The bus ride home was always the worst part of Maria’s day. Being a senior on a school bus of freshman and sophomores was longer and more painful than the church cotillions her mother made her go to every year. It was the only teen social event Church of Christ supported. Girls wore outfits that were made of heavy window drapery and were touted around a gymnasium floor by awkward, pimple faced boys who, Maria figured, were more probably more interested in the priests than the girls. To make it worse, her mother, being on the church’s planning committee, always arranged Maria’s partner. He was always fat.
“Hey!” called a smoky voice from behind her. Maria was meandering alongside a crowd of other kids through the maze of buses parked outside the front of the school and disregarded the voice. “Hey you!” the voice called again. Curious, Maria turned around. The familiar blonde girl from history stood smiling before her. “Uh –hi!” Maria said smiling back.
“You look like you could use a ride,” she said slinking towards her. “It’s Maria, right?”.
“Yeah, and yours is Lola?”
“You can call me 7-7-68-98,” Lola smiled pointing to the embossed numbers on the sole of her shoe. Maria wasn’t quite sure how to respond so she laughed nervously, but afterwards she wasn’t sure if Lola was joking.
“So, you want a ride?” Lola asked ignoring Maria’s sheepish laughter. Maria thought for a second mulling over how puzzling this situation was. Since when did Lola Harding give rides home to random quiet kids in history class? Was this some sort of joke? Would she open the passenger door while Lola hit the gas saying “Gotcha” as she drove away? Finally, Maria decided it was the type of rare occasion which she was waiting for, something completely chance and uncertain. After all, if girl like Lola wanted to do her a favor, who would Maria be to reject.
“That’d be great,” she answered anxiously. Suddenly, Maria felt the jitters and optimism she once received on the first day of school which she knew so well.
Lola lowered her voice. “I know this might seem random, me giving you a ride and all, but you’re really… interesting.” Lola already had pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between her perfect lips. Their feet strode in unison as the odd couple made their way across the parking lot filled with 97’ Chevys, Texas for you.
“What?” Maria’s jitters regurgitated into her throat making it difficult to speak.
“Fuck,” Lola mumbled, her cigarette still held tightly in her mouth. Her lighter slipped out of her hand just as she was about to light it. “Listen Maria, you’re an individual.”
“Me?” Maria thought Lola might have confused her with someone else.
“A hell of a lot more individual than any of these freaks in Ventura.” Lola lit her cig and motioned toward a wood-paneled station wagon that looked like it belonged in the 70’s, but the car itself was in relatively good condition. However, the fabric bench seat had cigarette burns and areas where it was starting to tear and the matted carpets smelled of unique combination of cleaner and mold. The backseat apparently served as a second closet and filing cabinet.
“I’m really not that interesting,” Maria sighed covering her mousy face with her hair. “I don’t do much besides go to church and school.”
Lola pulled out of the lot with more acceleration thought possible in a station wagon exhaling smoke with her words.“Trust me, you and I are a lot alike.”
Now, Maria knew she had the wrong person. “I’m a church mouse… haven’t you heard?”
Lola gave her a smirk as she skidded onto 94. “Go left at Elm’s Crossing,” Maria said crossly. Nothing upset her more than people who aimed to make a fool of her, of people pretending to give a fuck. Just like that Tim Salinas in fifth grade who pretended to “like like” her. The following week he was going out with Cheryl Gomez. Maria surmised he only “like liked” her for her gummy worms in the first place.
“You missed the turn!” Maria pointed as they drove faster down 94.
Lola let out a little giggle. “I’m not going to your house.”
“Well, where are we going?” Even though she was still annoyed, Maria couldn’t help but be excited.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Loners Pt. 2
(Developing into novel length, bear with me)
Amidst the drought of August 2007, all five hundred and forty-seven students at Ventura High School in Texas prepared for an exceptionally early first day of school. Despite much objection from students and even parents, Hoover County School District was adamant that all three high schools in the district would begin school fifteen days earlier than elementary/junior highs. Most people thought the change was financial. The air conditioned buses they installed last year were eating fuel like the voracious teenage boys who occupied them. The seventy-five “new” computers circa 2003 were also costly to install. Not to mention, the district was compensating for a new super on the payroll shipped all the way from El Paso. The plan, formulated by said super, was to start the high schools earlier in the year to accommodate for a longer winter and spring break. This, in theory, was supposed to increase attendance and boost academic achievement. This, in actuality, was just another desperate attempt by the school board to get kids to show face in the classroom for money.
