~@~
Warning: Drug content. Run-on sentences are present. I dearly hope it's not R, but do feel free to badger me if it is.
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
Compromises, I've learned, come with the price of effort. Going to the party is in, dancing, out. Sociable, possibly, and dressing up, not likely.
My mother watches as I pace. She opens her mouth, but I don't hear her. She wants to be a good mother, a beauty queen, a lawyer, a doctor, a porn star, a florist. Liar by nature, curious by law.
"Are you listening to me?"
No.
"Yes."
"No you're not," She stops herself and sprawls on my bed. "I was just asking what was on your mind."
"Nothing," I reply. "I don't think. I'm a teenager."
"I'm serious, Heather," She lights a cigarette. "Tell me what's going on in school. Are you having fun? You seem so moody lately. What's the matter?" She puts out her cigarette, looking at me. I hear her silent mind chanting, good mother, good mother.
"I'm going to a party tonight," I offer in a rare moment of charity. It passes quickly and I begin to pace again.
"Ooh," She squeals, and my ears and heart are broken. "Why don't you wear that pink tank I gave you on your birthday?"
"Because I don't wear pink," I lie.
"Heather," She says witheringly. I hate names. "You know that's a lie. You're just trying to get under my skin." I open my mouth, waiting for the ugly words to fall out. They don't. I suddenly wish we could be like normal people, and talk about dental appointments and our plumbing problems. People like us, however, feel the need to talk about things like lying and stupidity and prostitution. We are two of a kind, my mother and me.
"I have to get ready." I'm dismissing her, letting her go, slip away. She stays on the bed and clutches, looking around.
"Where are all your posters?," She prods me motionlessly, sticking her questions into my spine. I wince. "I bought you all this stuff for your room and you take it down. You even picked it all out. What's going on, Heather?"
"Nothing," I repeat, irritated. Go away. Leave me alone. Die in a fiery pit. "I'm fine. I need to get ready."
"You do," She stares at me. "You really do." I have the oddest feeling we aren't talking about the same thing anymore. Intensity rises. Her gaze doesn't drop. I look away, ashamed and broken again, naked.
"Look," I say hotly, "I'll wear the fucking shirt if you just leave."
"Fine," She stands, finally. "Watch your tongue." She leaves, and I stare at the floor. It's hard when she's right. The walls remain blank. What DID happened? My mind travels to the closet, boxes of posters, paintings, pictures, stacked, taking up space. I find myself by the closet now, opening doors, opening boxes, waiting again. Waiting.
Nothing happens. I see memories. I don't care. I have found the pink tank top and I have a box full of crap. This is all that I have.
I pull on the shirt, put away the box, and I have nothing again.
~@~
Hazel's. Someone vomits on the lawn. I see it turned from an invitation only event to a house party. My head is spinning slightly, with all the bodies and lights and sounds. My eyes are newly opened. I see Paige. I wonder why I want to talk to her. I see her fighting with Spinner. I'm gone. I see so much, so many, I'm back in bed, tossing. No, I'm here, at the party again, as someone has spilled pop all over me. I am, once again, waiting.
"Hey, Heather," Hazel laughs, but not because of me. Her friends surround her, and she is beaming with pride. This is her shindig, such a success. She obviously has yet to see the vomit.
"Hi," I say, but to no one, as she has left me once again. Jessica Simpson pours out of the stereo. I tap my fingers on my jeans. With you, she screams, I can do anything. I stop tapping my fingers. I head to kitchen, hoping that I'll slip on some tile and break my head open.
Spinner has turned up here, talking to some guy. He's depressed, angry, frustrated. I sympathize from afar, grabbing a cup and sipping punch. I lean on the counter, eavesdropping like the true rebel I know I must be.
"It's like she's on a different planet, dude," He shakes his head. "I don't know what her problem is."
"Harsh, man," His friend nods with a lack of care. He isn't interested. He breaks into a smile. "Hey, I got something to cheer you up." He pulls something out of his pocket. I don't need to look. I become fascinated with my hair, stroking a lock intensely.
"Dude," Spinner looks at his friend as though he's insane. "No way. Paige would kill me. Besides, it's stupid." He seemed almost doubtful now, the former reason overshadowing the latter.
"Oh, I forgot," The guy laughs and puts it back in his pocket. "You're whipped like hell." Ah, men.
"Dude, it's not that. I told you, it's stupid."
"No, it's cool, dude," He says in a too innocent way. "I won't tell the other guys how freaking controlled you are by your little girlfriend. Though, it's pretty obvious, considering you don't do anything anymore, besides be a little love slave."
"Dude, shut up," Spinner's voice fills with anger. "I am not whipped."
