I am sitting in the beige armchair in our living room. It is old and very out of place in the new modern-furnished room. The worn upholstery that was once covered with a soft micro-fleece, continues to scratch and nip at my legs. With my feet tucked beneath me steadily growing numb, I stare into the contents of a microwave-safe bowl. The burnt, stiff mess that was supposed to be my macaroni covered with cheese, was now covered in an almost fetus-like film of boiled cheese. I just continue to stare at the monstrosity. I am nearly amused at how the light reflects sickly off the opaque burnt-snot cheese covering my hard noodles.
And it was a Sunday night. me home alone on this last, depressing day of the weekend. But I wasn’t alone due to some miracle enabling me to relax and watch MY shows no one else likes (PBS). But in fact it was a night where I was left alone due to unhappy circumstances and a cubbard filled with two cans of tomato paste and instant dry noodles containing a thing of powdered cheese inside the package. The kind of night home alone that made you talk to yourself because you had something weighing down on you that you needed to expell in some way. And where you tried to busy yourself into being productive by examining noises around your home.
The terribly stressful circumstances by which I was left alone were thick in the air. Only because my sweat fears seemed to permiate off my skin into the artifically-heated living room. My brother had been gone for nearly 23 hours now.
He insisted on taking the dog on a walk, and never showed back up. On his own accord, of course. He recently had been in the mindset of running away for a while and not coming home. Untill he fucked up so bad, he didn’t want to come home and we had to pin him into the backseat of the car. Our town is small you see, and it’s pretty hard to hide for too long. Especially now, when he held the safety and comfort of my dog with him.
The dog never liked him. We recieved her from the shelter and she was very, very timid. The workers explained that she was taken from her home by her previous owners’ neighbors who called serveral times of abuse toward the puppy, but never got anything done. So this 8-month old mutt we now owned was scared of my brother who made sport out of hiding under his over-sized hood and jumping out at her. She hated walks with him, but we made them happen anyways. And while I was only slightly worried about my brother’s safety (I figured he’d be fine, like always), but my dog has a thin coat and he wouldn’t think to feed her.
Anyways, they had been gone all night and it was about nighttime the next day, now. I hadn’t slept at my campout because there was frost on the foot-end of my sleeping bag and my scalp had nearly caught fire in the night. I dind’t sleep a wink. Then I didn’t sleep all night last night due to the sudden, yet not entirely unexpected disappearance of my brother. And so, about 3 days straight with no sleep, I am staring in disgust at my dinner I have eaten half of. Only subconciously because I was multi-tasking. Writing notices all over Facebook asking anyone downtown with theri facy mobile internet access if they had seen him. Waiting and staring. Tired but unab;e to sleep.
Then the most annoying noise in the whole world springs into my ears. It is the noise of a dreaded chatbox appearing on my screen. With the name of one of my friends and a little number 1 beside it. I open it up, hakf-heartidly hoping it’s about my brother.
“Hey, I need to talk to you about something…” It says plainly. Missing the proper grammar tools, however.
“About what?” I type, nearly dazed. And when he finally replies, the noise, I realize, shakes me out of spacy moment.
“Well, I don’t know if you know, but I like you and I was wondering if you felt the same?” I stared at the screen in my stressed and sleep-deprived state. “Of course I like you. We’re friends aren’t we?” I replied a bit confused.
And then as a heart and smiley face appeared in the chat-box. I realized my fatal mistake. Though one of my closest friends had asked me out in the lamest way possible, even though they know full-well who I fancied (and it wasn’t him).
My chest started to hammer to the beat of knowing something bad was about to happen. Knowing someone’s feelings were about to be hurt. Knowing you may have possibly changed your friendship in one sleep-drunk stupor. That stressful beat. When I heard a rattling of my brother’s bedroom window. He was trying to get in and he didn’t know Mum had nailed it shut hours ago. Quickly I hopped up, spilling the puddy-like hardly-edible food all over my lap. But it stuck to nothing, only bounced, and I was okay.
I ran outside in the pouring rain around to the other side of the house. The cold roughness of the sidewalk scraping my feet and the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I was miserable, tired, scared, and stressed. And when he noticed me bracing myself into a run, he began to sprint down the sidewalk. Letting go of my dog’s leash and commanding her to stay.
He had been gone exactly 24 hours and 3 minutes now and my mum was hell-bent out looking for him.
Greatful for the numbing cold of the water, I stepped into as much of a stride as I could manage in my pencile skirt and tackled him in the mud. He struggled and spat curses at me. Ones that I wouldn’t even dare to whisper at his age. And I waited for him to give me a reason to finally relieve the anger that was built up over these days I’m entitled to for rest every week by the law. And how my time over these days was melded together into a juxtapose if what it should be.
And so when he ended up crossing that line with the insults he was spilling at me, I hiked up my skirt enough to not rip it while I held him down.
And I punched him the face.
