onto the closet. And took another 4 garbage bags for clothes and shoes I hadn’t worn in forever. Dresses from Easters long ago. Before my dad left we would have Easter dinner at his parents house. They were really uptight, and didn’t like little children that much I guess. I would always have to dress up in stiff pastel colored dresses, and sit in a chair that matched the wallpaper in their dining room. I always put my napkin in my lap. I cried in the bathroom during desert. When it was time to leave I escaped to my fathers black sedan. And waited there while my dad escorted my mom to the car. AS we drove back to our house, I gazed longingly at the trees zipping by. I wanted so desperately to walk underneath them. That opportunity never came, just as fast as the trees went by, Dad left, and Mom got too wasted to care.
I organized my CD’s and clothes, and bed sheets and make up. Soon enough, my room didn’t look like it belonged to an 8 year old. It looked kind of like a jail cell, with yellow walls.
“Mom, I’m painting my room white, Okay?”
“Yeah, whatever, don’t ruin anything” Her indifferent voice was drowning with sorrow. My mother needed to get laid. I would say she needed to get drunk, but she probably already was.
I placed the only two stuffed animals that were left to organize on top of the closet. I faced them towards each other. Just in case they wanted to talk to each other. Talk about getting out and dreaming of life outside the closet .I imagined that they would talk about cloudless skies, and sandy beaches. Things that most stuffed animals would never see. Then as I thought more and more, I vowed to take them with me as soon as I got out. Walking out to the garage to grab a bucket of paint, I finally had hope for my life. I fixed myself, now as I painted over the yellow walls of the past I realized that I should have done this years ago. I painted over the bitter memories the walls would always hold. The drunken fights between my parents, I can still remember the sound of the wine glass being hurdled against the back wall. It shattered into 459 pieces. The first time I had sex, smoked a cigarette, drank alcohol, all in that room. I would never forget what happened in this room over the years. By painting it, It was like putting make up on a scar. Nothing would ever set this room right. The saying, If walls could talk, came to my mind. I wanted the walls to stop talking, and go to sleep for a while. Maybe I would wake them when I grew older and wanted to listen to a story, but not now. Not for a long time. It took two days to completely cover the aged yellow walls. I slept at Sac’s house both nights.
The first three nights in my room were comforting. I slept peacefully, and woke up refreshed. But then I started to feel like I was in a prescription sleep aid commercial. The white was too boring. So I decided to write this story on the walls.

Wed, 24 May 2006 02:45:32 GMT

     I had been doing nothing for three days straight. I sat at my computer watching the minutes tick by. There was a glass of juice on my desk. It tasted like cranberry. Or grape. Possibly both. The color of which turned pink when the sun hit it at the right angle, looking at the glistening liquid make me think that nothing in my life would ever be as simple and complex as the glass of juice. It was sitting there doing nothing, but it hurt to look at. I swiped with my right hand going left. The back of my knuckles hit the clear tall glass and as it fell the floor I watched the color changed from purple to pink and back again. The tears streaming down my face were a mixture of rage and passion. I hadn't cried since I was five. I pulled my knees into my chest and wept for the life that I wouldn't ever have. That glass of juice forced every bit of emotion out of me. When I felt drained, I got really mad that I was crying on a beautiful summer day. I hadn't changed my shirt in 4 days, and I was lazy.
     There was a concert at some local community center that had interested me a few weeks back. I decided to take a shower, get dressed. and go to the concert. As I walked I thought about who would be there. Were people supposed to go to concerts alone? Who cares. The place looked sketchy run down, with cigarette butts everywhere. There was a soft sweet smell in the air, mixed with piss and vomit. Wonderful. I took the last few gulps of The water bottle that contained a mixture of liquor and soda. It tasted like shit, but it left me feeling detached The steps leading up to the door were cement. I could see spots of ground up rock, I wondered if rocks had feelings. Did they want to be in the cement? The man taking tickets had plugs in his ears. I bet he could stick his little finger through his ear. I couldn't stop staring at the hole. It was just huge. He noticed, but didn't say anything. "Good," I thought, "that way I won't have to explain myself.” The first band just gotten done playing, and people trudged downstairs to the bar. They all needed a cigarette. I decided to sit at a table and pretend as though someone was coming to meet me. It was a good plan. I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my bag. I then realized i had no light. "fuck". I glanced around the room looking for a nice fellow with a lighter. and then. I saw him. Tall, skinny, blonde. He looked at me. I strolled over as carefree as possible, when, really, I was about to fall over. "hey, can I use your light?" I pointed toward the neon blue lighter lying in the middle of the table.
     "Sure," he gestured, as if it was mine for the taking. Once it was lit I took a long drag, It felt so good to finally have one. I wouldn't risk smoking while my mom was around. too dangerous. I stood awkwardly for about a minute when I asked,
     "Hey can I sit with you guys, my friends kind of ditched me...." my voice trailed off as I looked at all of the faces around the rectangular table. I focused on The blonde one the longest.
"Yeah, here," The boy that spoke had messy brown hair, and crooked teeth, his voice sounded like it was a struggle for him to talk. He pulled up a wooden chair. I sank down into it, wondering if they got random chicks coming up to them often. I thought about their lives, what color their carpet was, and if their TV had a bad glare when you watched it. Did they wash their hair or their body first in the shower?
     "What did you think of the show?" The voice surprised me. It sounded stiff, and controlled.
     "Oh well, I just got here, I caught the end, it sounded pretty good. The drummer was off." I stuttered on the last part. I wasn't sure if that was supposed to go first or last in the sentence. The blonde one looked at me, and when I noticed I sheepishly looked away. We conversed about the band for a couple of minutes. They all seemed to think i was a good judge of music.
     "Does the goddess of local rock music wish to be named?” The blonde one interrupted me. Was he asking what my name was, or did he want to call me by a new name? Either was fine. I was just confused. After a battle in my brain I told him my real name. He smiled at the sound of it, like it reminded him of something from his childhood. The next band was scheduled to play at 8:15, It was 8:12. I wanted to dance. With him. The band, “bracelet” was some college kids with too much time on their hands. They were alright. Better than I could play. But I wanted to listen to music that I had never heard. Not something that anyone else in this world could play with a lesson or two. I desired music unique and quirky. The next few bands played, and just when I felt like I wanted to leave. He would look at me, like he knew what I was thinking. His blonde hair changed color slightly with the lights from the band. His teeth were straight, clean and white. My head barely reached his chest. If I was to lay next to him, I could feel his heartbeat. Sweat dropped from my forehead as the night went on. I loved dancing, I loved the loud music and the crowd pushing against you. Enamored with it, I promised to do this often. By 11:15 everyone had gone except for us. We sat at the same table and chain smoked cigarettes like we were dying. He offered to walk me home, since his friends left with the car. I never had a boyfriend. Boys didn’t generally think of me. I kept to myself. I wasn’t shy, I just never had anything important to say. Sac opened up and told me anything he was thinking, and I listened. I prayed that he didn’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. I hoped that he wasn’t into guys. I wanted him to hold me at night. At my doorstep, he leaned in, and softly kissed my lips. I was trembling. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And he left my doorstep and walked out into the night.