Students marched through the hallways at Ventura that fateful August 18th bedraggled, hot and lifeless. One could even say they were feeling spiteful. No one, not even the freshmen, had any first day of school jitters or overconfident optimism. Maria Mason usually fell into one of those categories, but on her first day of senior year she felt nothing. She hated her classmates, most of the teachers and abhorred any type of school function having to do with luau (which was oddly enough every theme).
History class 7:58 a.m., Maria was sitting quietly at her desk overhearing the kids behind her whisper, “We have a church mouse in homeroom”. Church mouse. Maria knew this was her nickname while at Ventura; funny thing was the kids never caught on that she knew. However, how could she not? Maria was, admittedly, the epitome of a shy Christian girl. Although almost all of the students and parents at Ventura were religious, Maria’s mother was the one of the few fundamentalist Christians. Her family didn’t even celebrate Halloween or any secular holiday for that matter. This was especially troublesome during elementary school when she had to be removed from the annual Spooks-Fest the school celebrated on Halloween. Supposedly, this was the most fun function of the year. It had games, a haunted house, blow-ups, cake walks, pie throws, crafts and there was always an area dedicated to teaching the monster mash and the dance from thriller. Many kids even began looking forward to the event after Labor Day. Maria, meanwhile, had to sit in the library watching nature videos with the sweaty, overweight librarian Ms. Costley who smelled like Taco Bell.
Diiiiiiiiing! The first period bell rang following Lola Harding’s entrance. She was wearing her infamous converse and an oversized light pink polo which looked like it once belonged to a corky uncle. Was it supposed to be ironic? That was the thing about Lola, one never knew. Maria eyed the blonde bombshell feeling envy as Lola walked effortlessly across the classroom. She wasn’t strutting, however her shoulders moved in such a way that her whole body swung. It almost appeared as though she was walking through the density of the air. She made her way to one of three empty chairs left, the one next to Maria. She could smell the lingering scent of menthols as Lola sat down which made Maria’s heart race. Mrs. Gray began welcoming procedures, but Maria couldn’t focus. Something about this girl on the right with her chin resting on her palm made her nervous. “You have a pencil?” the girl asked. Her voice was rough, yet soft. Hesitantly, Maria quietly pulled out a soft-lead pencil from her purse and handed it to her. A consuming fear overpowered her as the two made eye contact. “Thanks,” Lola said slickly grasping the pencil from her like it was a cigarette. Maria didn’t bother to ask for it back after class.
Amidst the drought of August 2007, all five hundred and forty-seven students at Ventura High School in Texas prepared for an exceptionally early first day of school. Despite much objection from students and even parents, Hoover County School District was adamant that all three high schools in the district would begin school fifteen days earlier than elementary/junior highs. Most people thought the change was financial. The air conditioned buses they installed last year were eating fuel like the voracious teenage boys who occupied them. The seventy-five “new” computers circa 2003 were also costly to install. Not to mention, the district was compensating for a new super on the payroll shipped all the way from El Paso. The plan, formulated by said super, was to start the high schools earlier in the year to accommodate for a longer winter and spring break. This, in theory, was supposed to increase attendance and boost academic achievement. This, in actuality, was just another desperate attempt by the school board to get kids to show face in the classroom for money.
Students marched through the hallways at Ventura that fateful August 18th bedraggled, hot and lifeless. One could even say they were feeling spiteful. No one, not even the freshmen, had any first day of school jitters or overconfident optimism. Maria Mason usually fell into one of those categories, but on her first day of senior year she felt nothing. She hated her classmates, most of the teachers and abhorred any type of school function having to do with luau (which was oddly enough every theme).
History class 7:58 a.m., Maria was sitting quietly at her desk overhearing the kids behind her whisper, “We have a church mouse in homeroom”. Church mouse. Maria knew this was her nickname while at Ventura; funny thing was the kids never caught on that she knew. However, how could she not? Maria was, admittedly, the epitome of a shy Christian girl. Although almost all of the students and parents at Ventura were religious, Maria’s mother was the one of the few fundamentalist Christians. Her family didn’t even celebrate Halloween or any secular holiday for that matter. This was especially troublesome during elementary school when she had to be removed from the annual Spooks-Fest the school celebrated on Halloween. Supposedly, this was the most fun function of the year. It had games, a haunted house, blow-ups, cake walks, pie throws, crafts and there was always an area dedicated to teaching the monster mash and the dance from thriller. Many kids even began looking forward to the event after Labor Day. Maria, meanwhile, had to sit in the library watching nature videos with the sweaty, overweight librarian Ms. Costley who smelled like Taco Bell.