"Oh, yeah? Prove it." It comes back out of his pocket. There is silence, tension. My hair can no longer hold my attention. I look up. I'm invisible. I feel myself wanting to break in, force down the wall.
"I'll take some," I say it like an offer. I don't even know exactly why. They look at me as if I've fallen out of the sky.
"Why don't you mind your own business?" and "Here you go, pretty lady, needed some off my hands" come at the same time. They stare at each other once again while I stare at the little white pill.
"Fine." There is insult muttering and reluctance.
Somewhere in between there and here we're in Hazel's bedroom, living but not breathing, touching but not feeling, talking but not hearing.
It's just amazing now. I'm not thinking of fighting or feeling or fucking, but of absolute nothingness, and he's thinking with me, and our knees are touching, but not our hands, and I want to touch his hand, because he looks so soft, soft, soft like a cloud or a kitten or maybe just a soft person and my clothes are lifting off, off, off me but he doesn't even notice and I want him to notice me but he's stupid so, so, so stupid and I love him, I've always loved him, because he's so soft and understanding and it's just amazing, because he's thinking and I'm thinking and we both have wants and needs and I need him, I need to hear him think I need to hear him breathe. I straddle him, leaning on his forehead, waiting for his thoughts to wash on me and he doesn't notice, doesn't care, keeps babbling when I don't care, and we're both so connected, not caring and breathing and the world is pulsing and I'm pulsing and there is light, so much light. There is so sex or romance or friendship but there is a bond, such a bond much, much, much deeper, under our skin and digging our flesh and I hear my name over and over but I'm no longer Heather, I'm spinning, I'm Spin, I'm him but I'm me, we're us, I am an us. I'm not sure if I'll ever come down from the deep blueness or yellowness or pinkness or blackness of the sky and I don't care because when I was ten I was afraid of heights and I fell, fell, fell down and down and down but then I got back up with a broken leg and it hurt so bad but I'm not so scared anymore because I'm in love with the sky and tissues and the way his nose curves so softly, softly, softly and the amazing feeling that is his skin and the amazing love that is his not for me but for Paige who controls him when I set him free and now he'll love me because he'll know, know, know, because I tell him, in whispers too loud and I fall back and laugh because I'm so, so, so free now, free from chains and commitments and lies, lies, lies. He's wishing because I'm wishing because we're one, do you know, of course you do, it's so obvious, we're so here, and you're so there, and everywhere I go everyone wants, wants, wants but those teen movies prove to me, they say, people can be good and I know it and they applaud, they applaud me like they should because I am wonderful, feeling wonderful, being wonderful. Wonder, wonder, wonder. I can't think and I can't breathe I can only be, be here, be with him. We're so alike like shoe laces from the same pair of shoes so we just get tied up in each other's eyelets and I think of how weird it is that shoes have tongues and I wonder if Spinner's tongue is as soft as his skin and I realize it is because it is now touching mine in my soft, soft, soft mouth but that's all because we don't need to do anymore because we are shoelaces and a pair of us and kittens and I purr and he laughs and I've forgotten how to laugh so I try but I can't because I'm stuck, I'm stuck on him, us. He helps me, parting my lips once again, but I fall, fall, fall off the bed and crash on the floor, the soft yellowness of Hazel's carpet and I'm staring at the faces on her wall and they stare at me and I scream because they're so, so, so scary and he laughs and laughs and laughs because I'm funny, I'm actually funny, and I laugh too, because my lips have been kissed twice by a guy I never second glanced at, but now I love, love, love, and my arm feels broken, and I kick the table, and Jesus is there, watching me, and I can't believe it, watch, watch, watching, and Spinner laughs again as a lamp breaks, a blue lamp, and it's so loud I laugh, because broken lamps are like broken hearts and broken hearts are on the floor with me and I wonder if Spinner has ever broken a heart and someone's watching who isn't Jesus and it's Hazel, Hazel who is so, so sweet and so, so nice and deserves a friend medal, or a hug, so I give her a hug, and she laughs. No, she screams and yells and it hurts my head and I hurt all over and she tells me to leave, at least I think she does, but I'm thinking of choreography, but she's thinking of her broken lamp, so I leave her to mourn and I leave Spinner because I know we'll be together forever somewhere far, far, away from here, like Alaska or Italy or Frankfort, Kentucky, or maybe just here, here, here. And I'm no longer waiting, because I've found, found, found so much in a single night and I love, love, love that guy and Spinner and the yellow carpet and the broken hearts and the strange faces and Jesus and my shoelaces, because I'm not waiting, I'm not waiting anymore. I'm so, so, so found.
