Yes, you guys, I am now a "Stand By Me" freak! Well, the fluff is over with! I've been looking over the stories up here and I am just sick of all the Blah Blah comes to town stuff...seems to be in all the categories up here...well, I've come to bring the light in a dark tunnel! I present to you:
Reelin' and Rockin'!
Chapter 1: That'll Be the Day
It was 1962, a year–the first for me–that caused my life to turn around, three-sixty degrees. I was fifteen and bored as hell with life in general: bored with Castle Rock, my hometown, bored with school, bored with my fellow citizens. However, it never occurred to me during the first few bitingly cold months of '62 that all I needed was myself to escape this unending monotony. It was up to me. Only during the last few weeks of my sophomore year in high school did I realize that there was a bit of hope left for Castle Rock–a bit.
I'm not a people person, never have been, never will be. I couldn't get along well at all with the kids that seemed to infest the advanced classes I was enrolled in...I wouldn't get along with them; to me, they were just too square to understand. I guess the reason they didn't like me either was because I was exception; I'd come from a poor family which most people knew for the wrong reasons, I was absolutely crazy about Rock N' Roll (something a lot of them were still banned from listening to), and I was just...too "complicated". I hated the thought of living the simplistic life that most were then, so I did everything I could to get away from it. Plus, I was into politics. I suppose I could have put away these things and simply communicated with another person; it wasn't that easy, though it may seem so. Instead, I held them as close as I could to myself, determined to keep what was very much apart of me. It paid off, too.
I wasn't a good-looking girl, either...I'm not kidding. My mother says I could be cute if I wanted and that if I cleaned up a bit, guys would be falling all over me. Well, I say yeah right. I don't want to be cute. It's no big deal to me, my looks. I've got better things to get worked up about. I mean, how many times do you see girls getting their hearts splattered all over the place 'cause some guy doesn't like her? I've seen it more times than I can count, and no siree, that's not gonna be me cryin' in the goddam bathroom, uh-uh.
Don't get me wrong, though; I'm a nice person when it comes down to it. People just don't give me a chance. That's another thing my mom likes to criticize me about: my stupid social life. She says that the only reason I don't have friends is because I separate myself from everybody, that I don't know how to socialize. Yeah, well whatever. I don't give two shits about the people in this town, much less one.
My mother's strict...really strict. She's always told me that Rock N' Roll was devilish and that I needed some God in me...She acts like the music is ruining my life or something, like I'm going to go and murder someone after listening to "Stagger Lee" or something. Not so; I'm not that stupid. She says it's not the thing a respectable girl listens to, but whatever; there's plenty of stuff about that she says isn't what a "respectable" girl would do. She just can't understand me. And don't think I'm just some silly little teenage girl complaining that no one understands her...it's true. "I was your age once" she says. Yeah, but if I knew you when you were my age would I have been friends with you? No. Just because you've been the same age as someone doesn't mean you understand them...
But that's enough ranting on my part. On with the story.
I'm not one for wasting time. I always say wasting time leads to frustration and frustration leads to wasted energy and it's true. My mother so desperately thinks that being an artist of any type is a waste of time...no comment. So, (I'm getting to the point) when I had to choose classes to take for my sophomore year, we had this huge, unnecessary argument about what I should take. Basically my point was "If I'm miserable in a class, I won't learn anything and that would be a waste of time." Her point was "I'm your mother and I know what's best for you." Well, we compromised on something that I didn't want to take as much as Creative Writing and something that she didn't hate as much as Creative Writing: Visual Arts. It was completely terrible, but I certainly had to push myself not to just give up; I wasn't that great at drawing...at all. Writing was my thing, I could do wonders with a pen and a piece of paper, seriously. I'd just have to wait for that, though.
One advantage that came out of that, though, was finally being able to be in a class with a mix of people instead of all the stuck up snobs I was forced to live with all other hours of the day. There was a project the month before school let out which would count as an exam. The only thing I minded about it was that we had to work in partners; it wasn't a choice. I hated working in partners, I always have. I would rather have to do all the work myself and know that my grade was all in my own hands than take half the load off and leave so much of it up to another person. That makes sense, right? Of course it does.
Well, the worst thing about having partners is the part where you have to pick yours. I've always dreaded it. So, when that came, I just sat in my desk waiting for everyone to pick their friends or way of getting a good grade so that when the teacher asked who didn't have a partner, it would be and I'd either get to work by myself or work with someone that wasn't all that bad. What I never expected, was for someone to come to me, Darla Thassel, and ask to be partners.
"Hi, will you be my partner?"
I stared at my desk silently, momentarily thinking if that person was talking to me, they wouldn't sound so damn excited. I turned my head slowly, unexpectantly turning to face Vern Tessio. Well, who else? He was probably the only other person in class that was nearly as ignored as me. I shrugged and nodded, sort of happy that someone actually wouldn't mind being around me for more than five minutes, and he sat down beside me, eagerly awaiting for Mrs. Kelly to give us the instructions.
We were to "find our own style", discover ourselves or something, by collaborating with someone else in the class. These styles of ours were supposed to be distinct and most of the grade would rely on the balance of the picture and how well you could distinguish the two styles.
Vern smiled at me and I smiled back timidly, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Well, well, well, people. I know it's short, but hey, I always make the first chapter short. Well, review! I want to see what you guys think!
