Roll over baby
The time has come to make a little bit more room
I've hung around you, it's getting tough
I think I'm gonna break down soon
Well, I remember crying in the park
Suddenly I look up and you are my sky
So go on and sleep darling
Why don't you pretend we were just a dream
It's cool, baby, it doesn't matter anyway
Well, I'm so sorry
Got to the station a little too late
Such a shame, just missed the train....
Just Missed The Train by Kelly Clarkson
Chapter 3
If there was a movie made about my life, I know exactly how it would start. You'd see the backs of some people in lawn chairs looking at a beautiful sunset at the ocean. Then I walk up from behind the camera and look both ways down the beach on which hundreds of people are sitting. After agitatedly looking for a place to sit I throw my arms straight out to the sides and the people disappear. I can finally sit and see the sunset, unobscured.
That's basically my feelings on the human race. I saw this comedian once who summed it up perfectly. "My dad's so racist. But the race he hates the most is the human race." Being forced to spend time with thousands of strangers in large crowds makes me nauseous. People are so stupid. They do stupid things. I think the main reason why I feel this way is that I have issues with trust. I'm not sure why, but I'm always hesitant to believe people, and tend to assume the worst.
This lovely thought was caused by the events following my washing Gordo's dishes. I finally finished. I defeated the monster. After dumping the dishwater and cleaning up a bit, I stood in Gordo's bedroom doorway once more. To my surprise, he sat up.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Oh, it's okay. I was already awake."
For the first time in our lives, an uncomfortable silence fell over us. It was mainly because I didn't know what to say. Did I just come out and say 'Hey, I know what happened with you and Betta. You're too good for her anyway. Oh, by the way, I love you. Always have'? I was fairly certain that would make things even more awkward so I settled with, "Would you mind telling me what happened that would cause you to feel some kind of need to knock on my door? Completely plastered, no less." Maybe a little harsh. But I'll just pretend I don't know anything.
His response to my inquiry is to grab the phone off his bedside table.
"What are doing?"
He ignores me and begins dialing a number. I snatch the phone out of his hand.
"Gordo! I have a right to know what happened. You haven't talked to me in months and then you knock on my door, of all people's. What happened?" Now that I started this facade of not knowing, I had to hear him say the words. Did he honestly think he could come to me, acting the way he was, and not explain what was going on?
"It was a mistake, obviously. I should have gone to Miranda. At least she wouldn't have played 20 questions," he snapped and snatched the phone angrily out of my hand.
"Who are you calling?" My attempt to keep my feelings from showing was not successful and the question was tinged with hurt.
"Betta. You know, the girl I actually care about."
His words hit me hard, knocking the wind right out of me. He didn't care about me? I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to pass out. Finally I managed to breathe. I was going to cry. I could feel the tears welling up. It's a well-known fact that anger can shove sadness right out. So that's what I did. I got angry.
"You are such a fucking asshole," I spat vehemently.
My string of curses was enough to make Gordo hit the end button on his phone. "Excuse me?" he said, like he couldn't believe I had just muttered those words. It was kinda hard for me to believe I had just muttered those words.
"You heard me. We have been friends a long time and I've done nothing but support you. When you found out your dad was cheating on your mom, I was there. When they got divorced, I was there. When you totaled your car and ended up in the hospital for a week, I stayed there by your bedside. When you showed up at my door, drunker than your father ever was, I took you home, made sure you were okay, even washed your fucking dishes. What else can I possibly do to earn your respect? You don't care about me? Fine. I fucking hate you. I never want to see you ever again." With that I stormed out of his apartment.
I hoped my monologue made me appear strong, because I felt the exact opposite. As soon as I slammed the door close behind me, I broke. I snapped in half. I leaned against the wall and slid down to floor, sobbing. How could he not care about me? Me. I practically lived his life with him. I knew what happened to him and why he felt the way he did about all those things. How could he throw me to the side like that? As if nothing I ever did mattered. The worst part was that I still loved him. For all the shit he just dragged me through, I still loved him.
