I woke up to a sharp pain in my eye and an ache in my chest. The clean, blue sheets and white walls were unfamiliar. I must have died. I must be in some sort of purgatory. I sat up, ignoring the pain in my chest and head; and ran my hands down my cheeks, astonished at the lack of crusted blood. It was then that the door opened, and that same black haired boy walked right up to my bed with some blue thing in his hand, sitting on the end and gently pushing my shoulders back down until I was lying flat on my back with an icepack against my forehead.
"Mornin'."
Even up close, there was no expression in his icy gaze, nor in his voice.
"Wha…Where did…Where am I?" The boy stood up and stretched his arms before walking across the bedroom and opening the blinds covering narrow window a few feet from the bed, revealing the chipping blue paint of my house only a couple yards away.
"Is th-this your house?" The boy nodded. "Why d-didn't y-y-you just t-take me home?"
"I did. No one there. Not letting you out of my sight."
"Who are y-you."
"Craig Tucker, at your service." The boy now known as Craig held out his hand in what must have been a sarcastic gesture, but I took it anyway, just in case. He shook my hand once before dropping it to the bed. "What the fucking hell did you do to get Cartman on your ass?" I raised an eyebrow quizzically. "The fat kid."
"O-oh. I…I don't even kn-know…I guess I j-just have an o-offensive face." Craig snorted, pulling up his legs and crossing them, facing me now.
"I left your mom a note informing her that you're crashing here this weekend. I don't care if you're okay with that or not, because you're staying here anyway."
"Whu-What the f-fuck man? I d-don't even, know y-you! And n-now, I'm being k-k-kiddnapped‽
"Pretty much."
"W-why are you d-doing this to m-me‽"
Craig rolled his eyes, otherwise ignoring me as he pulled an iPod out of his sweatshirt pocket and popped the ear buds into his ears. I could instantly hear the stress-inducing noises of heavy metal screams from my seat on the other side of the bed, and began flailing my hands in front of his stupid, emotionless face. He ignored me, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. I tried screaming at him, I tried threatening to break his things. I tried smacking his face. He didn't flinch. I was in just a little too much pain to get out and walk back to my house, so I did the most completely irrational thing I could think of.
"What the fuck dude‽"
"You w-weren't answering m-me."
"That doesn't give you the right to go stick your fucking finger up someone's nose." Craig ripped his headphones out of his ears glared at me.
"Well a-at least, you're sh-showing some emotion n-n-now." I sneered.
"Well Jesus motherfucking Christ what do you even want?"
"I w-want to know w-why you w-won't l-l-let me…go home." In all honesty, I didn't want to go home. At all. If Jen saw my in this condition, Best case scenario was she would shit a brick and fall unconscious. But arguing with this creep would at least make him think that I had a backbone.
"Because."
"B-because, why, f-fuckass."
"I need to make sure you're okay."
This surprised me. It was true that I barely knew this kid, but Craig had struck me as a person that didn't give two shits about anyone's wellbeing. I need to learn to be less judgmental. Maybe he was a kind, sensitive person, despite his outward appearance and uncaring attitude.
"Why the fuck are you so goddamn skinny. Do you just, not fucking eat?" Or maybe he was just a dick. I eventually pretended to give in, even though Craig's reasoning was beyond the realm of 'arguments that make sense and are relative to the topic being discussed', and allowed him to bathe himself in his false success.
We ended up spending the night sprawled out on a worn out old couch in the basement, playing video games and screaming insults at each other with our faces stuffed with cheesy poofs. I learned quickly that Craig wasn't one to let me keep my personal space on the couch, and at the end of the night we ended up with his feet somehow in my lap. I pretended not to notice until the sound of muffled snores could be heard from the expanse of couch-space beside me. I learned as well, that Craig was a face-sleeper. One long arm hung over the edge of the couch, while the other was somehow twisted over his head, with his left hand resting on his right shoulder. I took the opportunity to slide my tiny body from under his sprawling legs, and situate myself on the floor. I pulled out my cellphone. It was 3:08 am, the perfect time to sneak upstairs and attempt to locate the Tucker's coffee pot. I crept up the stairs and into the kitchen, lurking in the shadows and peering cautiously around corners. It took longer than I would have liked to find the 'provider of rainbows and miracles', tucked away in the back of one of the tall, wooden cabinets that coated the walls of his kitchen, but I fixed myself a pot in a timely fashion and decided that, maybe, hanging around this kid for a day or two wouldn't be so bad.
