CHAPTER 2: My Life
The final bell sounded at precisely 2:35pm and I rushed out with the rest of the students to my locker. Becky was waiting for me when I arrived.
"Did you get it?" she asked without salutation.
"No," I said sarcastically, "I lied earlier just to get your hopes up."
She hit me rather harder than necessary and glared. "Hand it over, Kimmy."
I winced at the nickname. "Don't call me that," I said but obligingly dug through my bag until I came across the brown package. I looked around to ensure no one was looking and quickly handed her the goods.
"A month's supply?" she asked.
"Yes," I whispered back, turning to my locker in an effort to convey that I wanted the exchange to end pronto.
Becky gave me a one-armed hug. "You're the best!" she declared, slipping the box inside her own large purse. I stared at it, intimidated for a moment. What was it with girl's and big purses? Did they really need to haul around such a monstrosity? To add to that, she also had a backpack that was even bigger. I just didn't get it.
I nodded without modesty at her praise. "I know I am."
"Was it embarrassing?"
I shrugged. "Yes, but the nurse didn't question me."
Becky snickered. "What was she going to say, 'Kimberly Wilson, I wasn't aware you had a boyfriend or were sexually active! No birth control for you!'"
I slammed my locker door shut to disguise Beck's words. "Shut up," I hissed. "You told me we wouldn't talk about it if I did this for you."
"Sorry," she said without an ounce of sincerity. Really, the girl should be a little more appreciative.
Becky and I had been friendly since the ninth grade when we'd gotten into an argument over Jane Austen's best novel (I was a firm advocator of Emma, while she beat out the tune of Pride and Prejudice). But it wasn't until rather recently that our friendship had deepened and she'd asked me to get her birth control pills because: "People would notice me getting the pills and I don't want anyone to know about my boyfriend yet." She had strict parents, and was dating in secret right now. I thought it was all very romantic and agreed to get the goods. Who was I to go against safe intercourse? Plus, I had an awesome superpower at my disposal; invisibility. Practically at will, I could shrunk into myself and mentally force other's eyes to pass over me. It was a pretty terrific thing.
So I abused my power for the greater good of Becky and her sex life. She really should try a few more thank yous.
"Anyway," I steered the subject away from the brown package (just because I agreed to get it, didn't mean that I wasn't mortified about being seen with it) and to more important topics. "Have you heard anything about Jared?"
Becky gave me a look. One that clearly said: That is the fifth time you've asked me that today, and you know the answer. "No, you crazy stalker, I haven't. Have you?"
I beamed and nodded. "He is supposed to be coming back tomorrow!" I cheered. She was aware of my crush on him. At least, that's what she thought it was. I didn't mention the duration of this pining, though,. Six years sounded sad even to me.
"Sweet," she replied distractedly, digging around the massive abyss for her keys. We walked together to the parking lot, where Becky would take her car and I would either catch the bus or walk.
"Want a ride?" Becky asked when we came at our crossroad. I did want a ride, but she lived in the opposite direction of me so I politely declined and waved goodbye.
"Later, Kimmy, and thanks!"
I smiled in response and loaded onto the bus.
The bus ride went quickly and deposited me a few blocks from my house. My father and I lived alone at the end of the street, in a one-story light blue house. I made a note of the chipped paint and cracked boards on the porch.
I used my key to open the door and slipped my shoes off at the front precariously. "Hello!" I yelled absently, picking up the mail from the floor where it had been slotted in. No one responded, per usual, and I took all my stuff to the kitchen and plopped in a chair.
I separated the mail into two piles: bills and other. The bills portion compromised most of the mail, with a few credit card advertisements, and a reminder about our homecoming dance. I tossed that pile away.
The bills were starting to stack up again, and I sighed at the realization that I would have to spend the night going through and paying them. I glanced at the calendar on the wall. My father should be home in two days, maybe three. He worked at a manufacturing company in Seattle, a few hours away, and rented an apartment that he stayed during the week.
So I was alone in the house most of the week. It could be rather scary to be alone at night but, thankfully, I had an amazing guardian to protect me. Which reminded me.
I opened the fridge and removed a few, unwanted broccoli stalks and dashed into my room. A squeaking voice greeted me. "Oh, you raunchy pig!" I giggled.
My baby was a guinea pig, named Elvis. "Did you have a good day?" I cooed in a baby voice. "Mine was eh. I got a B on my history test and did a favor for Becky. She's got this boyfriend and needed, uh…" I decided I didn't want to corrupt my baby and skipped over that part, "something. And, Jared is coming back tomorrow!"
