posted on 17-Sep-2001 11:15:24 AM by Ambrosia337
I’m Sorry Liz

“The world is my oyster…I can’t seem to get it open.” Daria Morgendorffer

Some stuff I can give credit to the wonderful show Daria. Very sad to see it go after 5 wonderful seasons

Summary: Liz is sick and cynical about life. Michael is her brother. When she meets Max well...it's a clash alright.




Prologue

Ever get that feeling where an ant just amazes you? Just a mere ant. The fact that it’s so small, yet it can survive through its cluster? I feel like that ant. One minute a pair of Timberlands can squish you. I was staring at this potato bug one day, when this old man slides his shoes on the pavement over the bug. He does it three times and it leaves a streak. I wanted to strangle him, but I stood there, knowing that would be me one day.

Everything around you is just so huge. Your only hope is survival. Survival of the fittest. Your only dependence: your family. I don’t have friends, nor do I need friends. I’m a full blown outcast. Nothing else matters.

If ants were human I would be this ant who constantly feels guilt. I mean I feel bad about everything that I end up doing wrong. But on the exterior, I’m just plain closed off yet pretty good at faking my likes towards people, sarcastic and just close to two people: my brother and my dad.

Oh yes, I’m dying too.

Cancer I believe they call it.

Oh well.

So here I am, telling the world what Liz Parker is going through.

When this story ends, you’ll know.

You’ll know I’m dead.


Part 1

“Here, I’ll move that honey.”

That’s my dad. Worrywart. Big ass worrywart. I have cancer; it doesn’t make me paralyzed. I know I shouldn’t be in such a crummy mood, but it’s hard not to when you have cancer eating inside of you. It makes me twice as sarcastic about life.

I’m 17.

Cancer diagnosed: 17

Moved to Roswell: 17

A lot has happened at the age of 17 for me. All those things and on top I have to go through this tumultuous, stormy period of adolescence. Peer pressure, acceptance, individuality, and all that other corrupt stuff.

Why? Life just can’t get any worse, so Dad decided that we needed to move away and be near a good hospital. Be away from the relatives who think he can’t take care of us. I hate them. They’re on mom’s side.

This is the thing; dad and Michael were there in the doctor’s office as he was telling us what the hell was exactly wrong with me. See I’ve been getting dizzy, nauseated, and just plain sick to the bones.

Well we got our answer: Cancer. That’s what they call it. Malignant cells. Constant division of fucked up genetic codes bottling up in my system. Two becomes four, four becomes eight and so on. Cells are the basic unit of life and in my case my cells are the basic unit of death. Wonderful.

We’ve taken the option of poison. Poison to prevent the malignant cells from spreading. Surgery apparently can’t help. It’s too big. Doctors said my cancer is rare. Well is that good or bad doctor? Apparently it’s pretty ok now. I’m ok. They said I’m stabilized. The drugs seem to be working well. Not much side effects on my part, despite the paleness and nausea. I’m pretty good. I’m still a pessimist. I know that one day, I’ll have a major fall out and I’ll die just like that. They mean the drugs are preventing any more cancer from spreading, but it’s still there. Which means, I will croak one day.

Am I scared?

I would think so.

I think I’m scared that when I die, I’ll die like I never even lived, you know? What did I do?

I think that I’m scared because when I die, I won’t be able to let go of my brother or my dad. Losing them equals death in it itself.

Shuffle, Shuffle.

We moved into this small apartment. Let’s see: two bedrooms (I get my own), small kitchen, square living room (also dining room), annoying doorbell. It’s like a Christmas jingle. Hate it. Ding-dong; ding-dong that you stupid doorbell.

We’re moving stuff now. Tons of stuff. Michael and I have just too many cassettes, CD’s and videotapes. We are electronic buffs. We have a computer that’s going to be in the living room for all of us to use. A family electronic.

“Michael?”
Ugh.

“Michael!”

“What?”
“Where do you want this Metallica poster of yours?”
“On a wall.”
That’s my brother. Smart ass comments. Well I make them too, but it’s not as annoying, I don’t think. He’s this spiky, overprotective being who simply wants to shield me away from the evils of the world. Unfortunately he couldn’t protect me from having a disease.
“Which wall?”
“The big one.”
“Ok.” I head over to the corner of a wall behind a bookshelf and stick it on there. I’m satisfied as I brush my palms together in mutual satisfaction.
They are in the bedroom trying to put everything together: books, beds, book shelf, etc.
They don’t want me to do much, fearing I’ll drop dead. They don’t say that literally, they just tenderly tell me not to do things beyond my capacities. “Take it slow,” they always say to me. That means I can’t move the Styrofoam plate anywhere because it’s just too heavy.

“Where the hell did we get all this stuff from?” Michael shouts in their bedroom.

“It came with the apartment Michael.”

“Oh. Right.”

Right on Michael.

They’re men. They don’t show emotion. That’s ok. I’m used to it. I simply grew up with men. I’m like them. I don’t cry. I don’t really know how to. No matter how hard I try to get the tears out, it doesn’t seem to work. I tear up during physical pain. Who doesn’t? But when it comes to emotional trauma, I don’t know how to cry. I simply become a ball that just rolls back and forth. I even attempted to learn to cry by renting a tragic movie: Titanic. It was tragic. Not in the sense that he died. It was tragic how bad that movie was. But the bobbing bodies were pretty neat.

I’m sick.

This is an average manly reaction.

About two months ago….

“She has cancer.”
“No she doesn’t. Check your results again. My little girl can’t have cancer.”


Technically I can, I guess if you go with some sort of odd genetic mapping or pedigree chart. Mom died of cancer when I was really little. Her mother died of cancer too. And the fact that I have cancer did not bode very well with Dad or my brother. See I barely remember my mother. My brother can a little since he’s a year older, but my god it practically fucked up Dad’s life. Losing a wife of cancer just shut my dad up into little pieces. He barely spoke about what happened to mom and now what’s happening to me, he’s just trying to piece back our lives together. The funeral was a complete blur to me. All I remember is that people were just hysterical, but not us. Not Michael, Dad or me. I was like seven, yet I knew how to keep my emotions in check. Michael was like a statue and so was Dad. And that night, Dad carried me to bed and told me mom was never coming back and I said, “Ok.” I then asked him, “Are you and Michael leaving too?” He said, “No.” And he kissed me.

Not once did I cry.
I don’t cry.
Picture this:
Wedding.
Crying.
Me?
No, I’d read my Calvin and Hobbes book.
Speaking of which, I was an emotional wreck when the creator stopped drawing.

“I’m sorry, but…”
“Doctors make mistakes for god’s sake. Check the results again. Do it a billion times, I don’t care.”

Yep that’s my dad. Authoritative. Impatient. Aggressive.

“You heard my dad, check them again.”

Yep that’s my brother. Authoritative. Impatient. Aggressive.

Me?

“I’m sorry doctor. They weren’t potty trained and they are a little frustrated. Thanks for your time.”
Fake me. Getting us out of a grimy situation once again, yet I’m trembling in fright. Denial won’t do any good. I know that much. Why deny what is really happening to me? It won’t work. My brother and Dad, I believe they’re in denial. They can’t lose their little girl. They know I have cancer, but in the back of their minds, they think I’ll survive through the medication I’m going through now. Please, I’m dying of cancer. That’s that. The medication is only making me live, hmmm, a year or two more. People die all the time. Young, old, males, females, cats and dogs, rats and ants. Whatever. If you decide to live, you have to die as well. That’s part of the contract you never signed. It’s not a nice contract, but you kinda don’t have a choice.

So I make a euphemistic choice for myself. I live my life as I can now. I don’t want to die knowing that I didn’t do my end of the bargain in living. If I have to die, then I should have to live. Simple. I have to rush to get things I need done or want to do. Live life through my bleak outlook of life.

“I made lunch.” I’m just on the kitchen counter making the best lunch. I always make it for them. I don’t eat it though. I hear them stumble into the kitchen all sweaty. “Here.” I slide the plates over to them as they sit on the stools. I lean forward as I use my knuckles as support on my cheeks.

“You know Liz, you make the best spamwiches.”
Insert manly burp from my disgusting brother.
“You always say that.”
“Well I mean it. I mean spamwiches are just so…so magical.”
“If you consider magical, indescribable meat then it’s as magical as can be.”
“Hey, it’s describable.”

Yep, gotta love my family.

“Liz?” Uh oh.
“Yeah?” That’s that confusing tone Michael uses when he’s in deep contemplation (especially when he’s devouring spamwiches/brainfood) so you have to prepare yourself for the question he’s about to ask you.

“Where’s my Metallica poster?”


Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere is that none of it has tried to contact us.

Edited by - Ambrosia337 on 09/21/2001 17:32:26

Edited by - Ambrosia337 on 10/02/2001 14:00:00

[ edited 21time(s), last at 26-Aug-2002 7:29:40 PM ]
posted on 20-Sep-2001 5:28:25 PM by Ambrosia337
Thank you for the feedback, especially from my good ol'past readers. It's nice noone has forgotten about me. Thank you for your concerns as well. I promise to post soon again. And I believe for my past readers, I do have new unread parts written.





Part 2

Vroom! Vroom!

This is a worse fate than death: School/Public Education. The place where teachers get low wages. The place where nerds get beat up by bigger nerds over who has a better graphing calculator. “No My TI-100 has a higher storage space than yours.”

What’s second to that? Being new to the school, while driving in my Dad’s old beat up van that contains all sorts of funky bumper stickers and of course a Metallica sticker stuck on by none other than my brother.

I simply don’t care what others think. I don’t. This is me at my last school. Don’t look, don’t talk, don’t date, don’t anything. So my family doesn’t have to worry about anything: Sex or drugs. I’ve never dated. I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve never even really had a big o crush on any babe o rama. Pretty lame. I’m this good kid, with great grades, but I get stuck with cancer.

I must have gone wrong somewhere.

It must have been that time where I tortured that mice on the street. I swear to god, I didn’t mean to, but everyone else on the block was doing it so when the kids left I continued to poke at it. It was fun. I got my brother out to help me torture it. I really am a normal kid. I AM!

My brother’s the same. He doesn’t talk or speak to anyone except me at school. People began to think we were in some sort of cult like the Church of Scientology where we have to be kept secret and hush, hush about things. Somebody one day even dared to ask us if we knew John Travolta personally. I looked at the kid straight in the eye, and said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Michael says, “Good one.”
I said, “Thanks.”

The next half-hour, the news spread that Michael and I were part of the Church of Scientology that uses Queen songs as the anthems. People were giving us the fright eyes. Like we were going to melt them with our hands and then POOF!

I asked my brother afterwards if he could design an artistic logo for us that say, “JOIN US. JOIN US.” Then we can paste it on our forehead and on our ass.

I’m just beginning to wonder if that’ll happen here.

West Roswell. A cubicle looking school. It looks like a magnified version of what Skinner used to use to experiment with his animals on behavior. That’s what school buildings are designed for. Reinforcement. Punishment. The building is literally designed to study teenagers. What they fear, what they love, what they consider important. Study their reactions. Their responses. We drive up the front of the school and I study it closely. I consider myself a scientist. Scrutinizing everything. I even tried to study my cancerous cells one day with my own microscope. That’s a whole other story. It involved somewhat of a denial on my part that’s all.

Typical. Everyone is in some sort of clique. The math team, the science club, the justice league, the comic book crusaders, the cheerleaders and the football players they do it with. I always wonder when they actually do it, do the cheerleaders actually cheer when they…Forget it. Oh geez and over there in the corner are the girly girls who think that Q-tips are the best invention in the world. Ooh, look at the fuzzy material at the end of the blue looking stick.

I have to hand it to myself because I did pretty well in getting myself together as a female despite living with two males.

Ever see My Girl? I was just like her. Hey I got through my first period fine, thank you very much.
I attempted make up. I don’t wear it, but I can if I wanted to. I do wear light foundation though. My face has just become a drag because of my illness. I have to at least look alive.

Clothes. Hey I can match. That’s good enough for me.

“Have a good day at school alright? No cutting Michael.”
I hear Michael smirk.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t miss out on the values of our education system.” I kiss him on the cheek. “See you later.”
“Honey?”
“Yes.”
“Take it slow ok?”
I sigh heavily. I just need them to let me live my own life and I need them to know that my illness can’t get in the way of me living a life I deserve. They think if I take it slow, I’ll live. Big ass denial.
“I will Dad. You too. Don’t work too hard.” It would be great if I knew what he worked on.
“I have to, but I’ll try not to.”
“See ya’ later Dad,” Michael says. And then I hear him whisper into his ear. “I’ll watch after her.”
I sigh heavily again and start walking. Dad drives away and we can still hear the van from a block away. He’s heading to his new transfer job with some company. I don’t know exactly what he does for a living. I tell everyone he works for the mob.
I feel my shoulder get draped over with brotherly hands. Here we go again. Avoidance and isolation and hopefully make everyone think we’re in the Church of Scientology. He-llo West Roswell.

People are beginning to stare. I’m used to it, but I just have to get used to being the new chump at school. I’ll have Michael by my side, but I can’t have him attached to my side, unfortunately that’s what’ll end up happening. He got left back, so he’s in the same grade. Smirk. Sorry. He’s this smart-ass kid, who can answer practically every question on his favorite show, “Win Ben Stein’s Money.” As smart as he is, he’s still a failure in school. It’s called cutting classes to go to the bleachers and draw, draw, draw. Rebel he is.

Hmm…was that an evil stare?

I don’t know. I better keep an eye out for those types of alien stares.

“Here are your schedules kids. I hope you like it here in West Roswell.”

Real funny lady. I’m just snorting like hell in my head. It’s that funny.

“I sure hope we do, Miss.” Smirk. That’s my brother. Pretty good at faking things like me.

And we look at our electronic looking schedule.
“Um, Miss, there must be something wrong with the schedules. You see, the school’s supposed to arrange it so that I would have AP Bio and…”

What the hell is he doing?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I pull Michael over to the side in such a rush.
“I have to watch over you.”
“I’m not a crippled old lady who needs a bodyguard.”
“I like to call it free security.”
“You have to actually pass regular bio before you take advanced placement classes Michael.”
“I’ll copy from you.”
“No you won’t.”
Say hello to my overprotective brother who is somewhat brain dead at times.
Hi brain dead Michael.
All together now.

“If you did, that means you can barely cut class and if you did I would know. I’d tell Dad.” Threaten him. Yeah. He’s not that much of a bad boy. Please, you haven’t heard him scream like a girl before when he was being chased by a bee in the park one day.
“Fine.”
I smirk in satisfaction. “We have History together so that’s good. We also have lunch period together. I’ll meet you by those vending machines there.”
“Any sign of dizziness, nausea, you call me on the cell. You hear me.”
“Yessiree.” Cell phones. My number one gripe. When I was diagnosed with cancer, Dad immediately bought cell phones for all of us so that if anything happens we’d know first hand. It’s mainly to check up on me. We have each other on speed dial number one. It’s so ironic. If I’m dying, how will I use my phone? Don’t cell phones cause cancer too?

I salute to my brother. I feel funny and weird. It’s the cancer. See the cancer hasn’t really kicked in yet. I’m not seriously ill, yet, but sometimes, the cancer overrides me and I just act weird.
Michael is giving me that funny look again. That look that says, “What the hell was that?”
“You are such a dork sometimes,” Michael says to me as he shakes his head.
“I can say the same to you too.”
“Lunch period. Vending machines. Don’t forget then.”
“I’ll try not to.”
I begin to walk away to head to English which is apparently all the way down the hallway. We’re already late. I think. I didn’t hear the bell ring. Do they have bells here? They should. Or I may be doing this selective listening thing where I want to avoid bells. I hate bells. It must be because of our doorbell. I have got to fix that stupid thing before my head starts ringing.
“Don’t over do it Liz.”
I shout, “I won’t.” And I begin to walk down the quiet hallways. I hate to admit it, but I do wonder if I can’t reach the speed dial when I collapse or something. Then I’ll die alone. That’s not good. Stop it. Stop it. No, they will be there. They will.

I study the rooms that I pass by. Typical. I see so many sleeping forms. I like school. I do. I hate the atmosphere and the social norms of it. I go to learn. However dorky it sounds, it’s true. I deserve to die smart.

Room 114
Stop shaking. It’s just English. Maybe I should skip into class. Cartwheel into class? Hop? Nah. I’ll just walk into class and look down onto the ground.

And that’s what I do as the new chump at school.

I walk into the classroom really quietly. I now think of the poor mice. Think of the poor mice you tortured Liz Parker. That mice suffered more than what you’re going through Parker. That’s damn right.

Mice.
Beat up mice.
Poor Jerry.
What? Where did that come from?
I walk up to the teacher quietly while she’s still writing on the board about symbolism and what not. And then I notice she has this streak of white chalk over her ass. Why are teachers so oblivious to that? Just pat your ass for god’s sake.

“Miss?”
She turns around and looks at me. Ok, lady please just turn back around. She’s like butt ugly. Maybe worse. It’s the makeup. There may be this slight chance that if she actually wiped off all the makeup; there would actually be a human face behind that. Just maybe.
“Yes?”
Well, at least she’s nice. But geez.
“I’m new.” That’s obvious enough.
She looks at my schedule. I look at her. I can’t help it. Ok I think I’m staring at her now. That’s bad because now I’m seeing through her cracked foundation. When she smiles, you can see some of it dust off. Oh goodness. How gross. I wonder if I use a toothpick…
“Welcome to West Roswell Liz. You can sit in the back in that empty seat.” You are so informative Mrs. Clinique Foundation. I wouldn’t sit in a full seat now would I? Ok, it’s the cancer. I’m just so fucking warped. Right.

I finally turn around to the class and let’s just say I feel like being that dead mice right about now. They are all just looking at me. I feel myself getting poked at all over my head. They are all creating stories, rumors, and lies about me right about now. Hey it’s ok as long as they include my devotion to the Church of Scientology and spamwiches.

I slowly bow my head down to look at the floor. Pretty nice.

Full chair, full chair, full chair, empty chair. Sit in empty chair. Good, Liz. Good. I sit down in the cool seat and scan around the classroom. Pretty tacky. What’s odd is the blackboard is still a blackboard. Most are greenboards.

“Ok, class turn to page 59 of your books please.” Oh great I have to share. That means contact with someone. Let me tell you I hate group work, partner work, or just any type of human contact work in SCHOOL. Group work literally sucks when you end up doing all the work by yourself. Ever happened to you. You end up giving an A all around for the hard work you end up doing. I always get stuck with the dead heads or the crack heads that didn’t even know they came to class in the first place.

So I fumble a little with my spiral notebook. That damn metal keeps getting caught with the other metals.

“Here.”
A voice.
I turn to my right and notice this girl with blond hair, ripped jeans, doc martens and a T-shirt that says “PROUD PIXIE.”
“You can share with me until she gets you a book.”
“Umm…. Thanks.” I shift my seat closer to her and look on.
“No prob. People around here are just too self-absorbed or just plain stuck-up to even care to help others.”
Oh.
“Oh.” I’m not THAT good with conversations.
And we just sit there all day in class learning about a character named Juliet. Yes it’s Romeo and Juliet. For goodness sake, how many times do students have to read this god-awful play throughout their pathetic academic lives? I hate the book as you can see. I know it in and out, yet I hate it. Juliet is the exact opposite of me. She’s naïve. I’m not. She’s stupid. I consider myself not. She has this obsessive guy after her. I don’t. The only thing we have in common is that we both will end up dying early on in life.

And I take my time to exit out of the class. I try to unwind my earphones instead. I neglected to mention the fact that my Walkman is my baby. No, I’m serious. People consider their boyfriends or girlfriends their babies, but me; it’s my Walkman. I love my Walkman. I spend a lot of time making mixed tapes for myself to listen to. It’s so I don’t have to listen to this crazy, spanked up world. I can just simply listen to creativity through my earphones. When you have your Walkman on, people tend to leave you alone and it helps me from hearing retard comments from people. As I exit I hear a voice, as I am about to plug the earphones into my ears. I was so close…

“Hey.”

I turn around to face that voice. It’s Proud Pixie. I wonder what Proud Pixie wants. Maybe she knows I’m in the Church of Scientology and she wants to join.

“I’m Maria.” Hmmm…should I say congratulations you know your own name or should I just nod in proud-like manner.

“Hey.” I should say my name too. “Liz.”

“Nice to meet you.”
Oh boy, this is getting tougher than I imagined. I think she actually wants to talk to me. What do I do? Think Parker, think.

