|posted on 8-May-2002 6:28:25 PM by Shameless|
Disclaimer: They're not mine, don't sue!
Spoilers: (Chapter Two),'Busted', 'The Hybrid Chronicals', 'Cry Your Name'.
Beginning Chapter Two:
"Yes and I’d like a Will Smith-- I want that well done, no Mayo… hold the pickles, and could you replace the pimento olives for garlic stuffed?"
I really hate my job sometimes, actually most of the time I hate my job. After about an hour of taking orders, everyone starts to look the same. Even people that I know don’t look familiar. I can count on both hands, both feet and then borrow someone else’s hand, how many times people have come in I've taken their order, then after they’re done with their meal. They tell me how rude I was for not acknowledging who they are. Because I have A.P History with them or we played kick ball together in Elementary School! Or something as equally unimportant at this time in my life.
I hate my job.
"Girl, what is up with you today?" I’m on my break and trying really hard to unwind while I’m on the thirteenth hour of my double shift. Three more hours to go and then I have homework and oh yes-- I have to eat. Food is the last thing I'll want to be near after I'm done.
"Nothing, I’m just tired. And I have too many things going at once." She gives me a sympathetic look, and rubs my shoulder. "Sweetie darling, darling sweetie… you know how much I love you right?"
I’m having a hard time understanding where this sudden out pouring of love is coming from, but I’ll take it.
"Yes I know." Smiling back at her.
"Good ‘cause you’ve been looking really down lately… and I don’t want you feelin’ low without me there to gripe at. But listen I gotta get outta here. My Mom’s coming in from yet another one of her Little Green Men merchandise hunts. And I left the house a mess. I’ll call you later if I can get the place looking half decent, and console my mom from what ever atrocity occurred this time."
With that she slings her bag over her shoulder, and leaves.
Three hours, three hours, three hours… I can do this.
I don’t want to go sleep. The only other time I’ve ever felt that sleeping would be a bad idea, was when I was five and wanted to stay up and wait for Santa Claus to show up and bring me Malibu Barbie or a puppy. I fell asleep on the living room floor, my dad found me at two am. He tucked me into bed, kissed me Good Night. And I was the minority among most children that Christmas Day.
I stayed asleep until ten past eleven. When my mother shook me awake and asked if I wanted to see what Santa brought me? I was fuming. They had moved me! I had the prime spot staked and claimed. And they moved me! I digress that I was five, and I have now moved on to bigger and more provoking things to keep me from sleeping.
I’ve never had sex. I’m a virgin. I always hated that word.
Chaste, pure, undefiled, unpolluted, unsullied, fresh.
I don’t feel pure, I don’t feel chaste, and I certainly don’t feel fresh. I’m exhausted, horny-- (another word I do not enjoy), and I’m fed up.
What’s on TV? Insomniac Theatre, Maria and I used to watch that when we willingly had slumber parties. Eating popcorn that by that hour, stung hour lips from our excessive salt intake. And Coke that had gone warm or flat, or both. I remember one summer; we had stayed up well past three am. We were completely sleep deprived. The sun was rising, tinting the sky orange and red. We sat in front of Maria’s eighteen-inch. Eyes red rimed… having no idea what was going on. Monotonously singing along to The Backstreet Boys I want it that way, we don’t nor did we ever like The Backstreet Boys. But we saved out selves because during that mornings broadcast. They consistently aired Matchbox Twenty's… 3 am.
Staying up till dawn with my nearest and dearest, just because I could. Watching B-Movies and cheesy romantic comedies. Usually starring Meg Ryan opposite Billy Crystal, Kevin Klein or Tom Hanks. I haven’t seen When Harry met Sally since the summer before I died. God, saying it makes me sound like Emily from Our Town. That play I had to read last year in English.
Max and I haven’t been "close" since before Utah. Or more or less, since before we dawned ski masks and walked inside that convenience store. I’m not sorry for what we did. For what I did, I’m only sorry for the time we lost.
Granted it was only a couple of days. But one day on the wrong side of those bars. Is too long to bear.
I don’t want to think about what happened in Utah. I want to think about… something else. Anything other than the gamut of traumatic events, that have happened in the last three years.
A flash, then a rumble bellowing from the west. And the calming beat of rain on the roof of Amy Deluca's Jetta.
It rains in New Mexico, I know that surprises some people. But it does, quite a lot sometimes too. I like the rain, my dad used to say that when it rained, God was crying. I asked him why God would be crying once. He said, because He felt like it. I took his word for it, and never asked about God and His miss placed tears again.
God's not crying today. I don't think today's rain has to do with Him. And I'm not going to say that it has to do with me either. I'm not that self-righteous, you know. Today it's raining, because… it needs to rain.
< "I call shot gun, woooo!" >
I remember him covered with goo, smiling like an idiot. Rain pouring down, cold and hard. Big fat drops mud everywhere. And… he was smiling. My friend was smiling, my friends were smiling.
"What are you smiling about Girlie Girl?"
I turn to look at my friend. Her long blonde hair in two identical braids. Lipgloss shinny and ever present. My friend With the Lips.
"Alex." I answer simply, not even realizing the ramifications that might ensue.
"What about Alex?" She asks me, completely unfazed.
"Last year, when you and Michael were in Tucson with Laurie Dupree."
"Yeah… that was weird, go on."
Another rumble from the west, and the rain turns to hail.
"Alex and Kyle, when Michael killed the Queen. They came out of the cave. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. They were covered in this slime, or goo, or whatever."
I can't help but hear the musical sound of Maria laughing.
"He always ended up covered with something, didn't he?" She gets out between giggles.
"Yeah… he did." I agree.
"I bet he was one of those kids that always played in the dirt or something. Or one of those kids who's sub-consciously trying to recreate the womb, so they're constantly in water."
"Recreate the womb, constantly in water? Maria, have you been listening in psychology class? Or have you been reading your mom's books again?"
The hail is huge, roughly the size of peas.
"Au contraire Monoamine, I've been doing both."
We pass the sign that says, 'Welcome to Roswell, Alien capitol of the world'. Little do they know how right that sign is.
We're coming in from Albuquerque, from a self-imposed shopping spree. More or less, Maria dragged me on a two-hour drive, so she could try on twelve pairs of pretty much the same jeans. With variations of, studs… Rhine stones, fringe, and sparkles. She bought two pairs, both hip slung, one plain and the other with studs on the belt. Tasteful, I swayed her from the hideous idea of buying Rhine stone-encrusted leather jeans. She bought me a mocha for that.
We're quiet again, the weather outside covering up our lack of conversation.
"I miss him." She says out of the silence.
"I miss him too."
End Chapter two (I know I know kind of anticlimactic, but this is where my fingers stopped… and they wouldn't go again, more WILL come).
[ edited 2 time(s), last at 8-May-2002 6:37:27 PM ]