The next two days passed quickly, between trying and failing to ignore Craig's loud snores; and interrogations from his little sister, Ruby. ("What the fuck are you doing hanging out with this douche?" I was never sure exactly which one of us she was referring to. ) By Sunday morning, my bruises had faded enough for me to return home without fear of Jen going into cardiac arrest. I said goodbye to Craig, (who silently flipped me the bird in response) and pulled my bag over my shoulder and returned home.
The first thing I noticed when I opened the creaky old door to enter my creaky old house, was a large, shiny fish tank sitting on the other side of the living room. It was filled to the brim with rainbow pebbles and plastic ferns, bubbling water and of course, colorful fish in various shapes and sizes. Neon tetras floated comfortably with small cichlids, bright orange mollies and even a few kissing fish.
"MOOOOOM. WH-WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU D-DO‽" No answer. It was then that I remembered the car was missing from our driveway. As I walked inside, I noticed a small sticky note coming into view from the side of the new aquarium.
'Aren't they cute‽ I know how much you love fish. Please don't be mad at me!'
This was way beyond ridiculous. I was surprised that we could even afford to eat on a regular basis, and now we had about 15 more tiny mouths to feed. I was going to have to find a job, or else be sold into slavery. I winced and tugged on my hair. I didn't want to be a slave! What if they made me preform SEXUAL FAVORS. I wouldn't be able to handle the pressure! The fish were to blame. I bent over to send the scaly little demons a look of sheer hatred, when a small guppy began to swim towards my unsuspecting face. It lightly bumped into the wall of the tank where my long nose was squished against the glass. On closer inspection, the tiny fish was just a little bit cute…It seemed to almost waddle back and forth as it swam, softly brushing against its larger tank mates. I noticed how the fish all seemed to get along; they all tolerated each other and lived together, despite their obvious differences. My previously icy heart began to melt as I watched the adorable little creatures float about in harmony. I just had such a soft spot for fish. They never made loud noises to scare me, or ran about my feet to trip me and tackle me when I was helpless on the floor, and they were so pretty to look at. Fish were my favorites. Curse my mother's intuition. She knew that I could never be mad at her if she had brought such lovely things into our home, no matter how much of our precious money she had spent on them. I sighed in defeat, and turned around to ascend the rickety old staircase to the bathroom. I threw my backpack and headphones against the door, and began peeling off my clothes as I turned on the shower. I had been too scared to use the shower at Craig's house, and had resorted to scrubbing my hair out in the kitchen sink when everyone else was asleep. Once the water was warm, I stepped inside and promptly seated myself on the floor, pulling my knees to my chin. I attempted to clear my head of the frightening things that often plagued me with worry, as the hot water seared my bare skin, flushing a soft pink in discomfort. I located the shampoo, and squeezed the bottle until my hand was overflowing and leaking onto the floor. No such thing as too much. I ran my fingers through my hair and stuck my head under the stream of burning water until I was sure that the soap was all gone, and I could open my eyes without hurting myself. I proceeded to flop on the floor of the shower on my side, curling into myself so as not to view my own body. I was disgusting: pale white, and boney like a skeleton. My eyes were too big, my nose was too long, my teeth were too tiny. I look like a zombie; a tiny, malnutritioned zombie. I was shivering hard when I finally turned off the water and stepped into the steamy bathroom, redressing and pulling my things across the hall into my bedroom.
The first thing I noticed was the post-it on my door, which was slightly ajar. Anxiety rose from my stomach to my chest. Oh hell no. I didn't even bother reading it before I knocked the door completely open, and took in the sight in front of me.
I have no idea where Jen had managed to find a doughnut-shaped fish tank, or what she had spent on it, but there it was. It sat in what had been the only empty corner of my room. It was about four feet tall, with a small archway at the bottom just large enough to crawl through. I could scamper inside and actually sit in the middle of the hollow tank, just like the kiddie displays at the aquarium we used to visit in Denver when I was little. I was in such a potent state of shock; I had almost forgotten the note.
'Sorry!'