The time has come to make a little bit more room
I've hung around you, it's getting tough
I think I'm gonna break down soon
Well, I remember crying in the park
Suddenly I look up and you are my sky
So go on and sleep darling
Why don't you pretend we were just a dream
It's cool, baby, it doesn't matter anyway
Well, I'm so sorry
Got to the station a little too late
Such a shame, just missed the train....
Just Missed The Train by Kelly Clarkson
Chapter 3
If there was a movie made about my life, I know exactly how it would start. You'd see the backs of some people in lawn chairs looking at a beautiful sunset at the ocean. Then I walk up from behind the camera and look both ways down the beach on which hundreds of people are sitting. After agitatedly looking for a place to sit I throw my arms straight out to the sides and the people disappear. I can finally sit and see the sunset, unobscured.
That's basically my feelings on the human race. I saw this comedian once who summed it up perfectly. "My dad's so racist. But the race he hates the most is the human race." Being forced to spend time with thousands of strangers in large crowds makes me nauseous. People are so stupid. They do stupid things. I think the main reason why I feel this way is that I have issues with trust. I'm not sure why, but I'm always hesitant to believe people, and tend to assume the worst.
This lovely thought was caused by the events following my washing Gordo's dishes. I finally finished. I defeated the monster. After dumping the dishwater and cleaning up a bit, I stood in Gordo's bedroom doorway once more. To my surprise, he sat up.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Oh, it's okay. I was already awake."
For the first time in our lives, an uncomfortable silence fell over us. It was mainly because I didn't know what to say. Did I just come out and say 'Hey, I know what happened with you and Betta. You're too good for her anyway. Oh, by the way, I love you. Always have'? I was fairly certain that would make things even more awkward so I settled with, "Would you mind telling me what happened that would cause you to feel some kind of need to knock on my door? Completely plastered, no less." Maybe a little harsh. But I'll just pretend I don't know anything.
His response to my inquiry is to grab the phone off his bedside table.
"What are doing?"
He ignores me and begins dialing a number. I snatch the phone out of his hand.
"Gordo! I have a right to know what happened. You haven't talked to me in months and then you knock on my door, of all people's. What happened?" Now that I started this facade of not knowing, I had to hear him say the words. Did he honestly think he could come to me, acting the way he was, and not explain what was going on?
"It was a mistake, obviously. I should have gone to Miranda. At least she wouldn't have played 20 questions," he snapped and snatched the phone angrily out of my hand.
"Who are you calling?" My attempt to keep my feelings from showing was not successful and the question was tinged with hurt.
"Betta. You know, the girl I actually care about."
His words hit me hard, knocking the wind right out of me. He didn't care about me? I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to pass out. Finally I managed to breathe. I was going to cry. I could feel the tears welling up. It's a well-known fact that anger can shove sadness right out. So that's what I did. I got angry.
"You are such a fucking asshole," I spat vehemently.
My string of curses was enough to make Gordo hit the end button on his phone. "Excuse me?" he said, like he couldn't believe I had just muttered those words. It was kinda hard for me to believe I had just muttered those words.
"You heard me. We have been friends a long time and I've done nothing but support you. When you found out your dad was cheating on your mom, I was there. When they got divorced, I was there. When you totaled your car and ended up in the hospital for a week, I stayed there by your bedside. When you showed up at my door, drunker than your father ever was, I took you home, made sure you were okay, even washed your fucking dishes. What else can I possibly do to earn your respect? You don't care about me? Fine. I fucking hate you. I never want to see you ever again." With that I stormed out of his apartment.
I hoped my monologue made me appear strong, because I felt the exact opposite. As soon as I slammed the door close behind me, I broke. I snapped in half. I leaned against the wall and slid down to floor, sobbing. How could he not care about me? Me. I practically lived his life with him. I knew what happened to him and why he felt the way he did about all those things. How could he throw me to the side like that? As if nothing I ever did mattered. The worst part was that I still loved him. For all the shit he just dragged me through, I still loved him.