Diiiiiiiiing! The first period bell rang following Lola Harding’s entrance. She was wearing her infamous converse and an oversized light pink polo which looked like it once belonged to a corky uncle. Was it supposed to be ironic? That was the thing about Lola, one never knew. Maria eyed the blonde bombshell feeling envy as Lola walked effortlessly across the classroom. She wasn’t strutting, however her shoulders moved in such a way that her whole body swung. It almost appeared as though she was walking through the density of the air. She made her way to one of three empty chairs left, the one next to Maria. She could smell the lingering scent of menthols as Lola sat down which made Maria’s heart race. Mrs. Gray began welcoming procedures, but Maria couldn’t focus. Something about this girl on the right with her chin resting on her palm made her nervous. “You have a pencil?” the girl asked. Her voice was rough, yet soft. Hesitantly, Maria quietly pulled out a soft-lead pencil from her purse and handed it to her. A consuming fear overpowered her as the two made eye contact. “Thanks,” Lola said slickly grasping the pencil from her like it was a cigarette. Maria didn’t bother to ask for it back after class.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Loners pt. 1
Maria Mason was a mousey little girl. She grew up on Full House, the New Testament and celery sticks with a streak of peanut butter. Her hair was a sickly shade of brown. Her split ends, received from multiple flat irons and bad perms, laid indifferently around her shoulders. She wore charcoal liner circling the lids of her eyes; it always appeared smeared within the first two periods of school making her look persistently depressed. Everything about Maria was little, from her facial features to her scrawny frame. She was the whey of cheese, the broth of soup, the first rung of the food chain: necessary but unremarkable. No doubt, her dullness was inherent.
Her first crush was in fifth grade, Tim Salinas, a chronic back-sasser and detention-holic. He was the type of student teachers hated within t he first days of school. Nevertheless, Maria found his effortless comb over and bug-like blue eyes charming. Not to mention his favorite Pokemon was Charizard, too. Maria gawked over Tim; stealing glances across the room, sharpening his pencil for him, she even brought him a package of gummy worms because she knew those were his favorite non-chocolate candy.
One day, a classmate told Maria he "liked liked" her. She was ecstatic. That night she planned on practicing the question she would ask him the next day in the mirror. She had only heard a couple other girls in her class asking boys, but it was turned out successful for them. The couples even ended up kissing a week later.
However, that night while she was rehearsing, little did she know her mother was spying on her. "Tim," Maria began carefully ensuring she was making eye contact with the reflection."Will you be my boyfriend?". Maria then puckered her lips, closed her eyes and touched her lips to the mirror leaving red imprints from the lipstick she put on from her mother's drawer. Maria heard a gasp from behind her. She turned around to find her mother's face contorted with disgust. Swiftly, her mother clenched onto Maria's wrist and rushed her to the bathroom as though her hand was bleeding. She then grabbed hold of a mishap-en Dial soap bar and forced Maria to wash her mouth out with soap. Her mother was a Christian, and a child that young thinking about boys was unholy in her eyes. “If you ever say that filth again,” she paused letting a hot fuming breath escape her nostrils. “Expect something much worse than soap.” The ten year old lifted her head from the sink, water and tears streaming down her face and soap bubbling from her mouth, broken-hearted.
Her dad was a firefighter. Some days he would get off early and other times he’d be working through the night. But every time he was home, Maria would climb onto his lap and watch Full House reruns until her mom would nag them about the dishes. “Let’s muscle off some of this grease you sloths,” she would say.
A few years later, her dad left. Maria was trying to sleep through the chaos transpiring in the room across the hall. It was nearly 2 a.m. when her father snuck into her room. Maria shut her eyes tightly pretending to be unconscious of the situation. Her father softly patted the back of her head whispering, “I’m sorry, but I still love you”.
However, this is not just about Maria Mason. She's not the one who we are interested in.