Without a mother to shout at, I had nothing to do but grit my teeth and crawl inside the loop of a fish tank. I was immediately struck with the realization that it was filled with tiny, green-spotted puffer fish: my favorites. I'd never been able to keep them before, as they were salt water fish. This was a salt water tank. I could fill it with all the adorable tropical fish my heart could stand. I was emotionally torn between the kindness of the gesture and my explosive love for fish; anger at my mother's impulsive actions; and fear of where this would leave us financially. I decided that it would be best try and push my emotions away, just for now, and enjoy the serenity of the bloated little puffer fish. I remembered what my childhood therapist had instructed me to do; find my center. I quickly decided that this would be my center, my happy place. Right here in this fish tank. I could live among the puffer fish. I could join their puffer fish tribe; and celebrate their puffer fish holidays; and dance their puffer fish dances. The further I descended into my salty fantasy, the calmer I felt. I found I could lean into the glass behind me without toppling the structure, and I did just so. I blew up my cheeks and made faces at the puffers, one of which inflated in return. The fishes understand me. They have accepted me into their culture as one of them. I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled into the glass, noticing my own reflection. I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue, laughing at my distorted expression. Before long, the sun was low in the sky, casting an orange and gold glow about my bedroom. I barely noticed the slam of a door and the scuffle of sneakers below me, but they snapped me out of my state of serenity just the same. Jen was home. Jen spent millions of dollars on fish. Jen is going to get her ass chewed by her very grateful and very angry son. I reluctantly crawled out of my happy place and stomped down the stairs. I thought the surprises were over. I let my guard down. I was expecting her to return home empty handed. I was wrong. She must have sensed my anger from my extra-loud footsteps, because when she turned around to face me, her expression was akin to that of a toddler caught with their hand in the cookie jar. But instead of cookies, her hands held small plastic bags. Small plastic bags filled with water…and clownfish. I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. I could smell her fear.
"J-just what the f-fucking hell do you think you're d-doing with those." Jen opened her mouth to speak, but closed it and shoved the tiny bags into my hands. If she had thrust anything other than fish in my direction, I would have promptly dropped it to the floor. Instead, I tried to retain as much angry composure as possible while cradling the four bags in my arms as if they were an infant.
"Are you g-going to-nghh-explain yourself?" Jen fled to the kitchen and pulled out yet another post-it, this one with noticeably different handwriting.
'Your kid is next door for the weekend. Some fatass beat his face in. He's unconscious right now but he'll be fine. Go buy him a puppy or something.'
-C
"I know you don't like puppies so I went out and got the tank! Then this guy at work told me that his son works at the Denver aquarium…and could get me a ring tank for $20! I don't know how, I don't want to know. But I did it anyway. You need friends. They will be fish friends if nothing else. I'm sorry…I let this happen. Enjoy your clownfish." She brought her stubby fingernails to her teeth and began nibbling, flicking her eyes in my direction every few second as I processed this information.
"So let me g-get this straight…" I began slowly. "If I get beat up at school, you –nghh- are totally fine with l-leaving me alone at a st-stranger's house, b-but you find it necessary to spend…all of our h-hard earned money, on fish." Jen nodded vigorously and pulled a crumpled piece of paper, and a check from her pocket.
"I got a promotion! Andaraise!" My anger deflated as quickly as it had come. According to the certificate, Jen was now the manager of the North Park Harbucks. I don't know how she managed to do it, but she had been working there since the divorce, and despite her mental illness, was good with corporations and customers. Most people found her innocent and adorable, as well as intelligent, when she worked around her paranoia. She beamed as I stared at the paper in astonishment, and proceeded to inform me that the tanks were a little expensive, but they won't break us right now. I gently set my babies on the table and went and threw my arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her in the air while she screamed and demanded to be released. I was laughing hysterically when I finally dropped her on the floor. Without giving Jen any time to recover, I retrieved my bags o' fish and ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. I skidded into my bedroom on my socks and dumped the clownfish in the tank with my puffers. I dropped the empty bags on floor and made my way back into the tank. Now we were a colony. No longer were we 'Puffers and Tweek', we were a whole family. I smiled at my friends. I imagined they were smiling at me too. I decided that I would spend the night in this tank, burning incense and drawing pictures. My night fell into place in my mind as I hurried downstairs to fix myself a pot of coffee. I brought two mugs upstairs and set them on a long, thin shelf that had been built on the side of my wall furthest from the door. My room was heavy with smoke by the time I had finished my first cup, and was working on stuffing my tank-hole with a blankets and sketch pads. I turned off my light, and realized for the first time, that my tank had a light built in. I became giddy at the sight and decided that I needed to join my fishy colony right away. This would be my secret cave. No one else would ever be allowed inside. Even if I had somebody that I could let inside, I wouldn't. Everybody else was evil and mean. They only want to hurt me and my fish. My mind flickered to thoughts of Craig, and I briefly wondered why he would have offered to help me at all. He must be working for them! He must be trying to get inside my head, make me trust him so that they could hurt me more! Maybe they want my fish! I took a sip of my coffee to calm my frantic mind. Soon my chest was fluttering with anxiety. I began to frantically flip through pages of my sketchbook until I found I blank canvas to begin sketching on. My pencil ran over the page with shaky, unstable movements. Nothing was coming out right. I needed to calm down. But drawing is how I calm down. But I can't calm down in order to calm down! I brought my coffee cup to my lips only to find it empty, and my stomach convulsed with a pang of sickening fear in response. In twitching desperation, I smooshed my face into the glass surrounding me; startling some of the peaceful fish inside. I immediately felt guilty for disturbing them and decided that I needed to escape the watery prison and breathe. Once outside, I flopped on my back and inhaled the smoky air. What if I choke and die‽ I rolled over and crawled into the hallway as fast as I could, barely managing to stand up fast enough to make it down my stairs in one piece. The air down here was all smoke. All of it. I was going to suffocate and die! I had no control over my body as I barreled through the front door and out into the frost-coated grass. My knees hit the frozen ground, face subsequent to that. My eyes welled up and spilled over, freezing tiny blades of frosty grass to my cheeks. I was well aware at this point that I was face first in the dirt with my ass in the air, but I couldn't be bothered to give a shit, as my lungs were so tight that I couldn't breathe and my head was spinning at such a rapid pace I was becoming dizzy. Everything was terrifying me. The mere concept of oven mitts could have startled me into a heart attack at the moment. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't speak. I wanted to run, but I couldn't move. I wanted to vomit but my mind couldn't find my own body. I was disoriented and disconnected, and before I knew it, completely unconscious.