“Same here.” Hey that’s pretty good. Where did you learn that?
“So where did you come from?”
“Arizona.”
“Fellow desert person.”
I smile. “Hey I always say that when the apocalypse comes, the desert people are the only ones who are gonna survive.” Whoa Parker. You did a number on that one.
Maria smiles in bewilderment. “That’s what I say.”
Hmm…maybe this won’t be that bad.
“Need company to your locker?”
“Sure.”
And we walk side by side. This is interpersonal communication. Something I’ve been lacking in my adolescent years. A sense of feedback and recognition. Throughout my adolescent years, I’ve been dealing with adult issues of isolation and stagnation.
New girl plus weird loner girl. I mean she designed her bookbag with patches and phrases like…me. I let Michael do most of the artwork on my bookbag. He draws a mean looking SPAM container I tell ya. The best is his Calvin drawing. It’s great.
Wait she’s just like me.
So we walk. “So what do you think of this place?”
“The exact replica of Saved by the Bell with five hundred Screeches. My dream world.”
Maria smirks. “Yeah, everything is about being in the in group.”
“So I’ve noticed. Classic teenage world. I’ve noticed many looking at me weird.”
“Fuck them. They’re just always in for the gossip. We rarely get new kids and when we do, it’s a big ass deal. It becomes a hobby where they can create rumors around.”
“Oh, ok. I can’t wait to hear what they say about me. They just better know that my dad works as part of the FBI and anything they say or do will be put in their file.”
“You know you may be the first person I’ve actually talked to and liked.”
“Same here.”
I put my books in my locker. Oh god, I hope that wasn’t a dead mice I thought I saw in there. Slam door.
“So what class do you have next?”
“Umm.” I look at my schedule and scan it over. She looks over my shoulder. “Math. RM 202.”
“That’s where I’m heading too. Let’s go.”
“So why did you move here?”
Tough question to answer when trying to avoid the fact that you moved here so you can die here.
“My dad got a transfer in his job. That’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

And we continue our journey side by side.
Funny, I feel some sort of weird stare at my back. I turn around quickly to make sure it wasn’t any sort of evil stare. None. I turn back around, but I still feel that weird staring feeling. I turn back around and I could’ve sworn someone was there just staring at me. Shake it off. Paranoid delusional.
And we go off on our journey through the stares and whispers through the hallway and head to mathematics.
Slam!
“You’re it Valenti. Ha ha.”
“That’s not fair. I touched the base before you tagged me.”
Smirk.
Next they’ll be playing TV Tag. Remember that game?


Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere is that none of it has tried to contact us.
posted on 1-Oct-2001 1:58:46 PM by Ambrosia337


Part 3
“I can’t believe how much we both have in common. So you believe that Spam comes from a combination of horse and pig too huh? Nobody ever believes me.”
“I think the gel comes from the pig though.”
“That’s questionable.”
“You think so?”
“I think that that the jelly-like substance can be other sorts of additive bi-products.”
“Gross.”
“I know. I can’t believe people eat that stuff.”
I finally smirk out loud this time. “I know. I watch them eat it all the time like it’s a delicacy.”
“So, where do live?”
“Uh, actually pretty far from here.”
“Really, where at?”
“Um…Elm St down by the town. I live near the Booth Memorial Hospital.” Ok, too much information.
“Oh.”
I groan inside of my head.
“That is pretty far. I live around there too. Do you take the bus?”
I take back the groan. “Yeah. I’m going to have to sometimes if my dad can’t drive me.” Maria smirked her smirk. She had her own smirk. Include Michael and we could have a smirking chorus. “You must be the first person who actually lives a real life. People here don’t know what a bus is even if they looked it up in the dictionary. Hell they don’t even know what a dictionary is. Everyone here is either in a convertible or a Jeep.”
“I never knew Roswell would be so 90210.”
“Please. I’ve seen some who dress as low as that Tori Spelling.”
“WOW.” That seriously intrigues me. I thought Baywatch was bad when they ran in slow motion.
I was just about to say something when we get interrupted by this really, annoyed voice. A familiar sound in my lifetime.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Oh hey Michael.” I go back to concentrating on my turkey, muenster cheese and mustard on Wonder Bread.
Funny enough, Michael looked like the male version of Maria. He’s wearing a Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, and doc martens. Classic version of the teenage wasteland that is.
“Liz, I’m serious. I thought we were supposed to meet at the vending machines. I thought something happened to you.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I went to the wrong one.” Oh yeah, I have my alien fruit roll-up today. Cool.
“Liz.”
“I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”
I begin to notice that Maria continues to stare in awe at my brother. However I begin to suddenly realize that people were actually staring at the outburst. Fuck. “Michael, just sit down. People are staring. We’ll lose the poster kid image as misfits for god’s sake.”
Michael huffed. Such the baby. He’s worried I know. I just wish the doctor never told them that I should be under the careful watch just incase there’s an onset to the medication. God.
Maria continued to stare in awe of this man I call my overprotective brother.
“Breathe. Count from 1-10 and then backward.”
“Shut up Liz. You had me worried for goodness sake. Can you not fuck around with me for just one day?”
“Sure. For one day, I can do that. Michael this is Maria. Maria, Michael.”
So as I was say----Wait a minute. Wait one whole fucking minute here. Oh My God. Michael is actually looking at Maria like he’s interested. He’s never interested in anybody. I mean the only real girl I caught him staring at is Lisa Simpson. He thinks that girl is just amazing. It must be the hair thing they both share. There must be something about Maria we both like. She’s as cynical about life as we are. And I start to wonder. I’m beginning to go into that part of my brain that I try not to go into. It’s called my “afterdeath cerebral cortex” (ACC). It’s the part where I think of how life would be life after I’m gone. How Michael and Dad would be. Will it be unmasked that all the boy bands are actually figments of the tragedy of Villi Manilli. How the computer age will turn out without me. If they’ll ever have lollipop pens so that when you write you can suck candy as well. Ok…so mainly it’s about my family. And it just clicked; who’s going to watch after Michael after I’m gone?
And now I’m beginning to wonder if I found the person who can take care of him after I’m gone.
And I continue to watch them in amusement and contentment, knowing that this would work out.
And they stared at each other in silent awe. I avoid that nagging sensation that seems to be burning in my chest as I watch this mutual and giving interaction.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.”
“So what are you guys, like married or something?”
“That would be called incest,” I say. I shudder.
“Oh.”
“He’s my brother. Overprotective brother.”
“You guys act alike.”
“Really, I consider myself smart and Michael a retard though, but hey images can be deceiving to the naked eye.” Michael didn’t seem to notice the smart-ass comment I made. “Yep Michael is just a plain ass retard who thinks toilet water is good to drink.” I nudge Michael in the side and he shook himself out of daydream. “Dumb ass,” I mumbled. And out of curiosity for some reason I began to scan the area around and realized that many were still watching their table and I pointedly realize that the girls were soaking in my brother. I turn back around to find them still staring at each other.
“Michael.”
No response.
“Michael.”
No response.
“All the girls are checking you out.”
“What?” That woke Michael up. He looked around. “So what. Tell them I’m impotent.”
I shudder once again. “Ok. Oh yeah Maria, he’s the one who eats spamwiches all the time.”
Maria becomes intrigued. “Really? What’s your theory?”
“Dog and pig.”
“Interesting.”
And I smirk.

**
“So yeah, my hippie mom owns a restaurant in town. Not too far from where you guys live. When the rest of the aliens come they can come to our restaurant and use the ship we build right on top.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
“The Crashdown. We serve aliens.”
“You do? Business must be great,” I say.
“Alien blood, craters, etc.”
“That is definitely tacky,” Michael adds while he takes a bite out of the spamwich I made for him. And he drinks his Yoo-hoo. Such the baby. “Are you guys hiring?”
My head just did a 360. Ok, he’s either crazy or he’s just plain into Maria. I give him the look this time. I mouth the word, “What?”
“I was actually looking for a job around town, to help out at home and since you said it’s not far from where we live, it would be great.”
Oh.
To help out at home.
He means me. To help pathetic, sicko me out. We’ve been breaking the bank since my illness, and with the move and now Michael feels like he owes it to help pay for the stuff. Believe me when I told you guys in the beginning that I feel guilt easily. It’s true. I feel bad about doing this to them. Being sick. Having them take care of me. It’s bad then I’m losing my life, I’m taking their lives away as well. It’s like this fate that if I can’t live then neither can they. It’s something I have no control over.
“Michael, you don’t need a job. You need to concentrate on school,” I whisper hoarsely to him. First step—not cutting.
“Liz, let me handle this. So are you hiring?”
“Uh, yeah. A P/T cook actually. The last cook left Roswell because he thought he was abducted.”
“You see, Michael. Don’t work there. You’ll get abducted.” Hey, I’m pathetic. I try anything.
“Shut up Liz. Can I do an interview after school?”
“Sure. I can drive you guys there.”
“Thanks a lot.” More staring between Maria and Retard.
I stare at my brother.
This is how having cancer can change things.
I just wonder what else is going to happen here in alien Hicksville.
**

We’ve formed a group of three. Michael, Maria and me. The three M’s.
We get up from our lunch table and begin to walk into the school. I wonder how we look all together. We must look like a garage band that just came out of the garage.
“He’s been looking at you the whole lunch period. And in English. Maybe I should gauge his eyes out for you.”
Ok, I have no idea what the hell Maria is talking about.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Dickless Max Evans.”
Gotta love the girl. She has her own names for people. I think we’re going to get along just fine.
I smile. This is the thing, I smile only when I make a good smart ass insult or when others I know make them. “Ok, that doesn’t help unless I look really closely.” Michael looks at me disturbed. Really disturbed that I can be…umm…. a girl. A perverted type of girl.
“Over there in the popular crowd. Brown hair, leather jacket, dark blue jeans.”
“Oh that’s nice.” Since when do I give a shit about brown hair, leather jacket, dark blue jeans guy?
“Yeah, I caught him staring at you during English and during lunch. I don’t know what he’s trying to do. He’s Mr. Popular and he’s involved with Mrs. Popular. He looks like he’s about to attack you over there.”
Michael looks now too. He gets paranoid over guys, but he doesn’t have to. Guys don’t pay attention to me. The only guy who actually talked to me was the guy who joined me in poking the mouse after Michael said he had enough poking. The guy brought a water gun and joined in the torturing. We talked all day.
“Probably because I’m the new girl.”
“Huh, him huh? I can take him. Liz if he does anything, tell me.”
“Yeah, sure Michael. Where are you going to take him? Ice-skating?” What the hell is Mr. Evans going to do? Tell me I have a nifty graphing calculator there? He’ll then want to learn how to play Tetris on the calculator. All you nerds know what I’m talking about.
Please, they’re talking like he’s staring at me because he likes me. Hello? This is Liz Parker you’re talking about. A mess in the making. I’m burnt brownies. I’m undone dumplings. A flower that didn’t blossom. I’m betting he heard those stories about my mice fetish and my spam fetish already and he’s just staring at me because he’s completely grossed out.
It may look like I have no self-esteem. But that’s not the case.
I just have low self-esteem for others.
That’s the deal.

And secondly, I’m not going to get involved in guys even if by miracle someone likes me. I don’t need that. I’m dying remember? I can’t die knowing I could’ve been married, fallen in love and had kids with a guy. It would hurt too much. I’d end up hurting both of us. I already have my brother and father to fathom over when I die.
“Just be careful Liz. He’s the biggest dick in the world.”
“You just said he didn’t have one,” I say.
“Oh right.”
“Which one is it?” I say.
Then out of nowhere I say this: “Michael go check it out.” Michael looks at me really disturbed. I mean really disturbed.


Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere is that none of it has tried to contact us.
posted on 28-Oct-2001 4:27:42 PM by Ambrosia337
The feedback was greatly appreciated.

Part 4


I am early. good. I don’t have to go through that whole plan in my head on how to enter room as new student.
I head over to the back and sit down. The back is the best place. Not for sleeping, but as a way to hide from everyone. I like learning. I like school. I just hate the social norms that are included with school attendance. The back is also best to avoid teachers from calling you. You know that calling thing? Where you don’t know the answer, but you know that gut feeling that she’s just gonna call on you and you have to either guess a stupid response or just say, “I don’t know.” Hate that feeling. So the back it is.

I get to see the people piling into the classroom. Nerds. Academic geniuses. I can tell. Biology and chemistry lovers have this connection unconsciously that says “I can talk to you about functional groups forever.” “Maybe we can talk about cancer cures.” “What the functional groups are in triethanolamine salt.”

And what do we have here?
Maybe we don’t all have connections.
Apparently smooth, popular guys are science geeks as well.
And here audience is Mr. Dickless Max Evans.

Maybe I should check it out. God listen to me. If only Michael was in my brain right now, he wouldn’t let me near a guy ever. He would finally realize how much of a perverted nerd I really was.
I watch him…and I watch him head over to where I’m sitting.
I think there are assigned seats.
He’s hovering by where I’m seating. I look up to face him.
“Umm…that’s my seat. I think Ms. Hardy is going to give you an assigned seat.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s ok. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Well then, thanks for the heads up.” Corny? I say yes.
I walk up to the front and by miracle this Ms. Hardy walks into the classroom and gives me this genuine smile. I don’t like authority figures. They ruin the world for you, except Dad.
I show her my schedule.
We talk.
“You took AP Bio in your last school?”
“Yeah.” I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.
“Did you have any difficulties with the material?”
“No. I still have my review books.”
“That’s good. If you have any problems, if you’re lost, you can come by my office anytime.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You can sit next to Harvey over there.” I turn around and I see Harvey. Oh boy. Can this guy sweat any more? His once solid white shirt has become white and tanish. Gross. His armpits are enough to fill 10 gallon bottles. Harvey Sweatglands. Nice to meet ya. I sit down next to him and try to sit a little further away from him. Two periods a day. Just kill me.

I get my notebook and pen out when that weirdo feeling comes up again. It is seriously making me really paranoid and suspicious like I should prepare myself with some spy equipment. You know that trick where you’re pretending to read a newspaper, but you have a mirror stuck to it so you can check out people behind you. Learned that in some kid spy book I ordered from Scholastic Inc.

I track down that weirdo feeling and I realize it’s coming from behind me.
I turn around to see Mr. Dickless Evans looking at me. He looks down.
And then it dawned on me why people are staring at me. Of all people him, the popular guy in school. I can’t believe I was so dense not to realize this before.


It’s my T-shirt.
I have a Mr. Rogers T- shirt. The back of the shirt has his face inside a big ass heart and it says, “Hello Neighbor.” The front says, “Welcome to the Neighborhood.” I actually hate the guy. It’s just I’m waiting for someone to ask me if he’s part of that cult too.
I turn around to face him. “I got it online. Free shipping and handling. I can give you the website.”
And I turn back around.
“Can you give me the website too?” I turn around to see a very anxious looking Harvey. Is he sweating extra more?
“Sure, Harvey.” Maybe they can make the shirt sweat resistant.
**

I wait outside after my last period. So that was it. My whole day at school. I think I learned things. That’s a good thing. That makes my day extra worthwhile. I learned that tomorrow I must bring some sort of fruit spray to spray in bio. I also learned that whereever you go the social norms are always there. It’s a social prison that you were never really committed to. I don’t know if it’s me or not, but it’s like society gets more idiotic by the minute. You can learn a lot from Calvin and Hobbes.

I think I should’ve just written the website on my forehead. People must just love this T-shirt. The girls aren’t really staring. They wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this. The nerds and some jocks seem to like it. I should make flyers on the computer. Spread the love and joys of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood even though I believe he’s a #1 pervert along with the cook from Frugal Gourmet.

“You ready to enter the magnificent eatery of aliens?” Maria says as I hear her walk behind me.
“Ready as ever,” I look at Michael one last time, hopefully to get him to change his mind.
“Where’s your car?” Michael asks avoiding my stare. Typical. When he wants to avoid anything, he just won’t look at you. He’ll escape any notion of a discussion by thinking everything is la te da.
We walk and reach her car. It’s a red jetta. Tons of alien memorabilia on her car. Bumper stickers and alien heads bobbing up and down from the attena. There are even alien logo T-shirts covering the driver’s and passenger seats. And people are saying my T-shirt is wacky.

So we’re sitting in the car. Michael’s sitting in the front while I sit in the back. I’m just paying attention to every single detail there is in Roswell. This is my real first time getting a scan over the neighborhood. It seems so picturesque. So perfect. It’s so Mr. Rogers. It’s like this place is made out of clay. Play-doh.

I guess I can die here.

And I sit in my first car ride that doesn’t involve Dad, Michael and me. This car ride thing is like a high school thing. Something I’ve been missing out on because I don’t have friends.

We listen to music in the car. We listen to the hard edgy sound of the late Kurt Cobain. I can listen to Nirvana all day. I may be a nerd, but take a look at all three of us and what you’ll see is the classic depressed and angry teenagers who haven’t quite gotten over the fact that there will be no more Nirvana albums. Also the fact that mainstream pop has taken over the lives of every other teenager. We’re the people who just don’t fit in. We are simply too obscure and complicated.
“I think I’m dumb.”
I think Kurt’s sending a message to all of us right now.

All we need is drugs and beer. And more beer.

I sit closer to the windows and I simply watch everything whirl by my eyes. It makes me so dizzy. I can get car sick sometimes especially if I make my eyeballs roll back and forth. And I continue to let everything fly by my eyes.

It’s like this small world is simply passing me by.

Life.

Life is passing me by, that’s what it is.

The other end of the contract is speeding by and I’m sitting here watching it do that.

Life is passing me by, yet death is simply sitting stale in my body.

That’s not what I want.

Ever read or see on the news about teenagers who out of nowhere get killed? The reporters always interview parents, teachers and they always say that so and so had so much ahead of her. She was in Arista and in the Latin Club. She wanted to go to an Ivy League. She wanted to be a scientist. She loved her family. She loved life.

That could be me, except for the loving the life part. I don’t know. I guess I see life as bleak in a sense that I wish life would treat me and my family a little better. It explains how I view the world sometimes. I scrutinize everything. Wondering if everyone is suffering tragedy.

I can’t stop viewing life like this. I wonder if I was like this before mom died.

Mom.

I don’t remember her, but I wish she were here.
Then at least when I die, mom could watch over them.

I think that Mom just died without doing what she wanted to do. She didn’t prepare for it. She didn’t live out her goals.

I don’t think I want to die that way. Let what I can do just slip by me.

“We’re here.”

And so we are. I think the aliens can spot their missing spaceship from galaxies away.
I think the restaurant will be abducted one day.
I think this place is going to kill my brother.
I mutter to my brother. “I’ll pack you garlic everyday just in case they come and abduct you.”
“That’s for vampires.”
Now he’s talking about vampires. Is that what this town is famous for too? “What?”
“Garlic is only used against vampires stupid.”
“Oh. I knew that. But garlic can be used to throw at their big heads.” Umm…maybe we can both be brain dead at times.
We enter the restaurant and it’s already packed with kids from school already. Noisy. Rowdy. Stuffy.
“I think I’ve had enough of this place. I’m going to go alien hunting now.” I say loudly to them.
“Fine. Come back quickly.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I leave. I’ll get a full tour of the place when it isn’t so packed.

Ok…this place can’t get anymore freakier with its alien stuff.
Sick Sad Roswell.
Resident aliens of Roswell.
This place feels like home. Alienation. Freakiness.
I walk down two blocks and I reach this two- story building.
It’s a regular looking building. It looks important.
“Youth In Harmony.”
Ok…
What the heck is that? No alien themes. No alien pictures. No alien stickers.
What the heck is this place?

I do the unthinkable and I walk inside.
Curiosity strikes me.
“Sign in please.”
What? I see a guard in the front with this blue book in the desk.
“Uh sure. Can you tell me what this place is?”
“Free youth center.”
“In the middle of an alien tourist trap? How convenient.”
“Yeah. I know. This place was built about 3 years ago. Sponsored by the YMCA. If you want to join just head over to room 130.”
“Thanks.”
I sign in my name and I walk around slowly staring at each room. Some empty and desolate. Some had little kids doing art projects. Another was a dance room with girls performing ballet. I can’t help but smile. That’s twice in one day. And this time, I don’t have a inside crack in my head. What is going on here?

I smile.
I smile at their liveliness. They are so carefree. I’m jealous of their youth and innocence.
For once I don’t have a crack about this.
I watch life coming out in the open with these kids.