Warning: Drug content. Run-on sentences are present. I dearly hope it's not R, but do feel free to badger me if it is.
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
Compromises, I've learned, come with the price of effort. Going to the party is in, dancing, out. Sociable, possibly, and dressing up, not likely.
My mother watches as I pace. She opens her mouth, but I don't hear her. She wants to be a good mother, a beauty queen, a lawyer, a doctor, a porn star, a florist. Liar by nature, curious by law.
"Are you listening to me?"
No.
"Yes."
"No you're not," She stops herself and sprawls on my bed. "I was just asking what was on your mind."
"Nothing," I reply. "I don't think. I'm a teenager."
"I'm serious, Heather," She lights a cigarette. "Tell me what's going on in school. Are you having fun? You seem so moody lately. What's the matter?" She puts out her cigarette, looking at me. I hear her silent mind chanting, good mother, good mother.
"I'm going to a party tonight," I offer in a rare moment of charity. It passes quickly and I begin to pace again.
"Ooh," She squeals, and my ears and heart are broken. "Why don't you wear that pink tank I gave you on your birthday?"
"Because I don't wear pink," I lie.
"Heather," She says witheringly. I hate names. "You know that's a lie. You're just trying to get under my skin." I open my mouth, waiting for the ugly words to fall out. They don't. I suddenly wish we could be like normal people, and talk about dental appointments and our plumbing problems. People like us, however, feel the need to talk about things like lying and stupidity and prostitution. We are two of a kind, my mother and me.
"I have to get ready." I'm dismissing her, letting her go, slip away. She stays on the bed and clutches, looking around.
"Where are all your posters?," She prods me motionlessly, sticking her questions into my spine. I wince. "I bought you all this stuff for your room and you take it down. You even picked it all out. What's going on, Heather?"
"Nothing," I repeat, irritated. Go away. Leave me alone. Die in a fiery pit. "I'm fine. I need to get ready."
"You do," She stares at me. "You really do." I have the oddest feeling we aren't talking about the same thing anymore. Intensity rises. Her gaze doesn't drop. I look away, ashamed and broken again, naked.
"Look," I say hotly, "I'll wear the fucking shirt if you just leave."
"Fine," She stands, finally. "Watch your tongue." She leaves, and I stare at the floor. It's hard when she's right. The walls remain blank. What DID happened? My mind travels to the closet, boxes of posters, paintings, pictures, stacked, taking up space. I find myself by the closet now, opening doors, opening boxes, waiting again. Waiting.
Nothing happens. I see memories. I don't care. I have found the pink tank top and I have a box full of crap. This is all that I have.
I pull on the shirt, put away the box, and I have nothing again.
~@~
Hazel's. Someone vomits on the lawn. I see it turned from an invitation only event to a house party. My head is spinning slightly, with all the bodies and lights and sounds. My eyes are newly opened. I see Paige. I wonder why I want to talk to her. I see her fighting with Spinner. I'm gone. I see so much, so many, I'm back in bed, tossing. No, I'm here, at the party again, as someone has spilled pop all over me. I am, once again, waiting.
"Hey, Heather," Hazel laughs, but not because of me. Her friends surround her, and she is beaming with pride. This is her shindig, such a success. She obviously has yet to see the vomit.
"Hi," I say, but to no one, as she has left me once again. Jessica Simpson pours out of the stereo. I tap my fingers on my jeans. With you, she screams, I can do anything. I stop tapping my fingers. I head to kitchen, hoping that I'll slip on some tile and break my head open.
Spinner has turned up here, talking to some guy. He's depressed, angry, frustrated. I sympathize from afar, grabbing a cup and sipping punch. I lean on the counter, eavesdropping like the true rebel I know I must be.
"It's like she's on a different planet, dude," He shakes his head. "I don't know what her problem is."
"Harsh, man," His friend nods with a lack of care. He isn't interested. He breaks into a smile. "Hey, I got something to cheer you up." He pulls something out of his pocket. I don't need to look. I become fascinated with my hair, stroking a lock intensely.
"Dude," Spinner looks at his friend as though he's insane. "No way. Paige would kill me. Besides, it's stupid." He seemed almost doubtful now, the former reason overshadowing the latter.
"Oh, I forgot," The guy laughs and puts it back in his pocket. "You're whipped like hell." Ah, men.
"Dude, it's not that. I told you, it's stupid."
"No, it's cool, dude," He says in a too innocent way. "I won't tell the other guys how freaking controlled you are by your little girlfriend. Though, it's pretty obvious, considering you don't do anything anymore, besides be a little love slave."
"Dude, shut up," Spinner's voice fills with anger. "I am not whipped."
