A/N Just watched "Dirty Dancing" and got this idea. First three chapters up!
The Sort of Prologue:
Twelve years after President Kennedy was shot, after Weight Watchers was founded in Queens, New York, after Martin Luther King Junior delivered his speech entitled "I Have a Dream", a girl named Dawn with brown hair down to there met a boy named Russell with boyish good looks in Peace Park. It was love at first sight and they were married after a year of dating. They still were in that honeymoon period like every pair of newlyweds goes through where everything is "lovey-dovey" and goosing each other every time they walked past one another and they spent more time in the bedroom then they did anywhere else. But that basking period ended when Dawn announced two words that nobody was prepared for: "I'm pregnant."
In 1984, when Madonna released her "Like a Virgin" album, when AIDS was discovered, and stonewashed jeans were introduced, a baby girl was born named Eleanor Maria Nash; me.
By the time I was five, I was still naive enough to believe that my parents fighting daily was a healthy way to vent emotions and strengthen the relationship between the two, my mother passing out on the couch after one or two or eight bottles of vodka was just her taking nap, and that my father would be home for Christmas instead of overseas.
By the time I was eleven I realized, however, that if Dad was home for the holidays he would use one of the crap gifts Mom had picked out and call it his own original idea, Mom was an alcoholic who would need a new liver by the time she was 56, and my parents fighting was just something I had to get used to.
It was the norm, things sucking, I mean. I learned harsh realities before kids my age even learned about puberty. But it was okay-- people crapping all over me, leaving me to pick up the pieces when things fell apart-- because I had developed this outer layer to protect myself from everything. But then I met Marco. He made me a person susceptible to pain and agony. But it was okay, because as my though outer shell started to deteriorate, I wasn't alone to pick up the pieces, because I had Marco-- a shoulder to cry on, a bed to sleep in when I didn't feel at home, a few extra dollars for lunch when my mom spent all the money on booze. I was fourteen at the time. I thought I had learned all the rules to life and was prepared for anything life threw at me. That's just proof how idiotic fourteen year olds can be.
I actually thought "BFF" was a true statement. But Marco started to grow up and grow apart, and weren't "Marco and Ellie" anymore. I had other friends along the way, though: Sean, Ashley, Jimmy, Paige, and eventually Craig. But each one had their own circumstances to how they proved "BFF" was lie. Sean: so hung up on his ex and burning inside. Ashley: had her midlife crisis at seventeen and ran away, returning when I graduated. Jimmy: that one is my fault. I broke his heart, just making the citation "Love the heart that hurts you, but never hurt the hurt that loves you," true. Craig: how can I sum this up? Befriend Ellie Nash, lead her on, break her heart, be thankful that you didn't entirely burn that bridge, leave, return, break her heart once again, and leave and not only burn the bridge set the entire city aflame.
And now I'm 23 and bitter, but I've learned a lot. I now know that when George Gershwin said, "Life is just a bowl of cherries," he was really sugar coating "Life is just a bowl of heartbreak and pain." And whoever discovered "forever" must have been high because, well, the truth about forever is that, it doesn't exist.