ROOM 130

Ok…this is different. This is too alive. Bustling office. The phone’s ringing. Paper is flying all over the place. The microwave is beeping. I walk in cautiously, afraid I’ll mess up their order of business.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I see this middle aged blond lady who is slightly overweight with a semi-smile on her face. She’s stressed.
“Yes actually. I was wondering if you were hiring.”



[ edited 1 time(s), last at 15-Dec-2001 11:38:49 PM ]
posted on 2-Nov-2001 9:45:27 PM by Ambrosia337
Part 5
Life is actually slowing down. I can take a breath and actually feel the air gush through my lungs.
I’ve never really felt good in my life before.
In life, I only know bad.
Call me a pessimist.
Pessimist.
Fine.
But it’s true 99% percent of the time. Take school for example. Look at the people surrounding you in the crowded hallways. How can you not think life as we know it is degenerating into a world full of idiot pancakes slobbered in sweet, sugary goo on the outside? I’d be amazed if some people could tell the difference between their feet and hands.
It’s true. I know no good, until now.
Good, the restaurant is not as crowded anymore.
“Liz, you’re back.”
“Yeah, I discovered that Perot is really an alien that spits money out of his ass.”
“What?”
“Nevermind. How did it go?”
“Good, Mrs. Deluca hired me. Start tomorrow afterschool.”
“Me too,” I say nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?”
“I got hired. Office Coordinator at YIH two blocks down. Eight bucks an hour. Not bad huh?”
“You did what?”
“I found a job too, just like you Michael,” I speak slowly, enunciating each word distinctly.
“You can’t work.” I roll my eyes. Oh boy, here we go.
“And why the hell not? That place is safe. No one was ever abducted.”
“Liz…you’re still not well. You should be taking it slow,” Michael whispers this reminder to me as if it’s the biggest thing in the world.
“Thanks for reminding me.” I begin to walk away. He spoiled my good mood. The only good mood I’m going to have in a blue moon. For once I forgot about my illness. And for that fleeting moment it felt good and natural.
“Liz…I’m sorry. I just. I’m just…”
“Worried about me. I’m worried about me too especially if I don’t do things I want to do.”
“Dad’s not going to like it.”
“He’s going to have to.”
“Liz…hey. Had a nice stroll?” Maria says as she enters from the back in this awkward looking outfit. That color should be banned. Oh my god, they bob up and down. Up and down.
“Yeah.” Up and down. Up and down.
“Liz, meet Brandon, my brother.”
Ok, should I tell Maria that her brother has massive tattoos on his arms (a gigantic dragon as one of them), 5 earholes pierced and has an anarchy T-shirt on?
“Hey. Love your T-shirt,” he says.
“I can give you the website for it.”
Pause.
“Cool.”
Boy, he’s pretty slow.
“I’m going to band practice. We’re called Discolored Flem. Wanna come and see?”
“Umm…maybe another time. Thanks for the offer.”
“Sure. See you around.”
And we all stare at him as he slowly exits the restaurant. I think a turtle just walked by.
“His philosophy involves not making any sudden movements... or gradual ones for that matter,” Maria says.
That’s his philosophy of life.
That’s a philosophy I can’t live by.
If I did.
I’d be dead.
“So Liz, let me give you the grand tour.”
“Sure.”
“Liz…I’m telling you Dad’s not going to like it.”
“We’ll see.”
**

“NO.”
“But-”
“No.”
“You-”
“No.”
“Would-”
“No.”
This is going great.
“Liz. You’re not working. That’s final.”
“If I work, I can help out with the expenses.”
“We are fine with expenses. I’m working. Michael is now too.”
“And me too. I can handle it you know. It’s an office job.”
“Dad, maybe you should just give her a chance. I’ll be down two blocks anyway if anything goes wrong.” I turn to him, wanting to give him a grateful glance, but he’s playing his computer game as he’s talking.
Dad sighs heavily. “Fine. Fine. Fine. No one ever listens to me anyway.”
“Thank you.” I kiss my dad.
“Now, what do you guys want tonight? Pizza?”
“Sounds good.”
I’m in a chipper mood. Haven’t been in a long time. Or wait, I’ve never been in a chipper mood. So this is how it feels.
“Liz.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something wrong with the computer. Come check it out.”
I walk over there. He’s playing his Command & Conquer game. He’s hooked. Video games and it’s hypnotic forces on teenage youth, next on The View.
“Move, let me see.”
Michael gets up and steps aside.
I do some computer work.
I’m not really good with computers but I know the basics.
“I found the problem, I think. Get a piece of paper and pen and write this down.”
Michael gets a piece of paper and pen.
“There’s some sort of connection problem. Ok, write this down. ‘ID’.”
“Ok. ID.”
“10.”
“10.”
“T”
“T. HEY.”
I smirk.
Yep, it was an IDIOT problem.
I’m just in a “chipper” mood today.

**
Previously not noted.
“Do you have any experience with office work?”
“No.”
“With kids.”
“Not really.”
“Ok.”
“How about this? I’m an intelligent high school student with straight A’s. I’m organized. I learn fast. I’m not too into kids. With that in mind, I think most of society is melting into a world full of retardedness. I can handle pressure. I’m honest. Direct. Bitter. And I can get things done quickly and correctly.”
“You’re hired. I’m Kathy.”
“I’m Liz.”

And so that’s how I was hired. I think she was desperate for a helper, but I get this feeling she’s like this older version of me. She’s pretty bleak about life too for a fifty-year old. And best of all, when we talked for a while afterwards, her favorite word is shit. “Fuck” comes up occasionally when she’s talking about the other co-workers.

I think I’m going to like it here.
“Hi. Should I sign it?”
“You’re the new girl who got hired right?”
“Yes. Liz.”
“Glen.”
“Nice to meet you. No you don’t have to sign in.”
“Thanks.”
I get to walk by the classrooms again. This time I see tae kwon do participants gearing up. The kids are running around with so much energy and hope. I smile a little.
ROOM 130
“Hey Kathy.”
“Liz. On time. That’s good. How was school?”
“I didn’t get beat up today.”
“I like your attitude.”
“You’re the first.”

So here is the thing, there are apparently two big cheeses. Assistant Director Sam Bayes and Director, “Kristine Mackey.”
Sam Bayes: I’d like to call him Buttcrack. He’s into dirty jokes and he thinks everything looks like buttcrack. Especially copies of books where the black line runs down the middle. He’s as weird as me. The first thing he asks me is, “Did you ever see Office Space?”
Kristine Mackey: Likes to pry into personal lives. Wants to save lives through counseling and mediating. I bet she thinks I have “issues.” She’s eyeing me like I’m her next target of miracle working. She has what Kathy calls “the seat,” where people would sit down and open up to her.
Mark Blau: Man who loves kids. Who smiles all the time…And who smiles all the time. Kinda like Chucky.

“Ok, here are your job procedures. Mainly schedules that I don’t have time to do-- employee schedules, program schedules and sign in sheets for instructors to sign in the front desk. And there are the regular things such as input member applications, and filing them. Phones, faxing, copying.”
And she shows me how everything in the office operates.
I mostly work with Kathy. We are like twins apparently.
Kids come in and out of the office to use the phone or to get a pass.
She gets pissed off, when they don’t read her sign. “STAY BEHIND THE DESK.”
She’s into signs, memos and that sort of stuff. I think she even typed a memo and taped it inside the refrigerator. Someone stole her Diet Pepsi and she typed a threat memo for it. Boy oh boy.
I’m going to have to get used to this.
I’m also going to have to get used to Kathy’s insightful personal stories.
“My husband thinks he owns everything.”
“Oh, really?” I say.
“I started Weight Watchers. It’s getting on that scale that makes me want to lose weight. I’m going to try to get down to 140.”
“Good luck,” I say.
“The UPS guy that comes here is so great. When I lose weight, I’ll divorce my husband and run away with Mr. Precious.”
“That’s great Kathy,” I say.
I think I’m going to get used to this.

**
I got off early today.
So here I am in the middle of the streets once again headed back down to the Crashdown so Michael and I can walk home together.
And this store catches my eye.
Camera store.
“Buy a camera for alien sightings,” the sign says on the storefront window.
So I stand in front of the window and look at the display of cameras each with its own white blanket. Each with its own sense of purpose and duty to a particular individual once its bought.
I don’t even know why I’m looking at them. I guess it’s because our family doesn’t own a camera anymore. Come to think of it, the last camera we had was during the time our mother was still alive. I think. This explains why we don’t have any pictures of the family after mom died. Mom always took pictures. I think.
Pictures.
They help describe a moment in time. It freezes that one second and makes it last forever. Look at a photo and get transfixed in that moment. Wishing you could go back in time. The lack of photos describes the lack of my ability in remembering what really occurred during these past nine years.
I’m dying.
Photos can make my life seem longer.
Make memories that I can remember when I die.

And like those miracles insert that heavenly music and lights, I found that camera. That one camera that I want.
And my luck, it’s that camera that I can’t afford. Shut the music off.
RICOH TF-900 import.
I can’t even say the price.
I just stare at the camera.
And I continue to stare until…that feeling.
I divert my attention from the camera and look at the reflection from the glass and I see him approaching me from behind…carefully. How long has he been standing there?
I turn around.
“Into cameras?”
“No I’m really into windows.”
“Oh.”
Oh god, fine. “Just looking around.”
“Liz, right?” Give the man a detachable dick, he knows my name.
“Yeah.”
Staring again.
Can you say uncomfortable? I’m not wearing my Mr. Rogers shirt today. Ok, granted I have a Yo Quiero Taco Bell shirt on, but still.
“Oh, um. I’m sorry. I forgot to give you the website for the T-shirt. I can give it to you tomorrow.” Geez, can you be more persistent Dickless Evans?
“Umm…thanks.”
“No, prob. I gotta go.”
“Oh, you’re not buying a camera?”
“No, just looking at the shiny glass.” I can’t help but look at the RICOH camera again. “Yeah, just looking.”
“Right.”
“Max.”
We both turn to the voice.
Two blond chicks who look like they came out of a Glamour magazine and a goofy brown hair dude come up to Dickless Evans. I have this big gripe against fashion magazines and ads. These media images are causing the destruction of the youth of today by presenting images of picture perfect individuals who literally starve themselves or who are really ugly without the high technology involved. And people envy these models. And I can assure you that everybody at school must envy these two girls right here. One day, they’ll grow old
“Max, you ready to go eat at the Crashdown? We’re hungry.” The blond chick who says this hooks onto his arm.
The other blond chick hooks onto the other guy’s arm.
Can you say uncomfortable?
You know you’re in the middle of a group you don’t belong in type of feeling?
I make my getaway as they continue to discuss things.
I walk away.
I still feel the staring
You know, I should just get him these two darn T-shirts and have him stop staring at my T-shirts already.


posted on 9-Nov-2001 8:34:16 PM by Ambrosia337
I know these are old parts, but I promise I already do have new parts that I have never posted. Just tell me if you guys want it or not.


Part 5
Life is actually slowing down. I can take a breath and actually feel the air gush through my lungs.
I’ve never really felt good in my life before.
In life, I only know bad.
Call me a pessimist.
Pessimist.
Fine.
But it’s true 99% percent of the time. Take school for example. Look at the people surrounding you in the crowded hallways. How can you not think life as we know it is degenerating into a world full of idiot pancakes slobbered in sweet, sugary goo on the outside? I’d be amazed if some people could tell the difference between their feet and hands.
It’s true. I know no good, until now.
Good, the restaurant is not as crowded anymore.
“Liz, you’re back.”
“Yeah, I discovered that Perot is really an alien that spits money out of his ass.”
“What?”
“Nevermind. How did it go?”
“Good, Mrs. Deluca hired me. Start tomorrow afterschool.”
“Me too,” I say nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?”
“I got hired. Office Coordinator at YIH two blocks down. Eight bucks an hour. Not bad huh?”
“You did what?”
“I found a job too, just like you Michael,” I speak slowly, enunciating each word distinctly.
“You can’t work.” I roll my eyes. Oh boy, here we go.
“And why the hell not? That place is safe. No one was ever abducted.”
“Liz…you’re still not well. You should be taking it slow,” Michael whispers this reminder to me as if it’s the biggest thing in the world.
“Thanks for reminding me.” I begin to walk away. He spoiled my good mood. The only good mood I’m going to have in a blue moon. For once I forgot about my illness. And for that fleeting moment it felt good and natural.
“Liz…I’m sorry. I just. I’m just…”
“Worried about me. I’m worried about me too especially if I don’t do things I want to do.”
“Dad’s not going to like it.”
“He’s going to have to.”
“Liz…hey. Had a nice stroll?” Maria says as she enters from the back in this awkward looking outfit. That color should be banned. Oh my god, they bob up and down. Up and down.
“Yeah.” Up and down. Up and down.
“Liz, meet Brandon, my brother.”
Ok, should I tell Maria that her brother has massive tattoos on his arms (a gigantic dragon as one of them), 5 earholes pierced and has an anarchy T-shirt on?
“Hey. Love your T-shirt,” he says.
“I can give you the website for it.”
Pause.
“Cool.”
Boy, he’s pretty slow.
“I’m going to band practice. We’re called Discolored Flem. Wanna come and see?”
“Umm…maybe another time. Thanks for the offer.”
“Sure. See you around.”
And we all stare at him as he slowly exits the restaurant. I think a turtle just walked by.
“His philosophy involves not making any sudden movements... or gradual ones for that matter,” Maria says.
That’s his philosophy of life.
That’s a philosophy I can’t live by.
If I did.
I’d be dead.
“So Liz, let me give you the grand tour.”
“Sure.”
“Liz…I’m telling you Dad’s not going to like it.”
“We’ll see.”
**

“NO.”
“But-”
“No.”
“You-”
“No.”
“Would-”
“No.”
This is going great.
“Liz. You’re not working. That’s final.”
“If I work, I can help out with the expenses.”
“We are fine with expenses. I’m working. Michael is now too.”
“And me too. I can handle it you know. It’s an office job.”
“Dad, maybe you should just give her a chance. I’ll be down two blocks anyway if anything goes wrong.” I turn to him, wanting to give him a grateful glance, but he’s playing his computer game as he’s talking.
Dad sighs heavily. “Fine. Fine. Fine. No one ever listens to me anyway.”
“Thank you.” I kiss my dad.
“Now, what do you guys want tonight? Pizza?”
“Sounds good.”
I’m in a chipper mood. Haven’t been in a long time. Or wait, I’ve never been in a chipper mood. So this is how it feels.
“Liz.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something wrong with the computer. Come check it out.”
I walk over there. He’s playing his Command & Conquer game. He’s hooked. Video games and it’s hypnotic forces on teenage youth, next on The View.
“Move, let me see.”
Michael gets up and steps aside.
I do some computer work.
I’m not really good with computers but I know the basics.
“I found the problem, I think. Get a piece of paper and pen and write this down.”
Michael gets a piece of paper and pen.
“There’s some sort of connection problem. Ok, write this down. ‘ID’.”
“Ok. ID.”
“10.”
“10.”
“T”
“T. HEY.”
I smirk.
Yep, it was an IDIOT problem.
I’m just in a “chipper” mood today.

**
Previously not noted.
“Do you have any experience with office work?”
“No.”
“With kids.”
“Not really.”
“Ok.”
“How about this? I’m an intelligent high school student with straight A’s. I’m organized. I learn fast. I’m not too into kids. With that in mind, I think most of society is melting into a world full of retardedness. I can handle pressure. I’m honest. Direct. Bitter. And I can get things done quickly and correctly.”
“You’re hired. I’m Kathy.”
“I’m Liz.”

And so that’s how I was hired. I think she was desperate for a helper, but I get this feeling she’s like this older version of me. She’s pretty bleak about life too for a fifty-year old. And best of all, when we talked for a while afterwards, her favorite word is shit. “Fuck” comes up occasionally when she’s talking about the other co-workers.

I think I’m going to like it here.
“Hi. Should I sign it?”
“You’re the new girl who got hired right?”
“Yes. Liz.”
“Glen.”
“Nice to meet you. No you don’t have to sign in.”
“Thanks.”
I get to walk by the classrooms again. This time I see tae kwon do participants gearing up. The kids are running around with so much energy and hope. I smile a little.
ROOM 130
“Hey Kathy.”
“Liz. On time. That’s good. How was school?”
“I didn’t get beat up today.”
“I like your attitude.”
“You’re the first.”

So here is the thing, there are apparently two big cheeses. Assistant Director Sam Bayes and Director, “Kristine Mackey.”
Sam Bayes: I’d like to call him Buttcrack. He’s into dirty jokes and he thinks everything looks like buttcrack. Especially copies of books where the black line runs down the middle. He’s as weird as me. The first thing he asks me is, “Did you ever see Office Space?”
Kristine Mackey: Likes to pry into personal lives. Wants to save lives through counseling and mediating. I bet she thinks I have “issues.” She’s eyeing me like I’m her next target of miracle working. She has what Kathy calls “the seat,” where people would sit down and open up to her.
Mark Blau: Man who loves kids. Who smiles all the time…And who smiles all the time. Kinda like Chucky.

“Ok, here are your job procedures. Mainly schedules that I don’t have time to do-- employee schedules, program schedules and sign in sheets for instructors to sign in the front desk. And there are the regular things such as input member applications, and filing them. Phones, faxing, copying.”
And she shows me how everything in the office operates.
I mostly work with Kathy. We are like twins apparently.
Kids come in and out of the office to use the phone or to get a pass.
She gets pissed off, when they don’t read her sign. “STAY BEHIND THE DESK.”
She’s into signs, memos and that sort of stuff. I think she even typed a memo and taped it inside the refrigerator. Someone stole her Diet Pepsi and she typed a threat memo for it. Boy oh boy.
I’m going to have to get used to this.
I’m also going to have to get used to Kathy’s insightful personal stories.
“My husband thinks he owns everything.”
“Oh, really?” I say.
“I started Weight Watchers. It’s getting on that scale that makes me want to lose weight. I’m going to try to get down to 140.”
“Good luck,” I say.
“The UPS guy that comes here is so great. When I lose weight, I’ll divorce my husband and run away with Mr. Precious.”
“That’s great Kathy,” I say.
I think I’m going to get used to this.

**
I got off early today.
So here I am in the middle of the streets once again headed back down to the Crashdown so Michael and I can walk home together.
And this store catches my eye.
Camera store.
“Buy a camera for alien sightings,” the sign says on the storefront window.
So I stand in front of the window and look at the display of cameras each with its own white blanket. Each with its own sense of purpose and duty to a particular individual once its bought.
I don’t even know why I’m looking at them. I guess it’s because our family doesn’t own a camera anymore. Come to think of it, the last camera we had was during the time our mother was still alive. I think. This explains why we don’t have any pictures of the family after mom died. Mom always took pictures. I think.
Pictures.
They help describe a moment in time. It freezes that one second and makes it last forever. Look at a photo and get transfixed in that moment. Wishing you could go back in time. The lack of photos describes the lack of my ability in remembering what really occurred during these past nine years.
I’m dying.
Photos can make my life seem longer.
Make memories that I can remember when I die.