Lola Harding had a pair of limited edition converse 69’s. The shoe was so rare; only eight people in the whole southern distributing area owned some. It was rumored that Lindsay Lohan herself couldn’t even get a hold of a pair of these exclusive Chucks. The shoe was military green with prominent brass trim stitching. On the back, brass snaps made the shoe adjustable to height. They were about four inches taller than the typical high tops sitting about mid calf when fully snapped (Lola always wore hers halfway fastened though, so the shoes loosely hung at her ankles). The inside was cushioned with black leather and even the shoelaces were made of leather. Of course, they wouldn’t really unlace. It was for show. The All Star emblem, made too of black leather, was stitched on carefully on the side of the heel. To further complicate the design from imitators, the shoe had a copper plate attached to the underside of the heel. The plate was embossed with six numbers individual to each pair. Whenever anyone asked Lola what her number was, she would proudly kick her foot into the air exposing the heel and say, “776898”.
Not only was Lola Harding the girl with most desirable shoes, but she also was one of those people who was extremely seductive. Lola looked like she was the lost member of the Runaways. She had thick blonde hair that grazed her lower back and voluptuous lips often seen sucking on a menthol cigarette. She would wear beat up leather jackets, leopard printed leggings and was the only girl at the time who attached studs onto the back pockets of her denim minis. No one honestly knew her ethnic background. Her olive complexion made her look consistently tan even into the winter months, and her piercing hazel eyes appeared to be pinched upward giving her a cat-like stare. Her long nails were coated in fire engine red.
Needless to say, Lola was a sight. She’d walk into history class everyday at 8 a.m., and the girls and boys both would take a minute to notice how she did her hair or what she was wearing that day. This was mostly due to Lola’s erratic nature. One day she’d be glammed out in heavy black liner and a corseted dress. The next day her face would be bare, and she’d be wearing only a tee shirt and jeans. The funny thing was even though Lola was always described by classmates as “interesting” and “cool”, she never had many friends. This was mainly because even the bad crowd was intimidated by her.
Her first crush was in fifth grade, Tim Salinas, a chronic back-sasser and detention-holic. He was the type of student teachers hated within t he first days of school. Nevertheless, Maria found his effortless comb over and bug-like blue eyes charming. Not to mention his favorite Pokemon was Charizard, too. Maria gawked over Tim; stealing glances across the room, sharpening his pencil for him, she even brought him a package of gummy worms because she knew those were his favorite non-chocolate candy.
One day, a classmate told Maria he "liked liked" her. She was ecstatic. That night she planned on practicing the question she would ask him the next day in the mirror. She had only heard a couple other girls in her class asking boys, but it was turned out successful for them. The couples even ended up kissing a week later.
However, that night while she was rehearsing, little did she know her mother was spying on her. "Tim," Maria began carefully ensuring she was making eye contact with the reflection."Will you be my boyfriend?". Maria then puckered her lips, closed her eyes and touched her lips to the mirror leaving red imprints from the lipstick she put on from her mother's drawer. Maria heard a gasp from behind her. She turned around to find her mother's face contorted with disgust. Swiftly, her mother clenched onto Maria's wrist and rushed her to the bathroom as though her hand was bleeding. She then grabbed hold of a mishap-en Dial soap bar and forced Maria to wash her mouth out with soap. Her mother was a Christian, and a child that young thinking about boys was unholy in her eyes. “If you ever say that filth again,” she paused letting a hot fuming breath escape her nostrils. “Expect something much worse than soap.” The ten year old lifted her head from the sink, water and tears streaming down her face and soap bubbling from her mouth, broken-hearted.
Her dad was a firefighter. Some days he would get off early and other times he’d be working through the night. But every time he was home, Maria would climb onto his lap and watch Full House reruns until her mom would nag them about the dishes. “Let’s muscle off some of this grease you sloths,” she would say.
A few years later, her dad left. Maria was trying to sleep through the chaos transpiring in the room across the hall. It was nearly 2 a.m. when her father snuck into her room. Maria shut her eyes tightly pretending to be unconscious of the situation. Her father softly patted the back of her head whispering, “I’m sorry, but I still love you”.
However, this is not just about Maria Mason. She's not the one who we are interested in.