Vertigo hits me often, and sometimes, I can even panic so much that I shock myself into a dizzy spell. I never black out for more than about a minute, but a minute was apparently long enough for Jen to run outside, grab me by the ankles and begin dragging me back into the house. I woke up somewhere between my chin smacking the first stair on the porch, and my belt getting caught on the third. At this point I was groggy enough to have calmed down from my panic attack, but awake enough to scream and kick my mother in the hip. when I noticed that I was being dragged, my mind went first to' failed suicide', then to 'murder attempt', with 'zombie invasion' following soon after. This was how, in a matter of approximately one and a half seconds, I came to the conclusion that I was about to be eaten by a cannibalistic zombie. If I hadn't heard specifically my mother's scream after assaulting my 'attacker', I would have jumped to my feet and fled for my life. But I did hear my mother's voice, so I merely rolled over, body still tingling, and attempted to utter an apology. Jen had already given up and reentered the house, leaving me to fend for myself. I stood up on shaky legs and followed her inside, a cloud of shame and guilt leaking from my pores. Why did I have to always find a way to somehow ruin my own good time, Not to mention other people's? God, I even annoyed myself. All that dramatic bullshit, and it happens for no reason. Jen entered wordlessly, a steaming pot of coffee in her hands. I took it reluctantly, hands shaking like a leaf. I flopped onto the couch and wallowed in my own misery. I had let most of the smoke out with me when I exploded from the house like a firecracker, and the atmosphere was fragrant without being smoggy. I couldn't enjoy it. I was too busy being scared over my own fear. The idea of an anxiety attack was almost enough to plunge me into another anxiety attack. I could feel myself drowning in my own worry and hated myself immensely for it. Even the tank in the corner of my eye wasn't quite enough to cheer me up.
There is a point in life when you can be awake for so long that time no longer matters to you. You've simply existed for too much time, been conscious for years on end. It is exasperating. I was on my fifth cup of coffee when early morning sunlight began to flow from the creases in the curtains, and with a tortured sigh and nauseas stomach, I remembered that I had to go to school this morning. I hadn't noticed the silent tears falling from my eyes until I felt the bitter wind against my face. I pulled on my headphones and sat in solitude at the end of my driveway. I didn't have enough energy to pull out my journal and log my feelings, it was all just more of the same; more hollowing depression, more sickening paranoia, more exasperating insomnia. The longer I stayed awake, the louder the voices got. They whispered to each other in the back of my head, jeering at me, laughing at me, reminding me that I was sick. I didn't need to jot down and re-read these things. It was becoming masochistic. The bus screeched on its brakes, blowing my scrappy bangs out of my eyes and filling my lungs with exhaust fumes. I noticed a large mass of space missing from the seats in front of me, and pulled into an empty space in the middle. Cartman must have taken the day off in celebration of my defeat. The bus started up again, and immediately stopped in its tracks. I was hardly aware of the bus driver yelling, instructing some kid to get back in their seat, but I felt the added weight of something landing beside me: something with pale eyes and a middle finger in the air. Craig ignored me when I sent him a confused expression, and I immediately caught on that we were riding in silence. It wasn't until we reached the school that I remembered Craig's malevolent intentions of attempting to earn my undeserving trust, and I jumped over his legs and flew out the door in fear, aware of his narrow eyes glued to my back.