And like those miracles insert that heavenly music and lights, I found that camera. That one camera that I want.
And my luck, it’s that camera that I can’t afford. Shut the music off.
RICOH TF-900 import.
I can’t even say the price.
I just stare at the camera.
And I continue to stare until…that feeling.
I divert my attention from the camera and look at the reflection from the glass and I see him approaching me from behind…carefully. How long has he been standing there?
I turn around.
“Into cameras?”
“No I’m really into windows.”
“Oh.”
Oh god, fine. “Just looking around.”
“Liz, right?” Give the man a detachable dick, he knows my name.
“Yeah.”
Staring again.
Can you say uncomfortable? I’m not wearing my Mr. Rogers shirt today. Ok, granted I have a Yo Quiero Taco Bell shirt on, but still.
“Oh, um. I’m sorry. I forgot to give you the website for the T-shirt. I can give it to you tomorrow.” Geez, can you be more persistent Dickless Evans?
“Umm…thanks.”
“No, prob. I gotta go.”
“Oh, you’re not buying a camera?”
“No, just looking at the shiny glass.” I can’t help but look at the RICOH camera again. “Yeah, just looking.”
“Right.”
“Max.”
We both turn to the voice.
Two blond chicks who look like they came out of a Glamour magazine and a goofy brown hair dude come up to Dickless Evans. I have this big gripe against fashion magazines and ads. These media images are causing the destruction of the youth of today by presenting images of picture perfect individuals who literally starve themselves or who are really ugly without the high technology involved. And people envy these models. And I can assure you that everybody at school must envy these two girls right here. One day, they’ll grow old
“Max, you ready to go eat at the Crashdown? We’re hungry.” The blond chick who says this hooks onto his arm.
The other blond chick hooks onto the other guy’s arm.
Can you say uncomfortable?
You know you’re in the middle of a group you don’t belong in type of feeling?
I make my getaway as they continue to discuss things.
I walk away.
I still feel the staring
You know, I should just get him these two darn T-shirts and have him stop staring at my T-shirts already.

posted on 10-Nov-2001 4:08:02 PM by Ambrosia337
Dumb ass me, posted part 5 twice. This board has been driving me insane. Sorry guys. Here is 6



Part 6
“Michael, do I complain a lot?”
“What are you bitching about now?”
“Camera.”
“What?”
“Expensive camera. We need one.”
“Since when do we need one?”
“Since we don’t have one.”
I watch him eat some food as we sit at the counter. He has like a ten minute break before he works for another half hour or so. Then we walk home.
“Why do you need one?”
“To take photos with. We need photos. Memories you know?”
“Ok…” He’s thinking positively now. Good. Go in for the kill.
“It costs $250.”
“Ok…then no we definitely don’t need one.”
I watch him take a bite out of that hamburger with ketchup dripping down his fingers.
Even if the family doesn’t admit it, I guess we do have money problems. I shouldn’t be so selfish at a time like this. No camera. We can live without a camera.
“You’re right.”
I sit at the counter and just stare at the soda machine.
Laughter. Loud laughter.
We both turn around to the laughter.
It’s the foursome at a nearby booth. They are the cliché group in every high school. Untouchable. Popular. Cool. And it makes me see how having hemorroids is more liveable than to be in that group.
The blond chick is laughing at a joke that goofy guy said I think. Why you say? She just said, “Alex that is the funniest.” And I believe Alex is the goofy guy. I turn back around. The soda machine is so much more fascinating right now as I fantasize about that camera.
“Isn’t that Dickless Max Evans?” Michael asks.
“Yeah.” I don’t even really hear his question. I’m in my own world.
“God, I hate them.” I think Maria just said that. “Dickless Evans and his blond squad. I don’t understand why every girl is dying to do him. They’re going to be disappointed. They’re gonna start calling him Dickless Max Evans too.”
I like Maria.
Michael likes Maria.
That equals us liking Maria.
We hang out now.
Maria has this outlook on life that is similar to mine but she’s more positive. Why? She says that the world’s going to end one day and we can all die into a rutt of horse poo.

Angel Liz: “You should forget about the camera Liz. You’re health is important now. Save the money to help out the family.”
Devil Liz: “But you’re dying. You should get that camera you want.”
Angel Liz: “You can make memories by simply being with your family. A camera doesn’t have to provide the memories.
Devil Liz: “Yeah, but it’s such a darn cool camera.”
Angel Liz: “You don’t have the money.”
Devil Liz: “Yes, you do. You have a job now. Eight bucks and hour. Think of it. You can have a camera in no time.”
Angel Liz: “Be a good girl and do what I tell you. It’s the right thing to do.”
Poof!
I hate my conscience.
I sigh.
“Maybe I should beat him up for you.”
“What?” I’m just a little aggravated now as my conscience is eating me up inside.
“Evans. He’s looking at you funny.”
“He’s looking at my T-shirts funny. He wants one.”
“Sure he is.” Maria says.
“I believe your deep sized craters are awaiting for you to land on them.”
Only an alien town would that phrase make any logical sense.
And people are saying I’m whacked out.
**
English.
Maria’s not here yet.
I sit there bored with my hand to my cheek.
No one can top this English teacher I had last year at my last school. He was a forty-year old man who was English. Mr. Litfak. I cracked a smile every day in the class. Shocking isn’t it? But he was surprisingly great. He liked my bleak, dark outlook on life. He said, “Metaphors are life.”

The first class I had with him he shocked us all.
His first word to all of us was, “FUCK.” English accent placed with the word.
Twenty other classmates and I stared at shock at this man.
“Can anyone tell me what FUCK means? What is the origin of the word FUCK?” More English accent.
Oh my god.
“For unlawful carnal knowledge.”
That was our first class.

If an English presentation was bad…
This was how he was. He’d walk in the back of the classroom with his hands crossed behind his back. “Boring. Boring. Please spare us the agonizing pain.”

A parent teacher conference I overheard.
“So the both of you are responsible for producing this young lad.”

He said to me one day, “Parker. Parker. Don’t you ever lose that cynicism. The world will need it one day.”
Best advice I ever had.

So here I am in an English class I can’t stand so far. Waiting for Maria to arrive.
I watch Dickless Max Evans walk into class.
Oh great. I forgot the freaking website. I have a SPAM can T-shirt today and I’m sure this shirt will intrigue as well.
He sits in his seat a row ahead of mine, diagonally.

“Can you tell me what woe means?”
I turn to the person who’s sitting next to me.
I think his name is Valenti. He got tagged the other day in a heavy game of Tag.
This will be fun.
“It’s like that feeling when Super Bowl is replaced by Touched by an Angel.”
“Whoa.”
“Do you get it now?”
There.
I turn back around and I see Dickless Max Evans smiling. I think he’s trying not to laugh.
“You’re smart,” Valenti says.
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Ask away.”
“I keep forgetting the title of this book.”
“First. Were there any aliens in the title?”
“No. I think the guy on the cover was wearing tights.”
“Hmm…since there are no wrestling dramas on the agenda, I’m thinking Shakespeare.”
“Wait, I remember now. He's a stalker. He follows girls home from parties and peeks in their windows.”
“Romeo and Juliet.”
“That’s it. You’re so smart.”
Yep, that’s me. Smart as an ass. It also happens to be the book we are reading right now, doofus.

Dickless Max Evans turns towards me and opens his mouth.
“Hey, how about answering this for me: If Verona had had metal detectors, would Mercutio be alive today?
“ If he were, he'd be about 400 years old.”
“ That's why they'll all get it wrong. It was a trick question!”
“It depends on who you ask the question to.” Ok… This guy is beginning to freak me out. Valenti I can understand, but Dickless Max Evans is really beginning to scare me.
“You are so smart,” Valenti says admiringly.
Did I already tell you how much I despise this play?

And I have been saved by the wrath of stupidity.
“Hey Maria.”
“What time is it?”
I look at my watch, “Uh, 8:30am.”
“I can’t believe I’m up at a time like this.”
“Society demands that they punish young adolescent teens in a slow agonizing form.”


**
WORK
“Hey Liz look.”
I turn around to look at Kathy. She has transformed the paper clip into a cracked line.
“Pubic hair.”
**


Cow intestines.
Cow kidneys.
Cow liver.
Don’t you just love the variety of packaged organs in one? This country can’t get any crueler than placing assorted organs into yellow Styrofoam packaging. People kill animals to make fake ones. We eat unhatched chicken babies called eggs.

This, my friend is called grocery shopping on Friday afternoons.
My brother and I go grocery shopping. It’s a joy ride.
We like going through each aisle.
Stare at each weird item.
Like these packaged organs.
“Let’s get it and make a spell out of it? Maybe we can make people smarter.”
“Uh huh.” He’s not paying attention to me. “Hey how about this?”
I walk over to him. I study the product very closely. “No. I don’t think so. Expiration date: May of 1998.”
“What?”
“Kidding.”
I like to wander off. We both do and we both bring back a variety of products. I go to the canned goods aisle to get 4 cans of SPAM. We’re a very, very sick consuming family.
I go to the cereal aisle.
Hmm...Pokeman cereal, Trix, Frosted Flakes, Fruity Pebbles.
Ah ha. Honey Combs.
The theme song runs through my head.
“They’re not small. No, no, no.” I hate it when a theme song gets overplayed in my head. After that tragic movie they call Titanic, I wanted to shoot myself because that Celine Dion song kept playing over and over and over and over and over and over……. Get my drift?
“Honey, go get some Apple Jacks,” I hear an older woman say.
“Liz?”
I turn around to the person who just called my name.
Fuck.
I swear to god, it’s like this town is half a block only. No wonder aliens like this town. They can suck the whole town in a millisecond.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Guess who it is?
Dickless Max Evans.
“Honey did you get the Apple Jacks yet?”
“No, Mom. Just give me a minute.”
“Max, dear, the Apple Jacks should be where they always should be.”
“That’s my mom.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say.
“Eat a lot of SPAM?”
I look at the four cans of SPAM I’m holding oh so dearly in my arms like they are my babies. “No. I use SPAM to mold art sculptures and then I use the gel as a face mask.”
“Cool.” Ok, now he’s scaring the shit out of me.
I start to walk away before I begin to just run away, when he speaks once again.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with the recent lab.”
“I’m not sure. I have to work with Harvey. We have to get to know each other’s techniques since I’m new.” Didn’t the techniques part sound perverted?
“Oh, um ok then.”
He looks kinda crestfallen by the fact that he may do badly in the lab.
I roll my eyes. “How about during lunch on Monday?”
He smiles. He doesn’t have to fail the lab now. “That would be perfect.”
“Liz?”
Michael is calling me. He’s walking down the aisle to me with the cart. He’s eyeing Dickless Max Evans. “I got the kidneys and livers to prepare for dinner. We can go now.” He’s eyeing Dickless Max Evans with the inconsiderate eye as his brows furrow.
“He’s my brother.”
“So I’ve heard.”
I look at him weird. It’s like he’s been researching about me. “Right. See you later.”
I try to ramble on to my brother about livers to avoid that god awful staring feeling.

“What was that about?”
“What do you mean?” I try to avoid the subject as I study the packaged meats Michael chose from the cart.
“Him. Talking to him.”
“He needs help with a lab.” Wow this organ would be amazing to study under a microscope.
“Right. And I’m not cool.”
Geez, Michael.
“I don’t trust him,” he confesses.
“You don’t trust anyone,” I say defensively.
“Neither do you.”
“My point exactly.”

posted on 2-Dec-2001 8:47:58 PM by Ambrosia337
Part 7
Sunday.
Cycle 1 of medication.
I’m lying in bed.
I’m sick today.
Very sick.
I threw up about a good five times today. I had my regular injection yesterday for cancer. And now I’m sick, very sick. I’m too fucking sick to think. Heck, I’m too fucking sick to breath normally.
Michael is sitting next to each other next to my bed. He’s always doing this while Dad is cooking for us. We simply remain in silence as I cope with the side effects, and then we talk about nonsense things and then silence.
He’s my brother and I love him for that. I won’t admit it out loud, but we both know it.
Days like these make my think about death more and more. I want a two miniature trees next to my tombstone please. I want my name engraved in all big, bold capital letters. Maybe in courier. Makes a statement. And of course a small picture of Calvin on the corner as decoration.
I roll over and head to my desk with a mirror on it.
“What are you doing Liz?”
“Looking at myself in the mirror.”
“Get some rest Liz.”
“I’m dying aren’t I?”
“No you’re not.”
This is routine. When I get sick, I remind them that I’m dying.
“God, I can’t even recognize myself anymore.”
Michael gets up.
“That’s your perceptive. You’re just a little weak today that’s all. You have to get used to the drug.”
“I hate this.” I slam my brush down onto the table. I should tell you I do get into crabby ass moods. “I hate being sick.”
“It’s going to get better.”
“How? I’m getting sicker by the minute.”
“It’s just the medication. They have side effects. You know that.”
“I’m sorry, Michael.”
“For what?”
“For taking your life away.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“This. Taking care of me. Working. It’s not fair to you or dad.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just hugs me. He hugs me to simply reassure me. I hug him back. We rarely hug.
I guess if we’re hugging more, it means I am dying.

**
So here I am at school after some two hours of arguing over coming to school. They think I’ll collapse or throw up in the middle of the hallways, but I do look much more refreshed and rejuvenated today.

Wait…I argued with them to let me go to school.
I am sick.
Lunch Period.
Wonderful.
Marvelous.
Lab time.
I shuffle through my book bag and out of all the sheer luck I can’t find my lab manual.
Shit. Fuck. I left it in the eraser room. I found that place all on my own. It’s like finding the perfect seashell on the beech, while everyone else gets the cracked ass ones. You know you can do stuff in there without any stupidity lying around. I can just lock the room and do my work in private. And that’s what I did, when there was a substitute teacher for one my classes.

I left that stupid manual in there.

I head over to the room that’s marked ERASER ROOM.

I open the door.

AND>>>

OH MY GOD>>> I think I’ve gone blind<<<

“Can I puke my intestines out now guys or should I just throw myself out of the 10th floor window?”

“Liz, Jesus. What the…Oh...my…Close.”

“My thoughts exactly oh dear brother,” I say as I watch their jumbo mumbo fumbling around.
“You know the both of you have scarred me for life. Thanks a billion.”

I walk inside of the room and the door slams. I walk over to where I see my lab manual.

“See ya later guys. I have to go jump off the building now. Bye.”

I walk out of the eraser room and I stand there looking very disturbed.

Maria and Michael.
I can’t help but smile a little.
**
I sit at a table outside while sipping my Mountain Dew.

I read my intellectual book as I wait for Dickless Evans.
Calvin and Hobbes.

“Calvin and Hobbes. Which one is it?”

I look at Dickless Evans. Who is on time. Who has his lab manual already.

“Weirdos from Another Planet!” Ironic, eh? Hint, hint.
“That one is great. I’m so upset Watterson stopped making the strip. I cut the last strip and framed it. Almost cried.”

Shut up all of you. We look at each other. I look at him weird again.

“We should do the lab now,” I say to avoid that weird feeling.
“Right. Sure.”
This can’t get any worse. Lab on the genetics of Drosophila “Ok, you have your data?”
“Right here.”
I look at it. It’s all neat and it’s like he already knows what he’s doing. I’m looking at his notes carefully, while I feel him looking at me. Talk Liz. Just keep talking.
“This was what the design of the experiment was in class. To show the independent assortment of chromosomes, make a dyhibrid cross using flies with two different mutations, each occurring on separate chromosomes. If independent assortment occurs, the F1 generation will be heterozygous for both traits, or +/ss to the a;=/ap and the F2 generation will show a 9:3:3:1 distribution of traits.
To show the sex linkage, we had to make a monohybrid cross involving a sex-linked trait, such as the ones with white eyes. A white-eyed female crossed with a wild-type male will produce red-eyed females and white-eyed males.”
Did anyone get that?
Should I repeat it?
Ok, what the hell did I just say?

“You’re smart.”

I continue looking at the notes to look busy and distracted. “Beats being stupid.”

He’s looking at me. I can feel it. Or he’s looking at my T-shirt. I have a Calvin and Hobbes T-shirt on today. I want to get a Calvin tattoo on the back of my right shoulder.

“So you understand everything now?”

“Yeah.” Right. Did you even pay attention to me for goodness sake?

“Max!”
Hey I didn’t call him. I don’t call him by his name. I never address him. I only address him as Dickless Evans in my head or hey shithead.
It happens to be two blond chicks and the brown hair goofy guy who goes by the code name Alex.

“What are you doing?”
“Oh, Liz is just helping me with a bio lab.”
“Since when do you need help? You get A’s in the class.”
Now my attention is perked. What in hell’s name did he ask me for help if he already knows his shit?
He looks uncomfortable. Join the club, Dickless Evans. “This is Liz.”
I look up at the three beings. “Isabelle here is my sister, Alex her boyfriend and Tess…”

“His girlfriend.” Tess sounds protective, defensive, overbearing. I could take her. I think. You learn a lot of fighting moves with a brother around. The arm twisty, the leg twisty, the hair plucking, etc.

“Good for you.”
Isabelle elbows Alex chest due to his untimely smirk.

“You’re new aren’t you?” Alex asks me as he rubs his chest.

“I think so.”

Alex smiles. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. You have the coolest T-shirts. Where did you get them?”

“Online. I’ll give you the website, if I’ll ever remember.”
“Cool.”

And now something doesn’t feel terribly right.
Something inside of me feels like it’s ready to come out. Oh god, not now. Not here.
I feel weak.
Blurry.
Disorientated.
Trembly.
Did I just lose time here?
Where the fuck am I again?

“Liz, are you ok?” Who the hell just asked me that? “Liz?” It’s Dickless Max Evans. He sounds worried. I’m beginning to get worried now too.

“I have…to…go now.”
I try to clear my blurry vision and I see Michael coming out of the school building. I hope he sees me.
I need my brother now.

I get up and I try to steady myself as I get up.
“Liz, let me help you.”
“I’m fine.” Oh my god, are my muscles dancing around like maniacs?
I try to walk away really fast. “Michael,” I whisper loudly. It’s like a call for help.
I feel a hand on my arm.
“Let go of her.” That’s Michael who sounds angry and worried.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help her.”
“Don’t need your help. Come on Liz.” Michael guides me away, hopefully to a toilet bowl. My haven.

“Oh my God, what’s wrong with Liz?” Was that Maria? I can’t tell.
“Food poisoning. Bad fish.” Michael lies to her.

Next thing I know, I’m coughing and throwing up. I feel scraps of my lungs coming out little by little. I feel a few tears streaming down my cheek from the physical drain my body’s going through as I look up the ceiling to gain my consciousness.

Flush.
My brother just holds me. He holds me in the bathroom stall while I lean sideways towards the wall of the next stall. My half-opened eyes are simply staring at the graffitti that says, “Tess is a bitch.”

I’m ready to die now.

posted on 10-Dec-2001 9:51:12 PM by Ambrosia337
Thanx for the feedback. It's appreciated. It will allow me to actually write over the Christmas break. And maybe even finish it.


Part 8



Here I am in bed, staring at the ceiling. I had Michael place posters on the ceiling. I knew that I would lie in bed most of my life. I have Calvin and Hobbes and a poster from the movie, PI. I love that movie. It’s like Darren Aronofsky entered my brain and made a movie out of it. Ever see that movie? The guy is a math genius. He could do a math problem in one second. He figured the code to the Stock market. He’s this super duper smart ass, but he has no friends. Belongs nowhere. Ends up drilling a hole right through his head. Lucky guy.

But that movie made me think a lot about death. I mean if everything around us is made up of numbers, formulas like tornadoes, swirls in a cup of coffee, religious texts, what’s the formula for death? What type of numbers in me make up death? Is it simply the three sixes making up a certain type of fraction that makes me worthy of death?

Sigh…

I have the covers up to my nose and I feel the covers heave up and down on my face.

I feel better. I just want to lay in bed and do nothing as usual.

Michael’s in the shower and Dad’s getting some dinner down the block.

I hear a knock on the door.

Shit.

I don’t want to get out of the bed.
I end up rolling out of bed.

I hate that feeling when you do all that hard work getting out of bed to get the phone or the door but then the phone stops ringing and the door stops knocking.

After two knocks, there is no more knocking.

I open the door.

And there’s a box lying on the floor.
A small box.

Shit. It’s fucking bomb isn’t it?
I get the broom lying next to the door and poke it. Good, Liz. Poke at a box. It may trigger an explosion idiot. You’re a biologist. You want to be a chemist and you poke at a supposed bomb.

Ok. Calm down. You’re calm.

It’s wrapped really well. Nice wrapping paper. It’s definitely a bomb. Who would want to kill me? Oh no, it must be Harvey. Or Valenti for giving him the wrong answers. Or the rat reincarnated into a human being out for revenge. OR…

I
Have
Become
An
Official
Nutcase.

I kneel down and place my ear against the box to listen to any sort of ticking sound.
None.

“Liz, what are you doing?”
“Checking to see if it’s a bomb.”
“What?” He walks over to me and looks down at the box. “I think it’s a present.”
“In the form of a bomb.”
“Liz, bring it in.”
“Fine.”
I pick up the box. It’s pretty light.
“Since it was your brilliant idea to bring the box in, why don’t you open it. If you get your head blown off, don’t blame me.”
Michael rolls his eyes and he thrashes the wrapping paper. He opens the box and he takes out something that surprises me even more than a bomb.

It’s a camera.
The RICOH TF-900

Oh my god.

I pick it up from his hands and stare at it like it’s the most amazing thing in the world. My hands glide over each button, making sure it’s real. I can hear the violin music now in my head.

“There’s a card.”

I use my other hand to read the card, expecting cut out newspaper letters in the form of a threat.

“I hope you like the camera. Max.”

Or it could be worse than that.