"Oh, yeah? Prove it." It comes back out of his pocket. There is silence, tension. My hair can no longer hold my attention. I look up. I'm invisible. I feel myself wanting to break in, force down the wall.
"I'll take some," I say it like an offer. I don't even know exactly why. They look at me as if I've fallen out of the sky.
"Why don't you mind your own business?" and "Here you go, pretty lady, needed some off my hands" come at the same time. They stare at each other once again while I stare at the little white pill.
"Fine." There is insult muttering and reluctance.
Somewhere in between there and here we're in Hazel's bedroom, living but not breathing, touching but not feeling, talking but not hearing.
It's just amazing now. I'm not thinking of fighting or feeling or fucking, but of absolute nothingness, and he's thinking with me, and our knees are touching, but not our hands, and I want to touch his hand, because he looks so soft, soft, soft like a cloud or a kitten or maybe just a soft person and my clothes are lifting off, off, off me but he doesn't even notice and I want him to notice me but he's stupid so, so, so stupid and I love him, I've always loved him, because he's so soft and understanding and it's just amazing, because he's thinking and I'm thinking and we both have wants and needs and I need him, I need to hear him think I need to hear him breathe. I straddle him, leaning on his forehead, waiting for his thoughts to wash on me and he doesn't notice, doesn't care, keeps babbling when I don't care, and we're both so connected, not caring and breathing and the world is pulsing and I'm pulsing and there is light, so much light. There is so sex or romance or friendship but there is a bond, such a bond much, much, much deeper, under our skin and digging our flesh and I hear my name over and over but I'm no longer Heather, I'm spinning, I'm Spin, I'm him but I'm me, we're us, I am an us. I'm not sure if I'll ever come down from the deep blueness or yellowness or pinkness or blackness of the sky and I don't care because when I was ten I was afraid of heights and I fell, fell, fell down and down and down but then I got back up with a broken leg and it hurt so bad but I'm not so scared anymore because I'm in love with the sky and tissues and the way his nose curves so softly, softly, softly and the amazing feeling that is his skin and the amazing love that is his not for me but for Paige who controls him when I set him free and now he'll love me because he'll know, know, know, because I tell him, in whispers too loud and I fall back and laugh because I'm so, so, so free now, free from chains and commitments and lies, lies, lies. He's wishing because I'm wishing because we're one, do you know, of course you do, it's so obvious, we're so here, and you're so there, and everywhere I go everyone wants, wants, wants but those teen movies prove to me, they say, people can be good and I know it and they applaud, they applaud me like they should because I am wonderful, feeling wonderful, being wonderful. Wonder, wonder, wonder. I can't think and I can't breathe I can only be, be here, be with him. We're so alike like shoe laces from the same pair of shoes so we just get tied up in each other's eyelets and I think of how weird it is that shoes have tongues and I wonder if Spinner's tongue is as soft as his skin and I realize it is because it is now touching mine in my soft, soft, soft mouth but that's all because we don't need to do anymore because we are shoelaces and a pair of us and kittens and I purr and he laughs and I've forgotten how to laugh so I try but I can't because I'm stuck, I'm stuck on him, us. He helps me, parting my lips once again, but I fall, fall, fall off the bed and crash on the floor, the soft yellowness of Hazel's carpet and I'm staring at the faces on her wall and they stare at me and I scream because they're so, so, so scary and he laughs and laughs and laughs because I'm funny, I'm actually funny, and I laugh too, because my lips have been kissed twice by a guy I never second glanced at, but now I love, love, love, and my arm feels broken, and I kick the table, and Jesus is there, watching me, and I can't believe it, watch, watch, watching, and Spinner laughs again as a lamp breaks, a blue lamp, and it's so loud I laugh, because broken lamps are like broken hearts and broken hearts are on the floor with me and I wonder if Spinner has ever broken a heart and someone's watching who isn't Jesus and it's Hazel, Hazel who is so, so sweet and so, so nice and deserves a friend medal, or a hug, so I give her a hug, and she laughs. No, she screams and yells and it hurts my head and I hurt all over and she tells me to leave, at least I think she does, but I'm thinking of choreography, but she's thinking of her broken lamp, so I leave her to mourn and I leave Spinner because I know we'll be together forever somewhere far, far, away from here, like Alaska or Italy or Frankfort, Kentucky, or maybe just here, here, here. And I'm no longer waiting, because I've found, found, found so much in a single night and I love, love, love that guy and Spinner and the yellow carpet and the broken hearts and the strange faces and Jesus and my shoelaces, because I'm not waiting, I'm not waiting anymore. I'm so, so, so found.