After listening attentively to Elvis's day—apparently, he had a very active run around his cage—I returned to the kitchen. I set out the bills, the checkbook, and two containers of tic-tacs. I would need them.
An hour later, I was still working steadily and down one pack of tacs. I had to re-do the checkbook balance twice, since it wasn't matching the bank statement; I didn't have the greatest mathematical skills and had to carefully look everything over five times to ensure it was accurate.
I had just decided to take a break when I heard the front door squeaking its way open. The familiar sound of footsteps pattering.
My heart jumped in surprise.
My father wasn't supposed to be home this soon. I had a discontented feeling and knew immediately what the deal was.
"Hey, Dad," I called out, dreading the inevitable interaction we were probably going to have.
Uneven footsteps stumbled toward the kitchen. I stared at the still-large pile of paper on the table and at the clock. It was only four.
It would be a long night.
Pat Wilson almost fell into the kitchen, catching himself on the edge of the counter at the last minute. His eyes were bleary, bloodshot and watery, and his gaze fell on me immediately. He opened his mouth and I braced myself. "What the fuck are you doing just sitting there?" he shouted. His clothes were stained with what was likely beer. "Didn't you hear me pull up? Go get my stuff out of the goddamn car, you ugly bitch." The last part he added under his breath, but I heard the words loud and clear.
I felt a sting of hurt but suppressed the feeling with a sigh of weariness. I stood up slowly, without responding, and left the room to go to the car and to get his stuff.
It was going to be a really long night.
Hours later, I snatched away the unopened bottles of beer and detoured past the backdoor and threw them out angrily, all unnoticed.
Pat was far gone. It was already past midnight and Pat, father of the fucking year, had been ranting and raving and keeping me from my warm, cozy bed. As soon as he had walked in the door, I knew this would happen. He had done this since I had moved in with him. But not as often as he did now.
He wasn't a violent drunk, just wordy and had a tendency of shouting mean things at me. And keeping me awake. He always wanted company when he was like this and would shout or sing loudly so I couldn't sleep and would be essentially forced to remain awake until he passed out or screamed for me to get lost.
I returned to sit on the couch, where I pulled my knees in to my chest and wrapped a wool blanket around my shoulders. I hadn't a chance to finish the bills or get to my homework. Pat didn't like my attention focused elsewhere.
He had begun to calm down, fading in and out of consciousness, and I calculated that it would be another thirty minutes or so before I could go to bed. He would shout out every now and then.
"Your mother had that same wide face, mostly fucking cheekbones. That bitch," he grumbled without looking at me. I wondered why having cheekbones made my mom a bitch.
I popped two more tic-tacs and stared at a crack in the ceiling. I knew I wasn't the prettiest girl in La Push but wasn't your own father supposed to think so? Maybe I was just so unattractive that I even repelled him. I wasn't blind; I knew I was plain, with a nose and mouth too broad for beauty. My hair was black and rather thin but still had an uncontrollable curl to it, reaching just past my shoulders. I usually fastened it back with a clip to avoid having to mess with it.
I wasn't tall or short, but fell directly in the middle. The most worst part of my appearance was my body which was more curvy and wider than what society considered beautiful. I didn't consider myself overweight, but I did feel like more of a classic body type with round hips, larger thighs, and a chest to match. I wore baggy t-shirts and pants to disguise these shapes though.
I had no redeeming factors to my looks. I had nice skin, I guess. And my teeth were white enough.
Even my personality didn't compensate for a C- appearance. I was often described as 'nice and a little shy'. No exciting verbs or adjectives. I didn't have many extracurricular interests or belong to any cool clubs. I had my rad power of invisibility, or maybe it was a curse. I liked to label it a power though. It made me feel better.
"A stupid bitch," my father muttered, his eyes finally drooping closed. I didn't know, or care, who he was talking about. I stiffly rose after waiting five minutes to ensure he really was sleeping, re-positioned him so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit if he puked in the middle of the night, and went to my room.
Your own father doesn't love you, I thought as I laid down and stared at my wall. I tried not to be such a crybaby about it, but a few tears escaped. Despite my best efforts, they turned into sobs, which eventually shook my body so hard I thought I might be ill.
I was nothing to anyone. Just a worthless waste of space. I was unloved and pathetic and ugly—motherless—with a drunk father, practically friendless, with a pathetic and unrequited crush.
Eventually, I wore myself out and fell into a dreamless sleep.