**

“What the hell is this?”
I place the box onto the lunch table before his rat pack get here.

“It’s a gift.”

“I see that. For what? We’re not even friends and you give me this expensive camera? That makes a ton of sense.”

“I saw you looking at the camera the other day and I thought it would be nice to get it for you.”

“How the hell did you even find out where I was living anyway?”

“Harvey.” Great exchange information with Harvey Sweatglands and he gives it to everybody. I’m definitely going to get my house bombed now no thanks to him. Mental note: Tell off Harvey Sweatglands.

“Great. That’s just great.”
“Look I just asked him. It wasn’t his…”
“I don’t need a camera. I was looking at the glass to study its chemical nature.”

“I saw you looking…”

“You saw nothing. Here. I don’t want it.” I shove the box right in front of him. “I think it would be more convenient if you give it to your friends over there so you can take pictures of each other for a scrapbook.” Yep, his wonderful group of friends are approaching and they are definitely looking at us weird. Before any sort of small talk or lying through my teeth I walk away to where I see Michael and Maria looking satisfied.

“Did you say ‘you motherfucking asshole, I don’t need anything you buy’.”
“No, Maria. I just simply told him off in plain English. Enough to make him feel like shit.”

“Good enough my friend.”

I look at Michael. He hates Dickless Evans. We all do. He wants to beat the living crap out of him for even touching me, for talking to me and most of all for doing that. It seems like a charity case or something and Michael hates knowing that pity is being expressed by such a man.

“Just stop Michael. Go eat your spamwich already.” That made him turn his attention back to us.

Instead I turn my attention back to him.

We simply stare at each other.

What the hell is going on here?

posted on 16-Dec-2001 12:20:45 AM by Ambrosia337
Thanks a lot guys for the fb. I still have a rundown of finals one of which is stats. I was going to have the next part but apparently my laptop's ms word is doing a bad, bad thing to me. Next week guys.
posted on 20-Dec-2001 10:44:37 PM by Ambrosia337
Part 10 is a new part. I'll post that as soon as I can. Thanx for the support.



Part 9



My brother’s birthday.

I always get him something good, because he’s my brother. It may be uncommon in other normal worlds, but I do care about him and it’s part of our relationship.

Turning 18. Big deal for him.

Dad and I are inviting him to dinner.
That’s the family thing.

Dad and I also pitched in together to get two concert tickets to Staind. His other favorite band and mine too.
This will be a friend thing. Maria, Brandon and the both of us are going to go.
I love rock concerts. It’s my other haven, besides the toilet bowl. I crave for the angsty music and depressed teenagers surrounding us. This is the social event where I like to engage in the connected sort of hatred towards the world. I show my creativity by breaking all norms of casuality. You know, Michael isn’t the only artistic one. I make my own concert going T-shirts. Yep. I cut this T-shirt I had through all the seams except in the arm pit areas and then I use safety pins to bind them back together. Cool, eh? Then I get animals collars as a bracelet. I’m just the average concert goer who wants to forget how to act in society.

I haven’t gone to a concert in about a two years or so.
Woodstock 99.
Family event. Try to imagine that as my dad tries to relive 1969.
I didn’t want to go at all. The thought of portal potties made me sick. My dad said that we had to go. We had to learn about peace and love. Only I ended up learning about water bottles that cost four bucks, lemonade that cost four bucks, a hotdog that cost about six, and that the losers that go by the name of Limp Dough caused such mayhem that I got hit by a Frisbee-- right smack on my forehead. I literally starved myself for three days to avoid going to the bathroom. I only drank H20 and had tic tacs. Michael did not enjoy himself at all except for the Metallica performance, and Dad finally realized he was old and I well…I learned that I should have stole stuff like the rest of the pissed off concert goers.

And this brings us to the present scenario now.
We’re sitting in Brandon’s van.
Is that like moldy peanut butter and jelly sandwich I smell?
“Oh my god.” I have been sitting on a PJ sandwich. “It’s smells like…”
“Teen spirit?” Maria says.
“I think.” Then pull a hard PJ sandwich from the seat that was stuck in the slot.
“Oooh, Liz found an antique one Brando.”

Brandon turns around slightly as he’s driving. “Sorry there, Liz. Must’ve forgotten to eat it.”
If he even takes one bite of that thing I think I’m going to barf again.
“Yeah no problem.”

I look at the rearview mirror and give a funny looking glance at Michael. He smiles. He’s happy. I’m glad. He deserves this. To see his favorite band for the first time. To have a relaxing time. Well, not relaxing if you consider the heavy mosh pit.

“Pit stop,” Maria declares as Brandon stops the car at a convenience store.
“I’ll stay. Just get me an iced coffee and some 3-D doritoes.”
“Me too. I’m staying. Maria get me a Butterfinger,” Brandon says.

They leave.
We sit in the car.
Ok, make conversation there Liz.
“Great tattoo there.”
“Yeah, I know. I copied it off something. You know what it means?”
That you copied it off a magazine.
“That I copied it off a magazine,” Brandon says.
Well don’t we think alike?

And we sit there and sit there….
Do you know what we’re doing?
We are following his philosophy of life: Be a bum.
**

“Meet spot,” I declare as I point to the corner near the T-shirt vendors. “Just in case we all get split up in the mosh pit.”

We all nod.
Michael gives me the eye like he’s not even thinking of getting split up with me.
I roll my eyes. Wouldn’t want to intrude in his make-out sessions.

Five minutes later…
We’re all split up.

I consume weed through my nostrils, tobacco through my mouth and banging music through my ears. This can't get any better. It’s a rock show. A concert where you can scream your head off, get sprayed with water from the security guards and get pushed around violently along with the music. This is life as we know it. When you’re in the middle of the crowd, it’s like you can actually feel everything around you. Life isn’t really passing you by, it’s getting consumed into your memory. Every smell, sound, taste and vision. And it’s something you don’t want to end.

“Hot shirt you got there. You want me to unpin you so we can get high together and then have animal sex in one of the bathroom stalls?” This guy asks me.

“Sorry…I’m gay.”

“That’s ok.”
He’s still standing there like I’m still going to go with him. I make the logical decision and walk away.

And then…there’s anger when someone does push you incidently when there isn’t even a mosh pit around.

“Fuck…you stupid asshole,” I yell as I get shoved from this big, sweaty guy with no shirt whatsoever. The thing is that I’m still kind of weak. Fatigue is a side effect, but I neglected to mention it to Dad or Michael today. I didn’t want to ruin it for Michael. It’s his birthday and he shouldn’t have to lose out today because of me.

I feel a gentle arm grab my arm as I try to gain my balance from the shove.
“Are you ok?”

THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING>>>

And these things run across my sticky brain.
Starbucks
Blockbuster
McDonalds, then Burger King or vice versa

What do these stores have in common?
They keep popping up on every single block.
Hey there’s a Blockbuster right across the street. No…there’s one right in front of us.

“What are you like stalking me?” I’m just a little tired and pissed off right now as I wiggle out of his hands. One fucked up concert so far after my whole speal on how great a concert is.

“No. I like Staind,” Dickless Evans says.

“Good for you, but why are you just like everywhere? Every time I turn around I see you. Are there like ten of you?” I yell through the music.

“No.”

I stare at him like he’s just a nut case. Once again, I turn around and start to walk away.

“Wait. Could you just wait a minute? Please.”

I’m a sucker for begging. I turn around to face him.

“What?”

“You wanna go downstairs and just talk for a minute. It’s too loud here.”

“Fine.”

“Hey…L---I---z…”

“Brandon.”

“Where are you going?” He’s eyeing Dickless Evans now too.

“Just downstairs.”

“Is this prick bugging you?”
“Not yet.”
“Want me to beat him up for you?”

“Maybe later.” I smirk, and Dickless Evans looks at me strange.

He leads me through the disgruntled crowd. Wait a fucking minute here. He’s holding my hand. He’s holding my hand. Why am I not untwining my hand from his? Why? Ok, what the hell is going on with me? Why am I just looking at our hooked hands?

“Ok, we’re here, talk.” Now I snap out of it and untwine it in disgust, while I watch a multiple of couples making out heavy duty in all the corners.

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“That? Closed off. Angry. Mean.”

“Are you questioning how I live my life?”

“I’m just questioning why you won’t even talk to me.”

“Should I be talking to you?”

“Why not? We’re classmates.”

“Uh…hate to inform you, but I’m classmates with a lot of new people. It doesn’t mean I should go off talking to each and everyone of them, including you.”

“Do you hate me or something?”

Umm, geez hard question there. Of course I hate you. I hate the world. “I don’t know you.”

“Then maybe you should try to get to know me.”

“I don’t need anymore friends.”

“Why not?”

Because I’m dying.

“Because…”

“Yes?”

Change subjects immediately. “Why did you get that camera for me? Is this some sort of policy with new people in school?”

“No. I just think we can get to know each other…as friends. I think we can get along.”
This is really beginning to really aggravate me. Don’t get close to anyone Liz. Don’t. “Well, you’re going to have to wait along with the rest of them on my rent-a-buddy waiting list.”
I take a breathe and start again.
“Why are you trying so hard to get me as your friend? You have friends.”

He’s silent. He wants to tell me something. It’s like he’s struggling to tell me his deepest and darkest secret.

I’m ready to really throw this at him.

“Did you come here alone tonight?”

“Umm…sorta.” Great answer. It’s either yes or no unless he has some invisible friends he didn’t mention.

“Ok. You came to the concert alone tonight without your cult? Let me get this straight…you have friends, but you don’t go to the concert with them, but instead you are here trying to get me to be your buddy?”
He’s silent.
“You do realize that you are scaring me right about now?” My tiny finger is pointing back and forth to make a point known.

“I’m sorry. I’ll just umm…go then.”

Do you remember in the beginning when I told you I felt guilt? I mean I feel guilt about everything I do. And now it’s another guilt trip once again as I know I hurt Dickless Evans’ sorry ass feelings.

“No, wait.”

I take a deep breath knowing I will definitely regret this later.

“I’m Liz.”

He’s smiling.

“I’m Max.”
I’m dying…

And what did I just do?

posted on 22-Dec-2001 5:28:51 PM by Ambrosia337
I'll have the new part soon. I just want to do some serious editing. ok. I hope you guys actually want a new part.

posted on 28-Dec-2001 6:51:52 PM by Ambrosia337
Soon enough, Liz Parker will lose the cynism. She'll be more contemplative.
Now onto the new part I have written.


Part 10

Pizza Hut.

“Just get me breadsticks?”

“That’s it? We need to put some fat in you.”

I could kill him for telling me I’m skinny. I know that already. I throw up occasionally because I’m seriously sick. You think I want to be this thin?

“I ate before the concert and I easily get food poisoning.”

He looks uncomfortable as I mention my supposed food poisoning. “I’ll be right back.”

I sit at a booth contemplating this whole situation. I just made a friend. And that my friend is Dickless Max Evans. Should I tell him that’s what I call him in my head? No, not yet. Oh boy, Michael is definitely going to kill me for going out in the middle of the concert to go eat with Dickless Evans.

“It’ll be a while,” Dickless Evans says as he slides into the booth across from me.

“Uh huh.”
Now what?

“So…what made you move to Roswell?”

“Aliens are my best friend. What can I say?”

“ET or Alf?”

“Alf.”

“Me too.” I smile a little. Don’t smile. Don’t Parker.

“So how long have you been dating Tess?”

Ah ha. Gotcha there Dickless Evans. I got him in the uncomfort zone. Put him in the hot seat. “About a year.”

“Wow, long time. Congrats to you.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“I don’t date. I believe it’s a social custom that should be outlawed.”
“Why?”
“Too much hassle.”
“How do you know if you don’t date?”
“Don’t you watch TV?’
“Good point.”

“What would she dare think if she caught us here?” I say in a sarcastic, mocking tone.

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t like a lot of people.”

“So why are you so closed off and pissed off with people?”

“The aliens told me to.”

He looks at me like he really wants a serious answer. What the hell man? Stop looking at me like that. Stop it. Stop it. I’m twitching a little now. Fidgety. You know, the restaurant doesn’t have that many paint cracks.

“It’s just the way I am.”

“Are you scared or something?”

“What?” He’s trying to do some psychobabble on me. He’s butchering me to open up to his sorry little ass. He’s trying to press my buttons as I press his. Hrhgmph

“Are you scared of letting people in?”

“No.” Yes.

Before he can question me any further, long and behold two of his pod squad enter Pizza Hut. Code names: Isabelle and Alex.

“Max?”

“Is, Alex, what are you guys doing here?” He’s not the slightest bit uncomfortable for some reason.

“Getting something to eat,” Isabelle says as she looks at me. She then smiles at me. Weird. “Hey Liz.” And she knows my name. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Same thing.”
You do realize that this conversation has gone nowhere. We have established the fact that all of us are here to eat in a restaurant. You should be proud of them for getting that straight.

“Number 35.”

“That’s us. I’ll get us the food,” Max says.

Can I leave now?

“I’ll come along too. I’ll go order for us.”

I watch the siblings walk away and I watch them talk in private. It’s like they’re talking about me. Figures. What are you doing with her? The weird girl.

“So you and Evans are friends now?” Alex says.

“I guess. It happened about ten minutes ago.”

“Oh. I have a joke if you wanna hear.”

“Umm...sure.”

“What’s long and hard and gives women a lot of trouble?”

Hmm…this guy is sick…really sick.

“Osteoporosis.” He laughs really loudly at his own joke.
Ok…
I smile a little not because of the joke, but the fact that this guy has so much enthusiasm in himself to laugh at his own corny joke. I wish I could take some of his life and see how it feels inside of my body.

It makes me wonder how such a goofy, normal guy hangs around with such people.

“Here are your breadsticks.”

“Thanks.”

“So what were you guys talking about?”

“Oh I was just telling her a dirty joke.”
Alex winks at me. Wink at somebody else goofball. I smile a little though.

“Alex, don’t scare the girl.”

“It’s ok,” I say.

They all sit down and eat the food. I carefully dip my breadsticks into the sauce. I have to really force the food in. I always have to really force the food in. It’s like my stomach doesn’t want anything to enter its dungeon of acidity.

I should make conversation or they’ll really think I’m just a retard. “So how long have you guys been dating?”

“Oh, wow about three years. Since freshman year.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I know it’s weird. We’re like the odd couple, but I love this guy. He makes me laugh and squirt milk out of my nose.”

That’s funny. I don’t need to laugh for that to happen.

“Yep, and Isabelle makes me look good as we walk down the hallways.”

I nod. I make people look good down the halls as well since I’m pretty much a slab of meat.

Isabelle hits Alex playfully.

“Honey?”

I turn to the familiar voice. I knew I heard the van from afar. Like 5 miles. “Dad?” By the majority, teens get embarrassed in front of other teens if a parent shows up. I don’t. I’m not embarrassed by him. If anything it’s probably the other way around.

“Hon, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at a concert? Where’s Michael?”

“Oh, they’re at the concert hall. I just came out to eat something.”

I get up to stand next to my dad.

“Umm…that’s Isabelle, Alex and…”

“Max Evans. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Since when does dad use such a sophisticated word? “Liz, I think you should go back there before Michael goes ballistic.”

I nod. “You’re right.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you there. I'll come back later for the pizza.”

“Liz, I’ll come with you too,” Dickless Evans says.

“No, it’s ok. Eat your food. I’ll go with my dad. Come on Dad. I’ll show you where all the cool kids hang out.” I take my dad’s hand and we walk away not before I turn around to give him another look. He looks upset. I guess it’s because I didn’t finish the breadsticks he bought for me. I wasted his money.
“Since when do you hang out with cool kids?”
“Shut up Dad.”


posted on 22-Jan-2002 10:31:56 PM by Ambrosia337
now that I know the board is back up, I can start editing and getting the next part up hopefully by hmmm....tomorrow night. sound good???
posted on 22-Jan-2002 10:41:33 PM by Ambrosia337
Part 11

Disregard previous post. I'll post part 12 hopefully by tomorrow.

So here Maria and I lay on the living sofa as we watch late night TV. I asked her to stay over after the concert. It felt like a friend thing to do.
So far it has been a success.
Dad took us home in the van while Brandon drove away in his hippie van. I even suggested we have a race to see which van was faster or at least see which one was louder.
And my wonderful Dad happened to mention where I was and who I was with. I froze through the entire one minute silence in the van.
I got great stares from Michael and Maria. I innocently said this, “What did you think of the concert?”

“A-Team.”
“Growing Pains.”
“Knight Rider.”
“Oh, yeah wasn’t Kit hot?”
“Paula Abdul.”
“NKOTB. Hanging not so tough.”
“Debbie Gibson.”
“Ooooh…good one.”
“Tiffany.”
“That’s a topper.”
“What about teenage TV idols?”
“Hmm…Luke Perry. Top that.”
“Scott Baio.”
“Good one, Charles in Charge was pretty good.”
“Jonathan Brandis.”
“Oh but he was good in IT.”
“True.”
“Ace of Base.”
I turn to face Maria and I actually burst out laughing. Laughing. Not something I do often, let alone smiling. Come to think of it, laughing is such an odd action. Weird sounds come out of your mouth, tears pour down your eyes and your stomach begins to hurt. Sounds like my wonderful side effect of nausea doesn’t it? “Michael listened to them. He won’t admit it though. You are soulmates.”

“Shut up, Parker.”

“What? I thought you guys were like a hot tomale item like hamburger meat and buns. I mean you guys were seriously making some sandwiches in the state I found you both in the other day.”

“You’re perverted you know that Parker?”
“Lack of action makes me like that.”
I look over at her. Her face seems lost. She’s contemplating something. “What?”
“You’re brother is complicated you know that?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“It’s like he’s closed off about some things. Sometimes he’s depressed about some things but he won’t admit it.”

I’m quiet.
Oh.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s just like that. He’s afraid to let people into his life. I guess maybe the fact that mom died, he was really torn by it. It’s like mortality bothers him tremendously.” I begin to have that spacey look as I contemplate the fantasy world of immortality.

I am immediately snapped out of my trance by the sneaky voice of Maria.

Maria just smiles at the reassurance, but then she looks at me through the corner of her eye. “So…you and Dickless Evans?”

“Shut up.” I knew one of them would have to mention it to my face sooner or later.

‘What? You guys are friends now, huh? He worked his charmer on you.”

“I consider us simply as lab partners who had pizza. Or at least he did.”

“Right…sure. I’ve seen him staring at you.”

“I stare at people too. Doesn’t mean anything. If anything it means I’m staring at that person’s zit.”
“Just be careful Liz. I’m only telling you because I’m your good friend and I just don’t want him to screw with your head…as friends.”

I nod. “You’re next I think.”

“Enya.”
I’m silent.
“Parker, I know you listen to her.”
**

“Ok…class I have an exciting assignment for all of you for Romeo and Juliet.”

“Exciting assignment. Isn’t that an oxymoron to the word?” Maria asks as she leans towards me.

I smirk. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask our inspiring teacher?”


“Romeo and Juliet? Is that what we’re reading?” Kyle asks.

I turn to him. “No silly. We’re in Chem class now.”

“Oh my god, really?”

I should be whipped.

Maria mouths to me, “You are so bad.”

Don’t I know it as I smile at Maria, but then my gaze reaches Dickless Evans. We hold the stare for a while and then I immediately look down onto my book.

“Max Evans and Liz Parker.”
Now I’m awake.
What the fuck was that?
“Maria Deluca and Mitch Colossus.”
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. We’re partners.


After class Max comes up to me and talks to me. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Good, we’ve got the communication down now.”

“Yeah. Look, I don’t know if this is going to bode very well with your reputation if you are caught talking to me.” I lean towards him and whisper, “You know it makes you look uncool.” I lean away.

He leans down towards me and whispers the same way, but he’s up to my ear. “I guess I’ll have to take my chances.” He leans back up with a satisfied grin on his face. I hate him. “So where do you want to meet to do our assignment?”

“Umm…I don’t…know. I work um…till 6pm today.” I’m going to shoot myself in the mouth if I don’t stop stuttering like a fool.

“That’s cool. 6pm is fine but my house is kind of off-limits today.”

“Why? You got some kind of party going on that I’m not invited to?”

“No…book club. My mom’s the president. You’re welcome to join. I believe it’s the Joy Luck Club today.”

“Oh geez, I just had a book club last week discussing Joy Luck Club. Sorry.”

“No prob. How about the Crashdown?”