Lola Harding had a pair of limited edition converse 69’s. The shoe was so rare; only eight people in the whole southern distributing area owned some. It was rumored that Lindsay Lohan herself couldn’t even get a hold of a pair of these exclusive Chucks. The shoe was military green with prominent brass trim stitching. On the back, brass snaps made the shoe adjustable to height. They were about four inches taller than the typical high tops sitting about mid calf when fully snapped (Lola always wore hers halfway fastened though, so the shoes loosely hung at her ankles). The inside was cushioned with black leather and even the shoelaces were made of leather. Of course, they wouldn’t really unlace. It was for show. The All Star emblem, made too of black leather, was stitched on carefully on the side of the heel. To further complicate the design from imitators, the shoe had a copper plate attached to the underside of the heel. The plate was embossed with six numbers individual to each pair. Whenever anyone asked Lola what her number was, she would proudly kick her foot into the air exposing the heel and say, “776898”.
Not only was Lola Harding the girl with most desirable shoes, but she also was one of those people who was extremely seductive. Lola looked like she was the lost member of the Runaways. She had thick blonde hair that grazed her lower back and voluptuous lips often seen sucking on a menthol cigarette. She would wear beat up leather jackets, leopard printed leggings and was the only girl at the time who attached studs onto the back pockets of her denim minis. No one honestly knew her ethnic background. Her olive complexion made her look consistently tan even into the winter months, and her piercing hazel eyes appeared to be pinched upward giving her a cat-like stare. Her long nails were coated in fire engine red.
Needless to say, Lola was a sight. She’d walk into history class everyday at 8 a.m., and the girls and boys both would take a minute to notice how she did her hair or what she was wearing that day. This was mostly due to Lola’s erratic nature. One day she’d be glammed out in heavy black liner and a corseted dress. The next day her face would be bare, and she’d be wearing only a tee shirt and jeans. The funny thing was even though Lola was always described by classmates as “interesting” and “cool”, she never had many friends. This was mainly because even the bad crowd was intimidated by her.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
I Have a Better Best Friend Than You
The moment Katie and I met at Elegant Child, I disliked her. She was in Dino 2, the Pre-K class that shared a room with my preschool class, Dino 1. It seemed Katie and I were merely doomed to share a classroom together for that year. Occasionally, I would peep my head over the divider cabinets and watch Dino 2 play with macaroni. Katie was gluing her pasta in the shape of a “K”. With her doe eyed baby blues, she stood up from her project looking at my half hidden head creeping behind the shelves. I glared intently straining my eyes into an I-wish-you-would-disappear look. In my skewed 4 year old perspective, every older kid was a pain no matter if they were only 9 months older.
The next year, I skipped Dino 2 landing into the same Kindergarten class as the shy blue eyed girl across the divider. Katie Baerveldt was perhaps one of the cutest kids in our class. Not only did she have the deepest big blue pair, her perfectly circular face was complimented by strands of precisely highlighted dirty blonde hair and a fluff of bangs resting on her forehead. Every day, Katie brought in the best computer games which everyone wanted to borrow which made a self-centered only child like me jealous. Even so, I found comfort with her.
We would run exactly one lap around the playground every morning as instructed by Mr. Bartholomew in order to “wake us up”. While the class sped around the course as though unaffected, my small and stubby legs prohibited me from catching up with the group. I came to dread the morning run, and all of the fast superkids in my class. The only solace I had was with the other girl with small, stubby legs, Katie (present day Katie is a medalist in cross country and track, so stubby legged children do not lose hope!). Soon, I noticed Katie and I were quite similar. Both of us were quiet, low maintenance kids with vivid imaginations.
After a couple weeks, Katie and I were inseparable. I would go to her house on the weekends where I was introduced to a different world. In the basement of her old house, the computer room was filled with shelves of cd-rom and console games: Pajama Sam, Freddie Fish, Spy Fox to name a few. She introduced me to Powerpuff Girls, Spongebob and Catdog as I was a late-comer to cable T.V. We always had a fun time together. The only thing Katie and I fought over was who got to be the dog during house.
The year went by slowly, and I enjoyed it. School is a lot like a sleep cycle, the longest and deepest sleep you get is during the first hour. But eventually, we ended up at kindergarten graduation wearing our black caps and gowns holding white teddy bears accessorized with the signatures of all our classmates, most of whom Katie and I vaguely remember by odd quirks.
“Smile!” my mom said clicking the button on her standard film camera. Katie and I stood side by side smiling, my hat crooked to the right and our arms crossed behind each other. The picture still brings a nostalgic tear to my eye.
Afterwards, Katie invited me to be on her softball team.
I urged her to join my dance class.
We made regular weekend play dates.