I stare at the glowing computer screen
Because nothing I can think of
Seems to make sense
Though nothing really ever does
And when I think about
The words that rattle around
The abyss of some authors habit
I wonder aloud
If they know just what they’re saying
Or if they make it up on the spot
Because it sounds nice
Because they have a deadline
And I wonder if when they have a deadline
Then that means that the driving beat
Of their creative heart
Has gone flat
Killed by the abstraction of time
That they will follow as zombies
I think about this while
While my typing is at a stand-still
Because my hands are busy scratching
Poison-ivy scars from last month
That don’t itch
But only because it’s a habit
This is a post about my day because so many people have asked me about it today. And I fear that if one more person asks me how my day went, I may implode. So here. This is how my day went…
Tonight one of my school clubs is having a camp-out in a local bit of woods. In order to go tonight, we had to set up all of the necessary things. We had to set up our fire pit, our food table, some tarps, and of course; our mighty tepee. So I joined this extra-curricular out of my own unfortunate naivety. Sure camping out in the woods by a roaring fire sounds fun, and setting up isn’t too bad either.
However, one never exactly thinks about transportation the bit of it. As transportation is often a greatly over-looked part of anything. And when my mom had an unexpected meeting this morning, I was forced to bike to my destination. So at about 11am, I set out on my yet-known misadventure.
It was early in the morning on a teacher in-service day, not hardly a soul had arisen from their beds. The breeze was crisp and clean and the sunshine was lovely. I was feeling pretty great on this early-December day when I thought I had no use for a coat. And I rolled along through my small town, enjoying the view of still-green grass and the yellow orb in the sky. My little brown vintage 3-speed huffy sped over the streets with ease. And then I turned.
It was a gaping mouth of a turn, going immediately from suburban street to country road lined thick with trees on either side. To turn down this road, you needed to roll down a very steep hill-and-curve. A terrifying one at that.
Soon I was headed down a steep hill going extremely to fast for my poor little bike. I didn’t want to go too fast in fear of popping my wheels. I didn’t want to hold down my breaks in fear of ruining them. I instead skimmed my feet over the asphalt to slow me down. And it went on like this for a few minutes. Riding down a very lonely road, skidding my feet, and going down a giant twisting hill. All went well until I approached yet another dangerous curve, just like the one before, but the opposite.
Right after I passed our water-treatment facility with no employee cars int he parking lot, and then an abandoned bed and breakfast, I had to turn again. Onto a steeply-inclined one-lane road. On one side, nothing but thick forest, on the other a complete drop over a cliff.
I attempted feebly to bike at this almost 70 degree incline before realizing my legs weren’t exactly the strongest things in the world. At all. And with this epiphany came a quick and depressing self-esteem buster. Only quick, though. As I had to fear for my life walking painfully up this never-ending blind spot. Cars, on the other road who were never there, now suddenly were zooming down toward me in alarming numbers. Every driver I saw turned back pitifully in my direction. With good reason, as I’m positive I looked very disheveled.
And the further up this hill I went, I noticed all the cars I saw were either old, beat-up vans with rust spots and no windows. Or scary-looking pick-up trucks (all gray or white) with windows all tinted past the illegal numbers. I began to get a tightening sense of fear in my chest, a defense mechanism most girls my age walking alone on isolated country roads should have. And I reached for my phone. I needed to feel the shape of what could be my savoir as scenes, bad scenes, began to play through my head. When my fingers touched my pocket, I realized in a panic that my savoir was absent. And when I found it to not be anywhere on me, I was really in a pickle.
And so I realized that in the frenzy of giving my brother a note telling my mom when I had left, and feeding my cat and dog, I had left the shell of blue plastic and silicon on my dresser.
Now, almost there, I began to jog/ bounce my way up the last stretch of hill. Pushing hard with my legs while my arms were stretched out comically to hold my handle bars. So close! I could see the rocks marking the entrance to the campsite and could see the field where we stayed through the thin lining of trees. I saw our fire wood we stacked yesterday put neatly by our fire pit and the giant logs we were going to use as seats. YES! I was here.
I pushed the bit of now-tangled hair out of my eyes and viewed the smooth, nearly worn-through bottoms of my converse, damage due to my self- breaking down the hill. Then I walked into our entrance, smiling at my feat I had just conquered, ready to tell my sad story.
Only to find that no one was there.
Ok, I’ll catch you up in case you haven’t read my first post (it’s not necessary to have. Actually, just don’t waste your time…) However, I noted that I am currently in the process of writing a novel called Circle Patterns. I’m just working on it and I’ll see how it turns out but I was thinking that I would put some information about it on here. Like the cover blurb and possibly chapters. Updates as it come to finality and possible publishing or what not. So without further ado, I give you what at the moment would appear ont he back of the cover. Maybe.
In a new America that is being eaten inside out from the Brother
Depression or ‘frater depressio’ as the “experts” call
it, there is nothing but sadness and confusion. After America
lost all its resources and respect from other nations, it became
almost a third-world country. With the people still contrived and
living in the past, the struggle to face reality becomes a huge
issue. Everyone is obsessed with rareities; jewels, money, fresh
fruit, drugs, and pretty young girls. No one is trustworthy. No one is
safe. Faith is the thing shunned by everyone so in the public eye, it does not exist.
Amidst all the confusion, a young blind girl
moves through the world that is invisible to her. She seeks hope.
An abstract concept her world refuses to believe in, much less
And that’s just the sneak peak to wet your chops. But I’ll upload the first chapter in a few days.
P.S. This will most likely NOT be what it’s supposed to be because as my story is unfolding, it continues to change often.