Right, if you want Michael to beat the living shit out of you. “No, it’s too noisy.” Especially if a brawl starts. “I guess we can work at my house.” I don’t sound too thrilled.

“That’s cool.”

“Meet me after work then. I work at YIH.”

“You do?”

“Yes, why?”

“Doesn’t that involve some sort of interpersonal communication with human beings.”

“They didn’t say that in the job description. Only communicate with aliens they tell me.”

“I should apply too.”

“Yeah, right.”
**

“Hello, welcome to the Internet Psychiatric Hotline. If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly. If you are codependent, please ask someone to press 2. If you have multiple personalities, please press 3,4,5, and 6. If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace the call. If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press. If you are manic-depressive, it doesn’t matter which number you press. No one will answer.”

“Where do get this stuff from? It’s funny.”

“Someone gave it to me,” Sam says.

I’m leaning by his desk right now, reading his email. We both snort AND smirk at the particular email. We get along really well, considering we are both really into fucked up, corny jokes.

“Hey don’t you call those guys hotties?”

“What?” What the hell type of question is that? I look at him and I see that he’s gazing at something ahead of him. I follow his straightforward gaze and realize it’s Dickless Evans. I look at my watch. Why can’t he ever be like late…like normal human beings?

“Shut up Sam.” I walk to the front where Kathy is talking to him.

“Liz never told me she had a boyfriend. Well she never tells me anything.”

“Kathy. He’s my English partner. Anyway, I’m off. See you later.”

“Have fun, kiddos.”

I roll my eyes.

“Great co-workers you got there.”
“You should see what Kathy can do with a paper clip.”
**

“I thought you knew where I lived. You just took a freaking wrong turn.”

“We’re not going to your house.”

“I don’t want to go to the book meeting.”

“We’re not going to my house either.”

“And you’re saying I don’t communicate well?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Hate surprises.”

“Deal with it.”

I shake my head. I can’t deal with this. “Stop the car.”

“What? No.”

“Stop the fucking car or I will jump out of it myself. I’m not afraid of death you know?” I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Ok…ok my god. We’re going to a year-round festival in Alburquere. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t like to have fun.”
“I figured that much. I want to change that.”
“You’re brave.”
“I’m Max.”
No you’re Dickless Max.
I sigh heavily. I’m just too tired once again to argue, to point out why I don’t want to have fun now, why I really don’t want him as a friend and why I would just rather be alone to wither away in a pile of shoestring hay.

“Fine.”
I grab the cellphone and press a button.
“Dad?”


posted on 24-Jan-2002 10:17:45 PM by Ambrosia337
Thanks for all the feedback (all those that were washed away :( ) Keep showing that support.

also does anyone know when they are showing Roswell for the NYC area for next week? darn state of the union address is on.


Part 12

“Ok, you can stop showing off now. We get the idea that you can throw a ball into a circle. Can we go now?” I asked in a bored tone with my arms across my chest.

“Take a shot,” he says in a commanding voice.

“Me?”

“Yeah you.”

“I suck at basketball. I get 70’s in PE.”

“Who the fuck cares? Just take a shot.”

I slump my shoulders and head over to the booth and Max hands the man a five. Five shots.
He gives me a basketball and I miss by a lot. I mean it’s like 5 feet away from the net. It’s like my arm and my brain and two separate entities.

“You’re not that bad,” he says reassuringly. But he has a grin on his face as he says that.

I smirk and I keep going and by the fifth shot, it’s like a miracle. The ball slushes into the net and like the freaking geek I am I gasp as I put my hands to my mouth. “Oh shit.” I might not be as coordination retarded as I thought.

“I told you that you weren’t that bad.”

“Here you go lady.” The man hands me a little panda bear with a jersey on it. I get a tiny ass panda, while Dickless Max wins like a big ass dinosaur. I look at the jersey and realize that the jersey must go. I have to order one of those neato shirts online and put it on my new panda. I wonder if they have doll sizes for the SPAM t-shirt.

“Thanks.”

“Having fun yet?”

“I guess,” I say. He smiles at me.

“Oh my god,” I say as I see a tattoo parlor. “We have to go.”

“What? Where?”

“The tattoo parlor, right there. I want to get a tattoo.”

“You’re not serious right? Shouldn’t you ask your parents first?”

“No. You only get to live once.” And it may not be long before I lose that chance in living. “Come on.”
**

“Is it hurting?”

“No, it’s just a little stingy.”

I’m sitting down as a guy with about 100 tattoos on one arm is spray painting yellow on the back of my right shoulder.

“How does it look?” I ask Dickless Max.

“OH MY GOD!”

“WHAT?!” I panic a little.

“Kidding.”

“Fuck you.” I once again put my chin to my the upper palm of my hand and just savor the feeling of the tattoo being permanently etched to my bare skin. “You should get a tattoo of a daffodil on your arm. It’ll make you real man.” I would’ve really like to have said, don’t you wish you could place a tattoo on an organ you don’t possess. But I didn’t.

“Didn’t I tell you I already have a Pokeman on my ass.”
I roll my eyes at his corniness. “If you really want a tattoo on your ass, you should get the Titantic so that when you bend, you can see what happened to the ship after it got hit by the glacier.”
“You’re sick Parker.”
“I know.” Don’t I know it.

“Aren’t your parents going to flip out?”

“My dad and my brother won’t flip out.” I was just hinting to him that I don’t have parents. I just have my dad, and he’s not just a parent. He’s a lifeline along with Michael. “I want to die knowing I did something daring.”

“Yeah, but in like 70 years, you’ll regret it.”

I’m silent as I take in what he said. I wonder what it would be like if I wasn’t going to die of cancer. I wonder where I’ll be if I lived to be like 88 years old. Would I have grandchildren to tell them my tattoo tale or those sibling hair fights with Michael? Or tell them the bee fear Michael has? And that stinging feeling returns as I feel the hollowness that is building up inside. Can you believe that the tattoo is not as painful as what I just felt from his statement? I just want to get rid of that feeling; I want to forget about that feeling and just be…content for once.

“Ok, just wear loose clothing or like the tank you have on now to let it breathe for about two weeks and then come back if there’s any sort of problem.”

I nod as I head over to the mirror. I twist my head and there in its small and shining glory is my favorite cartoon character—a smiling Calvin.
**

“Told you, you would have fun.”

“I did surprisingly.”

We’re just sitting at a bench as the crowd begins to die down. He has that big ass dinosaur on his side, while I have the panda on my lap. Can you picture how weird we must look? It’s really not that difficult.

I’m now simply staring up at the night sky. It’s odd but I never looked up at the night sky since I was a kid. Michael and I were outside playing catch till dusk and we were so tired that we lay on the grass with the top of our heads touching each other with out hands behind out heads and our worn out untied sneakers bouncing back and forth. That was when I was ok. That was when Mom was still alive. That was when Dad was happy. That was before I began to hate the world. And that night, when things were ok, I took in the natural order of the sky, the beauty of it. Have you ever looked up at the sky and just wanted to soar right through it and forget about everything? Just simply watching the sky during our innocence was even better than a movie. It made you think. It made you think how big everything is compared to your own little life. It’s like Macbeth. You are simply passing through a miniscule part in the stage of life. It’s like you make up only a mini-second of eternity. How fate, such a big, untouchable thing could actually control your life? It is simply an invisible string that someone is constantly tending to. If there was free will, I wouldn’t be sick. No one would be sick, but this world was meant for certain things to happen to each person and I was meant to be sick. I’m jealous. I’m jealous of my younger self.
That night Michael said to me, “Make a wish Lizzie.”
I closed my eyes and I made a wish and so did he.
You know what my wish was? That everything would be perfect like that very moment.

It didn’t come true.

“Beautiful night, huh?” he asks as I feel his eyes roaming my emotionless face and pained eyes.

“No.” I get up from the bench and I begin to walk away. “I’m ready to go home now.”



[ edited 1 time(s), last at 24-Jan-2002 10:21:02 PM ]
posted on 16-Feb-2002 9:48:27 PM by Ambrosia337
This part is choppy, but I'm trying to get to a major storyline that will combine everything together.
Tell me what you think because I care about what you guys think.
Also, just to make clear, it's AU. No aliens and don't think of Jeff Parker as the one on the show. He's more of a tough, hippie kinda guy.





*13*
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah I’m fine. Gotta go home now. Me gusto mi casa. See ya.” See when I’m a little uncomfortable, I babble in cracked Spanish.
Dickless Max grabs hold of my arm at the elbow area. See if it was anyone, I mean anyone except Dad, Michael or Maria who grabs my arm (or even touched me) like that I would’ve sucker punched the person at the nose so it would go right to the brain, but I don’t. Note: Something I’ve neglected to tell all of you is that I’m a black belt in kung fu. I didn’t want to brag. I stopped a long time ago. I couldn’t handle the physical and mental part of the activity anymore. Maybe I’ll turn to Tai Chi.

For some reason I don’t hit him, slap him silly, break his neck with a martial arts move or yell at him for touching me. Somebody should do all those things to me now for not doing them to Dickless Evans.

“You can talk to me if something’s wrong. We’re buddies right?”
Right now, I’m too tired and depressed to actually laugh at the absurdity of that statement. B-U-D-S
What I really need now is to get away from him.
“I’m tired.”
With that, I head up to my apartment building.
The sad thing is that the last thing I see isn’t Dickless Evans, or the stars, it’s the hospital lights down the block and the ambulance sounds hurrying for its next patient.
Soon….

**
I creep into Michael and Dad’s room after not being able to sleep for over 2 hours. Of course when I get to Michael’s side of the room I trip over some rubber thing, I think.
I place my hand lightly over Michael’s shoulder.
He stirs.
I shake him up a little bit more to try and wake him up.
This time I’m shaking and pinching him.
“Michael, are you awake?”
“Yeah, no thanks to you.”
“Good.”
“What do you want?”
“We should play catch?”
“Are you mad? You want to play catch now?”
“No. I’m just saying we should one day. You know, soon like we did when we were little.”
“Sure Lizzie, now go back to sleep.”
I smile. I know he’s only half asleep, but somehow I feel better. Even better than having that tattoo imprinted on my back.
**

Next Morning
“Hey Michael, check this out,” I say in gross enthusiasm when I enter the bathroom to see him brushing his teeth in a really sloppy, nasty way. It’s just so gross when you hear the dripping, gargling and slobbering of toothpaste in one’s mouth. It’s even more gross to see the speckles of toothpaste target the mirrors.

“Wlhaft?” In the English language, it translates into the word what.
I turn around and reveal my brand new spanking tattoo to him. I still hear him brushing his teeth.
“So what do you think?”
He turns back around and spits into the sink. “I think it’s great you know how to use those washable tattoos. Now you’re all grown up Lizzie.”
“Since when do tattoos cost $45?”
Silence.
More silence.
Unfortunately for Michael, it takes him a while to understand concepts and how they form.
“Shit, Liz, you got a tattoo!”
“Ye---“
“I can’t believe you. How could you get one without me?”

**

Ok, so I didn’t expect him to pout and whine like a 5 year old boy who just lost his train set. All I keep hearing is that now he won’t be able to get a tattoo, because Dad would definitely butcher him to death. So in order to get me back, Michael must be the one to spill the news about my tattoo.

“Liz got a tattoo. And it’s permanent,” he announces in a clear and precise manner as we enter into the teeny kitchen/living room/dining room.
Dad turns around to face me. I see steam coming up from his body, but I then realize it’s only the pancakes’ steam coming from the hot pan.
I can’t tell what he’s actually going to do to me. My dad can be really twisted in his own funny way. That’s what makes it scary. He was always the cool one, the one who hung out with cool people with dangling joints from their mouths, the one who knew the ins and outs of what constitutes a prank. I on the other hand, his own flesh and blood am a dork with a tattoo of a dork.
He’s approaching me with his spatula. I’m definitely sliding towards the “uh-oh-fuck” reaction.
“Let me see it.”
Michael snorts at his accomplishment.
I turn around.
“Calvin… I see.”
Silence.
This silence is different from Michael’s. Dad’s more sneaky, and tricky. He’s actually thinking of a counteract instead of using the silence to actually understand what I just said or did.

The continued silence, besides the heavy breathing begins to make me a teeny bit nervous.
“Dad? Look.”
“Quiet honey. Daddy’s thinking,” Dad says in a very calm, yet authoritative way. When’s he like that you simply shut the hell up.
“Yeah, shut up Liz. Dad’s thinking.” I throw Michael a glare that was intended to throw bullets at him.
Dad walks back to the stove and puts his spatula down. Good sign, good sign. I continue to chant that mantra. He takes off his “Neatest PAPA Chef” apron and he says, “You’re not the only wild one in this family.”

I have no idea where this is going. I turn to look at Michael and we give each other long stares, and not surprisingly enough, he is as clueless as he can ever be.

Before I turn back around, I hear Michael screaming. I mean screaming like a girl. For a split second, I am taken back to the days when he screamed and flung his hands like a girl over a bee.

I turn back around to face my Dad, but I’m not exactly facing my Dad unfortunately.

“Wh---the fu-- …holy….Oh my god Dad. What are you doing?” My hands are over my eyes.
I hear Michael screaming as he is running back into his room.
And I’m left in the room with my Dad’s wide-ass grin.
He goes back to his cooking and he says, “Nice tattoo honey. Next time we should go together.”
I am definitely not eating what he is cooking now.
Why?
Because I have lost my appetite, and this time it’s not because of my illness.
**
“He did what?” Maria asked in shock as we walked to our lockers.
“He mooned us to show us his tattoo of Gene Simmons from Kiss on his left ass cheek. I mean you know what that guy is famous for.”
“I guess people can kiss his ass now huh?” Maria joked as she was still laughing hysterically over the tattoo and over her wonderfully formulated pun.
“Well, we have some corny jokes today huh?”
“Come on, it’s funny. How many times do you hear one’s own father mooning their kids as punishment.”
”Not many, but I guess fathers who just came out of mental institutions find entertaining ways to do so.”
“How did Michael act?”
Now this is a better turn of the conversation.
“You can ask him yourself unless he lost his voice. He’s coming this way,” I say with a smile.
“Hey Michael, heard what happened. Sorry.”
Michael is definitely pale. A ghastly pale with a tint of pink. It’s a wonderful shade for Michael. I wonder why his hands are over his stomach.
“Michael, big brother, are you ok?” I pat him on the shoulder. “If not, you can scream like a girl if you want.”
I guess these death glares are genetically inherited.
“Or not.” I say to get him to back off with the glare.
“If you didn’t get a tattoo with that Max Evans, then we wouldn’t have to be traumatized like this.”
Shit.
Bring up Dickless Evans now. I was going to mention it to Maria, but the whole Dad-has-a- tattoo- on- his ass just kinda made me forget everything else.
“Evans?” Maria inquires in a playful tone.
Michael snorts, “Yeah she and Evans did the nookie last night and got matching tattoos.”
”Liz, you naughty girl, I didn’t know you had it in you. Let me see what you got?”
I turn around and push down my jacket to show her my tattoo.
“You wild girl, I knew we would get along.”
“See, see what this Evans is doing to all of us. To you,” Michael laments over this non-existing relationship he thinks we have.
“Michael, Evans isn’t doing anything to us. I already have a tattoo.”
Well this is nice. Maria has a tattoo as well. This is just a tattoo galore holiday.
“What? You do? Am I the only one without a tattoo on this planet? What is it? How come I don’t know about it?” Michael asks in sudden confusion and somewhat jealousy. That’s how male babbling sounds likes. I guess the fact that the girls have a tattoo and he doesn’t makes him seem less of an artistic man. Artsy guys are so passé.
“You haven’t seen it yet because you didn’t hit a home run yet.”
“MARIA!” I yell in horror as I slap my hand over my eyes. It’s like I just walked in on them having some carnal fun or something. That’s as blinding as seeing my Dad’s tattoo.

And Maria calls me the wild one.
I turn my head to look at Michael immediately. He has his mouth wide, wide, wide open.
I turn back to look at Maria. She has her mouth in a very, very, very sly grin.
I just better make sure I never, ever, ever, ever lose my bio book in the Eraser Room EVER again.
**
My only opinion of the local library: it smells.
I love it.
It smells like books from the 1800’s. I would’ve stayed long, but I’m running a teeny bit late, but Kathy won’t mind. She’ll be happy I bought her some guilty food that consists of cheeseburgers with bacon and onion rings. Somehow we have formed this sorta mother-daughter bond. I don’t tell her anything, but she does and I listen. Somehow listening to other people’s problems makes me forget my own. It’s my knack for psychology, I guess. I keep everything in, and allow people to let everything out of their unconscious.

I lose track of my concentration when I notice something following me from the corner of my eye.
I’m ready to start running and throwing stuff at the moving vehicle. Master Chan has taught me to master the fighting position in emergencies.
I whip my head and notice a bemused Dickless Evans.
“Do you need a lift?” He says loudly.
“How long have you been following me?” I say in a loud and suspicious voice.
“What makes you think I’m following you?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that I happen to bump into you wherever I go and that you are driving about 2 miles an hour”
“What can I say, I’m a safe driver.”
”Sorry then I like those wild, speedy ticket type drivers.”
“I can be that too. My glove compartment has about 100 unpaid tickets.”
“I’m against cars. They pollute the environment, so I’m going to walk.” I just really want to scream, stop stalking me. But that would be too conceited.
“Wait.”
“What?! I’m going to be late for work and if I’m late for work, you will pay for the lost time, plus interest.”
He double-parks his car and head over my way and stares at me. “Do you still hate me or something? I thought we had fun last night.”
I roll my eyes. Not this again. “We are BUDS, alright. Now I gotta go.”
The funny thing is that the more I say it, the more I begin to believe it’s true.
And the scary thing: I’m not that annoyed anymore.
**
As I’m walking to YIH for another entertaining day at work and trying to forget today’s exciting events, no more than a block away I notice an ambulance parked in front of the organization. My breathing becomes short paced for some reason. Ambulance lights have this effect on me since I was little. It literally means death to me. The lights are like a rude awakening that life is not a dress rehearsal. Things happen. People die.
As I walk faster to the building, I notice two paramedics heading back into the ambulance, but I don’t see who they are wheeling into the car.
I notice all my other co-workers and many of the kids clutched together with shock and panic on their face as they watch the paramedics shut the back door and wheel away with that death piercing, god-awful siren.
A small crowd has formed as people have exited their original designations to take a glance.
I notice that all my coworkers are there except Kathy, my supervisor—a person who I have become to see as a mother to me within this short period of time.
And at this moment, this question is running through my head. Why is this happening again?



[ edited 1 time(s), last at 16-Feb-2002 9:54:30 PM ]
posted on 16-Mar-2002 1:00:54 AM by Ambrosia337
Part 14

Hospitals have this smell. You know that smell. It’s the kinda smell where you just want to hold your breath until you turn purplish-blue.

I hate hospitals.

They are my worse enemies. I have simply spent too much time in hospitals. You know something is wrong in your life if you know every orderly, nurse, doctor and interns. And you know you’ve spent too much when you’ve made over a thousand balloons out of latex gloves for fun.

I try to calm my body from the hospital smell and the sight of dry blood as I wait for word on Kathy.

I’m sitting here along with a few of my co-workers. It’s funny because they still have their staff ID’s on from work. The pictures have silly, goofy grins on them. What a contrast that is right now.

Suddenly the doctor comes out and he explains to us what’s wrong. Something, heart, cholesterol, etc.etc.etc.

I only care about one thing.

That she isn’t dead.

Let’s just get it straight.

She isn’t dead.
She isn’t dead.

I begin to feel better now.

“Can we go see her?” my boss asks.

“Sure, but not too long. She needs some rest.”

I begin to sway back a little.

The last time I had to go into room in a group like this, it didn’t end up well. Despite the fact that she’s ok, this whole context is just to frighteningly familiar and the fact that one day, I’ll be on the other end isn’t making me feel any chipper.

“Liz, where are you going?”

“I…uh…um…have to go…” Where do I have to go? “Home. My brother is probably waiting for…uh…me.” Good one. “Tell Kathy I’ll stop by later to see her.”

And then I sprint like a kangeroo out of the hospital for some fresh air.

Once that fresh air hit my lungs, I suddenly realize a few things.

One, I’m a complete fool and jackass. I’ve been buying her fast food when I go to work. Fries, chicken, red meat. I’ve been killing her as I help her at work. Way to go Liz.

But wait…

Maybe if I wasn’t late for work today, I could’ve helped her. I know CPR. I know first aid.
But I was extra late because….