Swim lessons.
Soccer.
Piano.
Another season of softball which I still sucked at.
Even though we went to separate schools and different districts, Katie and I were by no means isolated from each other. We still were the best of friends, nothing had changed.
Then, life became complicated. As we begun our first year at middle school, her at Catholic school and I at public, the relationship we upheld became even more vital. Since I realized my sports efforts were hopeless and Katie couldn’t bare to endure another dance recital, we replaced seeing each other with phone conversations. Every day I couldn’t wait to call Katie and just talk. She always gave me an ear for me to vent and I tried the best I could to give her advice. Our bond was uncommonly strong and supportive. We got each other through perhaps the most difficult years in childhood. I could thank her every single day for that.
By high school, we began venturing between cliques to find our identity. It must have been sophomore year we discovered how different we had truly become. I was going through the let’s-get-fucked-up stage of teenhood which everyone endures, and Katie had her boyfriend (who now goes by the name of dousche). Although we could go for two weeks at a time without talking, eventually, I was always pleased to hear Katie’s sarcastic ass greeting on the other end of the phone, “Where the hell have you been, slut?”.
Last night we played scrabble till midnight. Honestly, I’ve never used the dictionary to challenge someone more in my life. We sat on my bedroom floor laughing our asses off at kau. Of course, she won and wouldn’t let me forget it. She’s the only person I know that can get away with being a complete asshole, even in scrabble. She’s the one I enjoy having witty repertoire with the most. She’s the one friend who I can talk to telepathically. She’s the one still reading my blog entries after the countless times I’ve quit writing and even giving me feedback on each one. To this day, as we head our separate ways once again to different colleges, I know that I’ll always have a best friend who I can count on. Love you, Katie.
The next year, I skipped Dino 2 landing into the same Kindergarten class as the shy blue eyed girl across the divider. Katie Baerveldt was perhaps one of the cutest kids in our class. Not only did she have the deepest big blue pair, her perfectly circular face was complimented by strands of precisely highlighted dirty blonde hair and a fluff of bangs resting on her forehead. Every day, Katie brought in the best computer games which everyone wanted to borrow which made a self-centered only child like me jealous. Even so, I found comfort with her.
We would run exactly one lap around the playground every morning as instructed by Mr. Bartholomew in order to “wake us up”. While the class sped around the course as though unaffected, my small and stubby legs prohibited me from catching up with the group. I came to dread the morning run, and all of the fast superkids in my class. The only solace I had was with the other girl with small, stubby legs, Katie (present day Katie is a medalist in cross country and track, so stubby legged children do not lose hope!). Soon, I noticed Katie and I were quite similar. Both of us were quiet, low maintenance kids with vivid imaginations.
After a couple weeks, Katie and I were inseparable. I would go to her house on the weekends where I was introduced to a different world. In the basement of her old house, the computer room was filled with shelves of cd-rom and console games: Pajama Sam, Freddie Fish, Spy Fox to name a few. She introduced me to Powerpuff Girls, Spongebob and Catdog as I was a late-comer to cable T.V. We always had a fun time together. The only thing Katie and I fought over was who got to be the dog during house.
The year went by slowly, and I enjoyed it. School is a lot like a sleep cycle, the longest and deepest sleep you get is during the first hour. But eventually, we ended up at kindergarten graduation wearing our black caps and gowns holding white teddy bears accessorized with the signatures of all our classmates, most of whom Katie and I vaguely remember by odd quirks.
“Smile!” my mom said clicking the button on her standard film camera. Katie and I stood side by side smiling, my hat crooked to the right and our arms crossed behind each other. The picture still brings a nostalgic tear to my eye.
Afterwards, Katie invited me to be on her softball team.
I urged her to join my dance class.
We made regular weekend play dates.
Swim lessons.
Soccer.
Piano.
Another season of softball which I still sucked at.
Even though we went to separate schools and different districts, Katie and I were by no means isolated from each other. We still were the best of friends, nothing had changed.
Then, life became complicated. As we begun our first year at middle school, her at Catholic school and I at public, the relationship we upheld became even more vital. Since I realized my sports efforts were hopeless and Katie couldn’t bare to endure another dance recital, we replaced seeing each other with phone conversations. Every day I couldn’t wait to call Katie and just talk. She always gave me an ear for me to vent and I tried the best I could to give her advice. Our bond was uncommonly strong and supportive. We got each other through perhaps the most difficult years in childhood. I could thank her every single day for that.