“How?” I questioned, he didn’t have my phone number or anything.

“I promise I’ll see you tomorrow.”

01

Mon, 22 May 2006 01:17:02 GMT

     "Its raining," I observed. I always point out the obvious. However, it wasn't exactly raining. Big fat rain drops fell and splashed on the ground, but not fast, and not a lot. Some could call it a drizzle. As with other words, I didn't like it because it had Z's. I didn't like Zebras, Zeros or when Nelly had his song called "Grillz" I didn't really like saying Xylophone either. but it was forgivable, you can't punish the word xylophone for sounding like a Z, after all it wasn't its fault.
     "Thanks Captain obvious...." Sac retorted. I liked Sac, short for Isaac, and no Z's. The day was Monday June 17th. I had nothing to do but spend my time with him. His right hand grazed the small of my back as he stood up. "What are we going to do today?" I couldn't tell why he asked me. The look in his eyes was hinting he had a plan. This look drove me insane. I could usually tell what people were thinking if they looked me in the eye. Sac was different. He never made sense. He paced the living room My eyes followed him. Either he was still formulating his plan, or figuring out how to tell me. Sac and I were "Thought dyslexic". Our minds worked slightly backwards, and too fast. The words made sense in our heads, but if they were projected out of our minds, it didn’t make sense anymore. Finally he spoke. "I have a plan." His voice was soft when he talked with me, but to others it hardened. To adults he sounded deeper, more rehearsed. He was a president making a speech when around other people, but with me he didn’t care who he needed to impress. Sac was 6'4. Abnormally tall for a 17 year old. His blonde faux hawk made it up to 6'5. Yet he only weighed 176 pounds. Sac looked like someone with a vacuum cornered him, and sucked all the fat from his body. He wore a Childs T-shirt. It was green, not lime green, or forest green, but also not a true Kelly green. It was the green that can only be made in a factory. His Beige corduroys hung low on his hips and dragged on the ground. He looked cool. Those stereo-typical boys from high school that girls wanted to jump on.
     "Let me get changed I guess." usually stayed in my pajamas until I knew what was in stall for the day. I hated changing an excessive amount of times. I also hated wearing clothes with out washing them first. But I digress. Two weeks ago I would have made any boy wait and watch TV while I got ready. But things have changed since I met him. He followed me into my bedroom. The carpet was filled with stains, that show I grew up in this room. Grape juice from grade school, nail polish from pre teen years, bleach from DIY jeans. And recently cigarette burns. I flicked on the lights. Two overhead ceiling fans held three light bulbs each, but only 3 of the six worked. My room was clean, but cluttered. You could sat it was “lived in“, but that wouldn’t be an accurate description of who lived there. I threw off my hoodie and quickly reached for a bra. I glanced at Sac, Instead of turning away like a normal boy, he still gazed in my eyes. I turned toward the vanity, and placed Secret brand deodorant in my arm pits, the gel was cold on my skin, but it smelled warm. I then reached for the perfume. Lovely, by Sarah Jessica Parker. The liquid was either half empty or half full. I still thought about which it would be while I put a white shirt on. It had colored hearts across the chest. The sound of music startled me.
     "Sorry, the quiet was bothering me" Isaac explained. The CD he had put in was Fall Out Boy's Evening Out With Your Girl. I hadn't listened to it since I had a memorial service for the band I once adored. You may already know that they went on a major record label, and they are currently fucking twelve year olds and rolling on a grand’s worth of coke. that’s beside the point.
     "Nice choice" I told him quietly. His blithe smile made my stomach flip. I picked out a pair of jeans from the dresser, and stepped into them. I fastened my off- white volcom belt and stood before the mirror. As I was checking my body for smudges or stickers, Sac pushed himself from off my bed and came up behind me and hugged me. It was easy for him to do this, because he was so tall. and I was so little.
     "I wouldn't give you up for anything."