Of

Dickless
Max Evans.

The fucking jackass of all jackasses.

The one who refuses to leave me alone.

The one who continues to fuck up my life more than it is already.

And I realize that I do have to go somewhere, and it isn’t home.

I grab my cellphone and dial the operator.

And I am positive that this town has only one last name per family. It’s that damn small.

I’m going to pay a little visit to Dickless Evan’s home.
**

You can smell the cheesiness in this brick house.

You can hear the retardedness in the long jingle of the doorbell.

I wait and wait.

And I’m getting pissed off by the second.
It figures, just when you need to see the damn guy, he isn’t there and when you don’t want to be near him he’s like a dog on a leash.

As I turn around, I hear the door open.

“Liz?”

I turn around to face Max, who looks disleveled and uncomfortable as he tries to straighten up his appearance. But he looks relieved as well.

“What are you doing here?”

He shuts the door behind him, like he’s hiding something.

I remain silent as I study him. I begin to scrutinize him for some reason.

“How did you find out where I lived?”

As I study him more, his concern seems to peek towards me. I try to ignore it. I hate this guy. I hate this guy.

So I turn around.

“Wait.”

I feel his hand grab my arm. This time I do get quite violent. I twist out of his grip in a treacherous way and start my yelling.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone? Everywhere I turn, you’re there. Why do you always have to follow me? Why can’t you find someone else’s life to fucking ruin?”

“What the hell are you talking about? How am I ruining your life?”

“Forget it. It’s just what I thought. Selfish as ever. Always thinking of yourself only.”

Suddenly his face turns into anger and I study this as well in a very scientific way. I’m just not believing how I’m getting him so pissed off over something I said.

“I can’t believe this, you come to my house and call me fucking selfish?? How can I be selfish if I’m always thinking about you?”

Ummm…..what the fuck is he talking about?

Shit.

Shit.

This is not going the way I thought it would go.

“Max? What’s going on?”

The door to his front door begins to open and long and behold, his girlfriend, appears looking disleveled as well.

Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s been going on.

I’m through here.

And I’m just going to ignore his last comment and go on with the rest of my short life.

“Like I said…selfish.”

And I turn to leave.

And I can’t deny the fact that I feel hurt.

I actually feel like crying and I just don’t know why.

posted on 23-Mar-2002 6:34:50 PM by Ambrosia337
Story is winding down to an end, if I can get there.



Part 15

Flush # 5

I have been throwing up for the past….oh…hour or so after I came home from that uneventful…event.

This time… I’m throwing up in a very vocal way with tears in my eyes.

I’m choking.

I can’t tell what’s going on anymore. Whether it’s the cancer that’s doing this me or just the emotional pain, it just really sucks.

“Oh my god.”

Who the hell was that?

I push my hair to my side and move my face from the toilet bowl and see a shocked Maria. I didn’t even hear them come in.

The words shit, shit, shit, goes through my head again.

“Hey Maria. I had some bad fish again. You know those fish. They’ll try to swim out of you.” Before I can continue with my lame charade I rapidly turn my head to the bowl again.

This time Michael comes by my side once again and pushes my hair back and moves his hand up and down on my back.

Once I’m done, Michael flushes the toilet.

Flush # 6.

I have my eyes closed to just relish in the fact that nothing seems to want to come up right now.

“Are you ok, Liz?” Maria asks in a very concerned voice.

I open my eyes to face her. “Yeah, totally. Just have to lay off of those fish sandwiches.” I wish I can lay off of that god damn medication.

Maria comes forward and kneels with Michael and I.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

I don’t think she believes me.

“She’s sick Maria.” Michael takes a deep breath, like he’s never said the word before. “Cancer.”

Maria takes a sharp intake of breath.

I wipe my face with a cloth that Michael hands over to me—the tears, the vomit, everything is getting wiped away from my pale face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The odd thing is she’s not directing the question to me, but to Michael.

Silence.

“Because it hurts too much for me to.”

I look at Michael.

This is the first time I see a raw sadness in his face.

I turn and look at Maria.

I see the same thing.

And we all have these faces on as we sit on the floor of my bathroom.

We just need some Nirvana music and we’re all set.

**

That night, I creep by Michael’s room and overhear him on the phone talking with Maria.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t. It’s what I need right now.”

Click.

I watch enough TV to know something’s not right with that conversation.

I open the door and walk in. “What were you two talking about?”

He looks stunned. “How long have you been standing there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t count the seconds. So what was going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me refresh your memory. I’m sorry, I just can’t. It’s what I need right now. It sounds like you were breaking up with Maria.”

“Look, just stay out of this, ok?”

“Maria is my friend, and if you hurt her, I swear Michael, I know how to hurt you back.”

He interrupts my threat.

“I love her too much.”

What?

That sounded weird and awkward coming from your own sibling.

Especially knowing someone for such a short time.
Maybe she is the one then.

“You broke up with her because you love her too much?”
He must be fucking retarded.

“I can’t get too close. It’s just that I can’t handle it anymore. When mom died, it hurt a lot. And now your health is not improving and I need to be there for you. I don’t want to lose you. And Maria. I’m just too afraid to get close to her, because it scares me how much I love her. And every person that is close to me leaves. It hurts me too much.”

His emotional babbling is shocking me.

But this shocks me the most.

He starts crying as he lays his head into the palms of his hands.

He is finally letting out all the frustration he has felt for a while.

I don’t really know how to act. I mean you probably understand me if you have a brother. You don’t really know how to get all touchy feely about our emotions, when we usually keep it all bottled in.

I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but if it means comforting my brother and allowing him to be with the one he loves, I’ll lie. The thing is he finds my words true sometimes, well most of the times.

“If you love Maria that much, don’t let go or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. And yes, my health may not be improving, but it will. I know it. I can feel it. I know it because I have you and Dad with me and that’s what’s going to make me better. You’ll never lose me and you’ll never lose Maria. But if you let go now, you will lose her.”

As I say this, it’s like I should be saying this to me.

I hate when that happens.

You know what I mean. You start giving advice to others, when you should be following it yourself.

As I say this to Michael, I replay what happened today.

I feel that hurt, that pain rising again.

“You’re right. I can’t lose her now. I need her.”

As he says that, the first thing that came to my mind was Max.

What makes it more frightening is that I didn’t call him Dickless Max in my head.

I called him Max.


[ edited 2 time(s), last at 23-Mar-2002 9:49:32 PM ]
posted on 6-Apr-2002 10:42:42 PM by Ambrosia337
lixmix: WOW

Part 16

“Thank you.”

I turn around from my locker to see Maria.

It looks like she’s been crying every second all week, but she has a smile.

I guess Michael and her had a long talk.
And it only took him a week.
And during that week, we’ve all managed to just live in our own little hole, being able to ignore one another at school.

“For what?”

“For letting him not give up on us.”

I nod, trying not to let my emotions show. “Just take care of him.”

“Liz…don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“I know it in my heart you’ll get better. And I always get my way.”

I smile. “I can see that, especially with an undisclosed tattoo somewhere.”

We chuckle.

“Just promise me never to hurt him.”

She looks me straight in the eye. “I promise, as long as you promise to always be there for me.”

This girl is just too amazing sometimes, even with all the piercings. I mean other people would’ve probably dumped me like that or clung to me like I was completely helpless and useless. “Deal.”
In my head, I can’t help but cross my fingers. How can I promise something that is between the handlers of life and death.

“Before I talked to Michael, something else did cheer me up.”

“What?” I say before I take a gulp of my Poland Spring water.

“Well I wasn’t the only girl getting dumped.”

“What are you talking about?” Since when do I care about gossip about a school I barely know?
I guess there’s always a time to start.

“I was in the bathroom doing my own healing technique when I heard some girls comfort the one and only sobbing Tess. Apparently Dickless Max broke up with her. Must have been something in the water.”

All of the water escapes my mouth in one splash and splatters all over my books in the locker and I begin choking and wiping my mouth clean from all the water.

“Oh my god, Liz are you ok?”

“Yeah, fine. Furball.”

“Are you sure?”

“Maria, stop worrying about me. I’m fine. You’ll know something is wrong when you see green stuff come out of my ears and mouth.”

“Good to know.”

So besides getting my emotions in check. And besides feeling a twinge when Maria referred to him as Dickless Max rather than Max. And besides the feeling of Max no longer being with Tess.

I’m just stuck between a stone and a “besides.”

I can’t understand why this is bothering me.

Max, Max, Max.

It’s just a name without a “Dickless” in front of it.

Why is it bugging the shit out of me?

“Well, I guess they’ll both find other bitches to attach themselves to.” Maria says nonchalantly with a snort. I believe she stays on the Jerry Springer show too long when she channel surfs.

“Right.”

It’s definitely not good that I said that with less than self-confidence.

Definitely not good.

And what do I do? Take a gulp of water and hoping to god it stays inside my mouth this time.
**

I’m headed to Kathy’s before I head to work. I brought over some health granola bars and a big salad for her. Gotta be healthy. Don’t want anything to happen to her.

“So how’s work without me there?”

“Quiet. But Sam’s still farting, so there’s some noise going around.” I’m not saying it with my usual charming self.

“What’s the matter?” She says as she brings me some tea and cake.

“Nothing.”

“Listen, honey I may not know you for long, but I can read expressions. I’ve been reading them for over fifty years. Spit it out or I’ll show you my paper clip trick again.”

I contort my face a little. How can I explain things to her when I don’t even know what they are yet?

“It must be about a boy.”

“What? No.”

She smiles knowingly.

“Maybe.”

“Max.”

“No.”

She smiles knowingly again.

“Maybe.”

Drink more tea. “Do you have any coffee?” Need caffeine and sugar.

“Ask him out. He seems like a nice boy. Muscles. Lots of it too.” Yeah, lodged in his head.

That’s Kathy for you though. Muscles and paper clips.

“I don’t like him.”

She smiles knowingly.

Oh god.
Oh god.
Oh god.

“I do like him.”

How does she do that?
**

As I walk to work, this runs through my mind:

I like him, I like him.

At work this runs though my mind:

I like him, I like him.

And unfortunately I have not been able to convince myself otherwise of that when I come face to face with Max outside of YIH.

We stand at a considerable distance from each other.

“Hey.”

“Umm...hey.”

“You’re right.”

“I am?” What is he talking about? “I am.” Who cares? You take the acknowledgement.

“I am selfish.”

I nod.

“Only for you.”

I shake my head. My head hurts. “Stop it Max. Stop it.” The sound of his name rolling off my mouth was too natural. It even seemed right the way it felt to say his name. Saying his name for the first time…felt right. Gotta get outta here.

“I can’t. I am selfish when it comes to you. I just want you for myself.”

“Look, I know a really good mental institution in Arizona. They can help you. They helped me.”

“Why can’t you stop denying the fact that I like you…a lot and that I can’t stop thinking about you?”

“You’re scaring me. You should just go.”

“I’m scaring you? I’ve never felt this way before and it’s terrifying me. That’s how much of an effect you have on me.”

“I better go. My Dad is home early today, he’s expecting me.” I say quietly as I walk towards and away from him.

“No.”

He grabs me fiercely and before I can even react, he smashes his mouth into mine as I drop my bag onto the floor.

And I can’t hear or see anything for that moment as holds me tightly with his arms around me and our lips grind and mesh against each other. He has complete control and power over me as he continues to pull my head into lips. It’s like our nerves are attached to one another.

Just feelings.

Sensations.

New movements.

When I realize what’s going on, my eyes pop open and I try to break free from him, but he continues to pull me back into his arms.

No.

I can’t let this happen.

And I use my buried hands to shove him away (kung fu style) and I punch him right across his left cheek. You could hear the wind passing through that whack. Muscles wheezing out of his original position.

I watch his reaction in complete shock as he puts his hand across his face and I look at my shaking hand that just whacked him.
Ummm….

Oh fuck!

Damn, damn, damn. Holy shit. I AM so screwed. And I am reminded of a phrase I heard from some perv: You got screwed without any lubrication.

“Liz…” He’s not angry; instead there’s choked out desperation in his voice. I will use this to my defense.

I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. “You are such a fucking, crazy bastard. You had no right to do that. You don’t even know me and you think you like me?”

“I do know you and I know how you feel. You’re just as scared as I am. You’re afraid of losing people close to you, just as I am.”

He hit the marker. I can hear the advice I gave Michael about Maria. Why did he have to go there?

My lips are quavering and my ears become watery. And my nose is stingy; it’s ready to pour a river out.

“We can never be. You don’t want to get involved with me Max. You just don’t.”

“Yes I do. It’s what I want.”

“That fear is clouding your judgment. You don’t know what you want. But I do know that it isn’t me that you want.”

“All I want is you.”

“Then let go of that want Max.”

“I care about you too much to let go that easily.”

“Max…” And I tell him the darn honest truth. “It can never last.”



[ edited 3 time(s), last at 6-Apr-2002 11:14:58 PM ]
posted on 25-May-2002 9:24:16 PM by Ambrosia337
sorry for the looong delay. thanks for the bumps lixmix and lilevee. hope this part doesn't suck as much as I think it does. tell me how I did.



Part 17

“Hey honey you hungry?”

“No.”

“Baked ziti, extra cheese?”

“No.”

“Fruit?”

“No.”

“What’s the m---“

Slam.

And I remain in my room for god knows how long, just sitting at the edge of my bed, staring out at the window towards the next building.

I haven’t moved.

Besides, the heaving of my chest and the constant blinking, I haven’t moved from my position.

But now, I decide to move.

I kneel down and reach under my bed for a shoebox. I pick it up and sit back down at the same position and place it on my lap.

Blow some of the dust off.

And I open it.

I look through each item, like it’s something sacred.

And I didn’t even hear my dad come in and sit next to me until he touches my shoulder.

I flinch---a little. He doesn’t notice.

“That’s when you started walking on your own and your mother wanted me to take a picture of you walking towards her.”

I nod.

I nod and I cry a little.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do know.”

I wipe some of my tears away with the palm of my hand.

“I can’t remember her. I can’t remember my own mother.”

My father stares at me, stunned. “Where is this coming from?”

God, I am just so fucking frustrated.

“From everything, dad. Just everything. God, Dad, you just can’t keep denying it anymore. Michael isn’t, why do you have to?”

“I’m not denying anything.”

“Wake up Dad. Look at me. I’m not just physically sick anymore. I can’t handle this emotionally anymore. I’m stuck in this cycle of depression. I just can’t. I just….can’t.” I manage to squeeze in the few words as I try to stop myself from hyperventilating. I hate having no control over my emotions.

“What are you talking about?”

I am scaring the shit out of my father with this outburst.
But I can’t hold it in anymore. Everything is just hitting me all at once like a ton of bricks.

“I’m talking about the fact that I know I’m dying, yet I don’t want to. I just can’t yet. I am so afraid of dying, because I’ll end up just like mom. Just plain forgotten. This isn’t fair. I’m just learning how to live and my life is being taken away.”

“Does this have something to do with Max? Did he do something to make you act this way?”

I look at him, dumbfounded and just plain shocked written all over my face. “You are fucking kidding me.”

And it was like I lost seconds of my life when I felt a rough hand reach across my cheek and slammed it hard. “Don’t you use that language on me,” he says with a straight face and a stone cold voice.

Holy shit. My dad slapped me.

My dad slapped ME.

I get up with my hand on my cheek and face him with no emotion. I say in a nasty, seething type of voice, “At least it got your fucking attention.”
He’s silent as he stares back at me with the same emotionless face.
“I’m out of here.”

And I run out of the apartment.

I can still hear him yelling for me.
And I can still feel his anguish and denial for me.
If only he can feel my anguish.
**

“Maria?”

“Liz? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come up?”

“Sure.”

I climb up the ladder to Maria’s room.
I don’t know what is exactly going on, but I’m completely shaking and my eyes are still ready to pour.

“Are you ok?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Um…ok. Michael is downstairs. I’ll go get him.”

“NO!”

I startle her with my loud outburst.
I’m like a ticking time bomb today aren’t I?

“I mean no. I just can’t face him right now like this.”

“Can you keep me company for a while. I just really need a friend.”

Maria nods, but she doesn’t understand what’s going on with me.
My body is like deteriorating slowly every second and it’s making my brain go fucking haywire and my emotions are bubbling around in a cauldron.

“Ok, come on. Lets go into my room.”

I nod and I follow her through the window and she lets me lay on the bed. She pulls the covers over me and she lays over me stroking my hair. Who knew she had it in her to do this sort of comforting thing, especially with 5000 ear piercings.

“You can tell me what’s wrong.”

I remain silent as I sniffle here and there.

“I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I consider you my best friend and sister. We understand things at the same level. Hey, we both think Michael is a dork.”

I chuckle through my tears.

I calm down and I say, “I had a huge fight with my dad.” I decide not to tell her about my dad giving me the hand whip. The only person I need to confront about that is my father.

“About what?”

“About me. About my impending, doomed death that he openly still tries to deny.”

Maria is quiet.
She’s quiet because she wants me to think about what has happened.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m falling apart.”

“No you’re not. You have me. I’ll be by your side the whole time, whether you like it or not.”

I trust her. And I know she’ll keep her word. But it’s me I’m worried about. I won’t be able to let go.

And just out of nowhere, I tell her about Max.

“My dad said it was Max’s fault for my behavior.”

“He did?” She doesn’t sound shocked.

“He kissed me.”

“Uh uh.”

“I punched him.”

“I’m so proud of you.” I hear that hint of comic relief.

I continue. “What he did…I never felt that way before and it hit me, I may never have it and he had to do it.”

Maria says, “It’s called love.”

“I don’t care what it’s called, it’s causing me pain. It’s something that’ll never last in this lifetime. And he just had to do it. He couldn’t leave it alone.”

“Love only comes around once,” Maria says.

“Yeah, now all that anger I felt about this whole thing, I put it on my dad. And now…I just don’t know how to fix it.”

I just let it all out. “What Max did to me, he made me feel all this pain again and it hurts so much.”

BANG!

I lift my body up to turn around to see who it is. Maria turns around as well from the noise.

We both see a really pissed off Michael who must have punched the shit out of the wall in front of him.

“Michael?”

“He’s fucking dead.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. He heard the whole thing.

“No, Michael, don’t do anything. You don’t understand.”

“Like hell I don’t. He’s dead.”

When he’s angry and on his extreme side of overprotectiveness, there’s no going back.

And before we can say anything or even stop him from doing something stupid, he runs away and we both know what’s coming next and it won’t be pretty for any of us.



[ edited 1 time(s), last at 25-May-2002 9:26:45 PM ]
posted on 5-Jun-2002 8:45:25 PM by Ambrosia337
Thanks for the fb.


Part 18

10 years ago

“Come on Lizzie. What’s the matter, don’t have your mommy to protect you?”

“Shut up.”

“Or what? Whatcha gonna do loser? Call your mother from the ground?”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

“Make me.”

I did.

I punched the fucking loser square on the face and made him shout for HIS mommy.

I watched the guy fall to the ground and look at the blood on his tiny, chubby hands.

I was hypnotized by the whole scenario until Michael snapped me out of it.

“Come on Lizzie, we gotta go. Come on, hurry.”

And he led me away, snapping me from my paralytic state.

And with that we ran and ran like Forest Gump.
And with no more energy left in me, I stopped and ran into some alleyway and crouched beside a dumpster.

And I cried and cried, not knowing what was happening to me. It was a feeling of being alone in such a big world where nothing was going as planned.

Even Michael knew not to interrupt me.

He had his own grieving to do.

I remember how I was a complete outsider and a geek. I was made fun of all the time, but I didn’t care. It was child’s play. I had Michael and I had my parents.

Things however became worse when my mother died.

It wasn’t child’s play anymore---at least for me.

I became secluded.

Depressed.

The more they made fun of me, the more I went inside to my head and away from the outside world.

And even Michael alone couldn’t get me out of there.
**

“Come on Maria, we have to fucking hurry up.”

“Ok, I can’t really run that fast. I drive everywhere…so running, it’s a bit of an issue.”

“We have to get to Max’s house, that’s the only logical place he’ll find him.”

“And how the hell does Michael know where he lives?”

“He probably rifled through my stuff and found his address in my address book,” I say it like it’s so obvious.

“You do love him.”

I turn around to Maria for a split second through the running and give her the middle finger.

“Bitch,” she says breathlessly.

“Fuck, Maria we don’t have time. Run faster.” It’s funny I’m telling her to run faster, I’m not running so fast either with the little strength I have. We probably passed like 5 houses in 10 minutes.