By high school, we began venturing between cliques to find our identity. It must have been sophomore year we discovered how different we had truly become. I was going through the let’s-get-fucked-up stage of teenhood which everyone endures, and Katie had her boyfriend (who now goes by the name of dousche). Although we could go for two weeks at a time without talking, eventually, I was always pleased to hear Katie’s sarcastic ass greeting on the other end of the phone, “Where the hell have you been, slut?”.
Last night we played scrabble till midnight. Honestly, I’ve never used the dictionary to challenge someone more in my life. We sat on my bedroom floor laughing our asses off at kau. Of course, she won and wouldn’t let me forget it. She’s the only person I know that can get away with being a complete asshole, even in scrabble. She’s the one I enjoy having witty repertoire with the most. She’s the one friend who I can talk to telepathically. She’s the one still reading my blog entries after the countless times I’ve quit writing and even giving me feedback on each one. To this day, as we head our separate ways once again to different colleges, I know that I’ll always have a best friend who I can count on. Love you, Katie.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Warmth
1 a.m. Wednesday night, she finally hit the light switch. Lying there, she knew. Any doubt from her mind expelled; every barrier she built razed. Her bedside prayers replaced with pleas to the heavens to give her peace from the brilliant torment, but rest would only allow her unforgiving subconscious wild pursuit. She was consumed by the touch, the taste, in every sense. To any onlooker and even in her own introspection, she was insane.
A few years prior, she had been anonymous like most people of their early teens. Exposed to a plethora of opportunity, each of which she either declined or failed. She needed a dose of validation and identity. From her insecurities, she grew, not stronger but thicker. Every day a new skin she wore like a coat, protecting herself from the outside she had become too afraid to tackle. Comfortable and warm inside herself, it was at this distance she could handle interaction. She played games. Toying with people, teasing them, playing an infinite game of playground tag. Pretend was her favorite game of course when she wore her coat. People were games. Each game she grew weary of.
Then, she met you. It wasn’t magic or some serendipitous event, as a romantic might dream. Perhaps at the most, a series of chain reactions when put together made a miraculous chemical potency. They asked her why and she couldn’t form the words. It all jumbled together in the moment mincing her vocabulary into that of three words, “I don’t know”. Of course, she did know but how on Earth could it all be expressed. Could she acceptably dissolve it into one word and say, “Everything”?
When the both of your eyes lock, she felt words lost all value.
When you envelope her in your arms, her chest floods with warmth.
When you talk to her so gently, she listens in vibrant colors.
When you’re with her, the world melts away.
Although she may be mad, she’s finally at peace. Her coat, her shelter she has grown up with has been dissembled. And like a rebirth, she finds herself radiating in her new, pure porcelain skin. However, she's no longer afraid. Your embrace protects her, keeps her warm.
She imagines you next to her as she tries to sleep Wednesday night… all rest easy.
A few years prior, she had been anonymous like most people of their early teens. Exposed to a plethora of opportunity, each of which she either declined or failed. She needed a dose of validation and identity. From her insecurities, she grew, not stronger but thicker. Every day a new skin she wore like a coat, protecting herself from the outside she had become too afraid to tackle. Comfortable and warm inside herself, it was at this distance she could handle interaction. She played games. Toying with people, teasing them, playing an infinite game of playground tag. Pretend was her favorite game of course when she wore her coat. People were games. Each game she grew weary of.
Then, she met you. It wasn’t magic or some serendipitous event, as a romantic might dream. Perhaps at the most, a series of chain reactions when put together made a miraculous chemical potency. They asked her why and she couldn’t form the words. It all jumbled together in the moment mincing her vocabulary into that of three words, “I don’t know”. Of course, she did know but how on Earth could it all be expressed. Could she acceptably dissolve it into one word and say, “Everything”?
When the both of your eyes lock, she felt words lost all value.
When you envelope her in your arms, her chest floods with warmth.
When you talk to her so gently, she listens in vibrant colors.
When you’re with her, the world melts away.
Although she may be mad, she’s finally at peace. Her coat, her shelter she has grown up with has been dissembled. And like a rebirth, she finds herself radiating in her new, pure porcelain skin. However, she's no longer afraid. Your embrace protects her, keeps her warm.
She imagines you next to her as she tries to sleep Wednesday night… all rest easy.
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