I hear Maria mumble through the midst of all this. “Of all days, mom had to drive to blah blah blah.”

I really don’t know what’s happening here.

Am I saving Max or am I saving Michael?
Or both.
Hell, maybe I’m just trying to save myself from any sort of mess before I’m gone.
I’m just sick of having this ill mentality.
I’m sick of being in my head all the time.
Finally, I’m in the outside world.
Because of Maria, Michael and…
Max.

And I can’t let go----yet.

As we run, we hear a loud car honk and a really loud annoying engine.

We stop and turn around and see the outrageously colorful van.

“Hey you guys need a ride?”

He must be an angel, I tell ya’ as I nod my head like a tireless idiot.

Maria looks like she’s about to hug him from where she is.

“Yes we do.”

And we climb into Brandon’s machine.

“Serious, Brando, I’m really glad you’re my brother at times like this,” Maria says through heavy pants of exhaustion as she pats him on the shoulder to sit in the back of his rusty old van.

So am I, so am I.

I just hope he doesn’t follow his policy on gradual and sudden movements.
**

“Oh shit, stop the car,” I yell.

He’s slowing down really, I mean really slowly. I finally lose my patience and jump out of the slow moving vehicle. I run across the street and I hear Maria not far behind me.

“Liz, wait.”

I hault and I feel Maria bump behind me. She grabs my arm to try to hold me back. I’m not disagreeing.

I let myself watch the scene unfold before us.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Stay away from my sister,” Michael yells right into Max’s face. Michael has Max’s collar wrapped around his burly fingers. “Do you hear?” Michael gives it a little shove.

Max remains silent.

Michael tightens his fingers around his collar and pulls him up closer to his face. “Come near her again, and you’ll be wishing you hadn’t.”

“Maybe she likes it when I come near her.”

Whoa. Max was must be out of his fucking right mind to rowdy up my brother up like that.

“You think you’re so funny.”

“I like to think of myself as a dramatic comic.”

I swear my mouth has dropped 5 ft to the ground right about now.
I have no understanding of what Max is doing at all.

That’s it. This is too much for me.

“Ok, guys, just stop. Michael, let’s just go home," I say squarely.

He completely ignores me of course. “What’s your obsession with Liz huh? What, she’s number 50 on your to do list.”

“Actually she’s number one on my list, the 50 other things will have to wait.” Max turns to look at me and I too look at him. It’s like I’m transfixed in his eyes.

Michael shakes his head and smirks in a nasty way. “You are really something, Max. I have no time for you. Just stay the fuck away from her.” And with that, Michael lets go of his collar and shoves him away.

I immediately snap out of my daze and walk towards Michael. I grab his arm gently and try to sway him away from any sort of real damage, but I continue to look at Max in an unfazing type of way. Maria too, immediately rushes over to Michael’s other side and nudges him away.

“Come on Michael, let’s go,” Maria whispers to him.

“You can’t protect her forever you know. She can think for herself,” Max says as we continue to walk away from him and towards the van.

“Come on Liz, why don’t you tell them how much you liked the kiss.”

Why won’t he shut the hell up?

“You can’t stop her if she wants to go farther, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s it!” Michael shoves both of us away and runs towards Max and punches him square on his face.

Shit.

What’s with all three of us Parkers today?

We just all feel like knocking people senseless today.

But this shocks me the most.

Max punches Michael back right across the right cheek so hard he falls to the ground.

It’s like watching a really weird slow motion high school flick full of drama and ketchup.

“Fuck!” Michael says in agony as he wipes some blood off his nose.

“Motherfucker,” Maria says really to no one, but probably aimed towards Max as she kneels towards Michael.

“Michael,” I say in horror with wide, unblinking eyes, but I’m looking intensely at Max.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” I turn around and I see Brandon watching this whole scene as well.

“Max.” We all look up to see Isabelle and Alex coming out of the house.

This is one big party.

I look towards Michael, then to Max and vice versa.

And I realize something not good.

They are not done.

And before we known it Michael is off the ground and lunging towards Max like a fucking tiger ready for its prey. Max is attacking back. Michael punches back. Max shoves back. You get the point.

“Guys, stop it!” Maria is helplessly trying to yell through all the grunts and cursing between the two guys.

I hear Isabelle screaming for them to stop as well.

I don’t even bother stopping them.

I watch them like two bugs on the street.
I get that same feeling as I did when I was sitting on a bench watching the ant scramble on the street, until the guy stomped on it.

That feeling of remorse.

It’s so strong and overwhelming.

I slowly step back farther away from them.

I stumble and fall down onto the floor right smack on my ass.

Everything is just so nauseatingly blurry now; things are getting so whirly like those big lollipops.

I see movements and I hear shouts, but they seem so distant now and…anonymous.

I rake my hair like a maniac and shut my eyes tight to get rid of all the chaos that is consuming me.

“Liz?”

Things suddenly got eerily silent.

“Oh my god Liz.”

And suddenly I got my wish.

I collapsed onto the ground and watched the ant up close before I let my eyelids close over the world around me.

“Call an ambulance.”

Finally…some peace at last.

posted on 20-Jun-2002 8:54:15 PM by Ambrosia337
bumping bought to you by lixmix. thanx.
I tried the best that I could with this part. sorry.

italics=dream

Part 19

“What the fu--?”

“Shhhh. You can’t say that word here.”

I turn around to the voice of a young child.

“Where am I?”

“I don’t know.”

I look around and I see a playground and a cliff about 20ft away.

“Okkk. Who are you?”

“I’m you.”

“Huh?”

She smiles widely. “I’m Liz.”

I look at her more closely as I bend down to be at eye level with her and I see myself. A younger version of me. A youthful, innocence face looks back at me and I’m compelled by it.

“Am I dead?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t want you to die.”

I seem a little taken by that.

She suddenly runs over to the playground and I get up to turn to where she runs to.

My mouth quavers a little when I see that she has run to the monkey bars to play with a little boy.

I walk slowly over to where they are happily playing.

“Hi Liz.”

I smile. “Hi Michael.”

I look around this area and realize it is getting dark. “It’s getting dark, shouldn’t you both get home?”

“Silly, we don’t have to go home. We want to play forever,” the younger Liz says.

I frown.

“I’m sorry Liz,” Michael says sincerely as he gets off a bar and holds my hand.

I tilt my head and ask, “What are you sorry for?”

“For hurting you.”

I remain silent as the sky becomes more painted in black, but the cliff is still as distinct as ever.

“I’m sorry too Liz.”

“And what are you sorry for?” I ask younger Liz.

“For hiding.”

I nod solemnly.

“I won’t hide anymore,” she says.

“Hide from what?” I ask.

“From being loved and being happy.” And with that she grabs Michael’s hand and runs to the swings laughing with exuberance.

“She’s right. Don’t hide anymore.”

I turn around and face the person that has changed my life and I realize we are at the amusement park and we are now sitting at the same bench.

“Don’t be afraid of it—of us.”

“I’m afraid of losing it.”

“You can’t.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at me. “I know.”

“How?”

“Because my heart is in it.”

I look at the ant that is crawling by my feet.

“I’m going to die.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

I look at him, but I don’t question it as he grabs my hand and holds it with his two hands and brings it to his mouth to kiss it.

He pulls me forward, while continuing to hold my hand and to his face. “I love you and I’ll do whatever I can to keep you by my side till we are old and own rocking chairs.”

He continues. “It’s up to you now.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

I look up and realize the sky has completely turned black.

Everybody and everything is gone.

I’m alone once again.

I stand up and walk towards look the cliff.
I look down and see a deep, dark hole.

I know what this is.

It’s my head.

It’s where I have been for most of my life.

I have to choose now.

Jump or come out from hiding and be with----the people I love.


**

“She’s waking up.”

“Shut up. Not so loud.”

“Liz?”

“Ugh.”

“Thank god.”

I crack open my eyes, but I can barely get my dry mouth open.

Things seem to clear up now and I see that Dad, Michael and Max are in front of my view.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital,” Michael says.

I realize I can barely move as well. I have like a billion tubes sticking up probably all over my body. I can hear beeping sounds monitoring my life.

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember you and Max beating the shit out of each other and I remember Dad slapping me.”

Shit. It must the drugs they gave me. It’s making me a—bitch.

They look at each other uncomfortably.

I may be sick, but I don’t forget my own anger.

“Honey, I’m---,” Dad wants to start this whole bonding as he tries to touch my arm. I flinch, along with my tubes.

I cut him off before I hear the whole sob story. I’m not ready yet. I have to take care of other things first. “It feels like all that just happened hours ago.”

“Liz…um…you’ve been in the hospital for 3 days.”

“Ok….then what the hell happened to me?”

“You collapsed on the street. The doctors said you body wasn’t reacting well to the medication so…”

Great news isn’t it?
Next thing you know, MC Hammer will be coming back with a comeback with baggier pants.

Fuck.

“So…”

Dad and Michael look at each other once again and then they turn back to me. For god’s sake, just tell me the fucking truth already. I deserve that much. Michael says,“So, the doctors are going to start some more serious treatments for you and they will definitely be…… ”

And they go on and on about the treatments I will be getting and the miracles they will perform, but most of it is blocked off.

A miracle isn’t what I need now.

What the fuck is the point anymore?

Everything is so pointless.
My whole family is falling apart with me tagging around.
I have tubes sticking in every hole and air pocket of my body.
I can barely talk without coughing up a mixture of items.

You know what I need?
What I need is---------

“Max.”

Dad and Michael turn around immediately when I say his name.

“I can believe that asshole is still here,” I hear Michael whisper fiercely to Dad.

Dad heads over to him and begins talking like those head schoolmasters without the stick. “Look, I know you mean well but we all like to be here alone at this time.”

“What he means is get the hell out of here.” There goes Michael for you.

I again stay out of it.
I can barely talk now anyway.
I just stare and stare at Max intensely.

And fragments of my dream come back to me piece by piece of Max and I sitting at a bench at the amusement park.

Choice.

I have to make a choice.

And I will.

I simply nod at Max to follow command and he leaves silently, but not before giving me a look. An exchange I seem to understand perfectly.

Dad and Michael seem completely satisfied as they turn back around to face me and my tubes.

“I’ll make sure he won’t bother you.” My Dad the once upon a time kinda great big protector who just happened to have slapped me.

I nod—doing the opposite of what I’m thinking.

And they continue on and on about how I’ll get better. It all just becomes this annoying drone I can’t get rid of.

And soon enough I doze off.

I don’t know for how long I was snoring away, but when I wake up in the dark I feel someone holding onto my hand.

“Hey,” he whispers as he lightly moves the hair away from my forehead.

“Hey,” I whisper back with all my might.

I knew he would be back.
I just knew it.

And I know I finally made a choice. My first step towards healing has finally come at this moment in the dark, in this hospital where I can either live or die.

My choice is to finally let love into my heart and not fear it, but to embrace it.

This will be my first step towards making mends from the growing invisible problems with my family.

This will be my first step towards conquering this disease that has spread through my body.

And he whispers back to me, “I’m sorry Liz. I’m so sorry.”
And he takes my hand and places it to his lips softly, like he’s trying to take away my pain so he can instead suffer.

I whisper back through my tears. “I know.”

“I love you.”

I whisper back to him, “I know.”

And I grip onto his hand with all the strength I can muster up.

Because…I love him too.

posted on 8-Jul-2002 7:42:52 PM by Ambrosia337
Part 20
I don’t know how long we stayed like that during the night, but it didn’t matter. We didn’t say a single word to each other.

So I finally break the silence. “Spam.”

He picks up his head to look at me through the darkness. “You break the loving, comfortable silence with meat in a can.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I was in the mood for Spam, that’s all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Then what’s really on your mind?”

“Look. I’m a big girl. Physically, it’s a different story. So don’t lie to me, ok? I can’t handle being lied to. Not now especially. And especially not from you.”

“Ok.”

“Am I going to die?”

“No.” It feels like déjà vu as he says that with such a commanding voice.

“Ok then, I believe you.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I promise.”

“On your leather coat and jeep.”

“On my leather coat and jeep.”

I take a deep breath and say this big secret I’ve been holding. “I’m scared of dying.”

“You don’t have to be, because you aren’t.”

“I know, but I just am.”

“Me too.”

The fact that he was afraid of this unknown, it was comforting. It was comforting to show this weakness. “Good.”

“Good.”

He continues after a moment of silence, “It would really suck if the other world didn’t have internet access.”

“Yeah and continuous play of Bette Midler.” I sigh at the notion. “Can I tell you something else?”

“Sure.”

“Promise you won’t get angry?”

“On behalf of my Starcraft computer game, I promise.”

Satisified, I tell him the inner joke between Maria and I. “Maria and I have been calling you Dickless Max.”

“Ummm…what?”

“Dickless Max. That’s what we---“

“I heard you. Why did you call me that?”

“Umm…because it was really funny…………At the time, I mean.”

“Would you like me to disprove your theory now or later?”

I’m silent as I think about later. I hope he can prove it later. It’s a weird type of hormonal thing going on. I whisper to him, “Later. Much later.”

“Promise?”

“Sure and you’ll get to see my kickin’ Xena underwear.”

“Cool.”

“Can I tell you something else?” I ask.

“Sure.”

“It’s not a secret, so you can tell anyone you like.”

“Ok, what is it?”

“I love you too.”

I can see him smile in the dark.
And that was comforting as well, to share this finally.
To just let go.
To know, I can live with practically no regrets as of now.

“Can I tell Michael first, you said that?”
I simply smile and get this feeling that everything will be ok.
**
Morning.

I’m fully awake as I watch Max sleeping with his head by my stomach. It’s like probably the worse position to be in when in sleep mode.

“How are you feeling today?” The nurse says as she comes in with different items.

“Better. Much better.”

“That’s good to hear honey. I’ll just put these by your desk. And I’ll just go through a quick overall checkup.”

I nod.

Once the nurse leaves, I shift a little to see what the stuff is.

I smile as I see the basket full of Spam with ribbons on them from Maria and a photo album of giddy clowns. I see who brought me that and I smirk when I realize it’s from Brandon.

I rummage through some more and find an envelope with my name on it.

I carefully open it, careful not to remove any tubes away from my body as well.

Liz,

I guess the one trait you got from me is the ability to hold emotions in. To be headstrong. It’s not always a good quality as I have learned. It has been so hard for me to see my little girl suffer through so much and I try to take it away everyday by making everyday----normal. Letting you live your life normal, through laughter, our family dinners and everything else that makes things so much more freer.

I live in denial, because I can’t ever stand the thought of losing you so, I go through the days with our laughter, family dinners like it was 10 years ago. It’s hard for me to let go of the things I love so much and when you came in and told me to realize what was happening to you, it meant letting go of what I held on dearly---you.

I snapped. I completely snapped from the mere fact of losing you and I never meant to hurt you in anyway. For the first time I was angry at the world for taking away your mother and now I have to see it happen again with my own daughter.

Please forgive your stupid father.

Love,
Dad

P.S. Please forgive your stupid brother as well.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

I look down to see a wide awake Max looking at me with confusion.
It may probably have to do with the fact that I’m practically crying---AGAIN.

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he brushes my hair gently.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you crying a river?”

“Well then I’m crying a happy river with little boats and reproducing fishies.”

“You are a really weird girl you know that, Liz Parker?” He says with a smile.

“I know. That’s why you love me.”

“Apparently I loved your T-shirts according to you.”

“Yeah well ---“ I stop what I’m saying as I see my Dad and Michael at the door looking like frightened kittens.

Max watches between us. He comes up to me and whispers. “I’ll see you later.”

“Ok.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” I can get used to saying that to him. I love him. I love him. I love him. Wow.

But before he goes, I grab his hand with spontaneity and push him towards me and I whisper, “Thank you.”

He smiles and heads to the front door but not before Max gives an evil smirk to Michael and Michael mutters something under his breath.

I too take a deep breath as I prepare myself for this emotional reunion with my family.

“Hey…………..Lizzie,” Michael says in a timid sort of way---and with that wide gap.

“Hey dork butt.”

Michael sighs in relief.

“You too Kiss Ass.”

Dad smiles as well.

“Oh my god, look at all that Spam,” Michael says with wide glowing eyes.

Yep, things will be ok.


posted on 8-Jul-2002 7:46:40 PM by Ambrosia337
edit

[ edited 1 time(s), last at 8-Jul-2002 9:28:08 PM ]
posted on 8-Jul-2002 9:30:38 PM by Ambrosia337
sorry for the double post. hope the part is ok.
posted on 26-Aug-2002 7:28:00 PM by Ambrosia337
Part 21---.

Elizabeth Parker
1983-2001
Left behind brother and father
Loved the sculpure of Spam and the world of Calvin & Hobbes
Left the world alone and bitter but glad



That was going to be on my tombstone. I know it’s long, but I would’ve wanted the whole thing on that tombstone. If I have to live there for eternity, might as well make it worthwhile.

That was morbid yes, but hey….

I was expecting to die.

I didn’t.

I was expecting to never meet someone.

I did.

I was expecting to have my blueberry cheesecake.

And I didn’t.

“You know I wanted blueberry cheesecake and you got me…what? Apple pie in cardboard?”

“I’m sorry, they didn’t have it downstairs. Look, how can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t know. I feel too angry and hungry right now.”

He begins to nudge me with his hand around my ticklish area.

“Do you want me to perform my splitting side kick and then bend your fingers backward and listen to you moan in agony?”

“Man that sounds hot.”

I smile at him. “You’re so fucking sick you know that?”

“Hey and then you can back me up against a wall and then you can tie…”

“Hey daddy.”

“Tie my shoelaces…because mine always gets loose. I’m thinking Velcro these days, definitely Velcro…Oh, hey Mr. Parker, I didn’t hear you come in.”

I so try not to burst out laughing. The look on his face was just too classic.

“Hey dad, what’s up?”

“How are you doing?” Dad says as he approaches me but not before giving an evil glare towards Max.

“Fine, just a little tired, and a little queasy, but better than expected.”
Of course, compared to the unbearable pain, my yelling, cursing, my falling off the bed out of weakness, I’m pretty snanzy right now.

I’m sure Max being here helps for the laughs of course.

“Well there are some people here to see you if you are up to it.”

“If it ain’t the cast of Saved by the Bell, please tell them to leave.”

“They bought Spam for you.”

“On second thought…”

“I’ll get them.”

“Fast…I’m starving.”

“How can you eat that stuff?” Max asks me.

“Very slowly to savor every piece of the aroma.”

“Gross.”

“This is coming from a person who will dig into a Skippy peanut butter jar with his whole hand and slowly lick it off.”

“Hey, it takes skill and it’s like peanut butter on a stick.”

“Who’s the sick one now?”

“Hey I can probably use peanut butter for other things too…”

“In your fantasies.”

“Yep, and it’s going really well now.” I watch Max with his eyes closed imaging sickening things and I laugh.

“Hey Liz.”

I look towards the door and see Maria, Michael and Brandon with a tray of Spamwiches.

“Hey guys.”

“How are you doing?”

“Better than expected.”

“Well in either case we bought you this to cheer you up.”

“Are you sure you’re cheering me up or Michael?”

“I think he had enough of it actually.”

“Y e a h.” Brandon finally chimes in with his monotone voice.

I watch Maria roll her eyes.

“Well anyway, you look great.”

“Right…skin and bones.”

“Well you look great to eat.” Max says.

And it’s dead silence. I look at Max in the oddest way. Michael is ready to kill again.

“What? Is it something I said?”

Before anyone can say anything the nurse comes in.

“How’s everything going in here?” She approaches me and does the usual checkup.

“Fine.”

“Good to hear.”

And then I notice all the guys are checking her out, even my Dad. What the fuck?

Well I guess if you prefer the blond hair, blue eyes bit with the nice chest I guess you can call her hot, but geez right in front of us—even me the sick one.

Maria looks pretty flaired up right about now.

And they all turn their heads at the same time when she struts her way out of the room.

I see drool.

I’m just waiting for the panting.

“Michael. Michael?” Maria tries to get his attention. Not working.

“Dad? Michael?” I try pathetically too.

And then me being me I shout, “Max and I had sex----on this bed.”

All their heads whip so fast like lightening towards me. I keep a serious face. Dad and Michael slowly turn their heads towards Max. Max’s face has paled nicely. I think I’ll wait till it becomes transparent before I say that I’m kidding.

“Dad, where should I hit him first?”

“You make the call son, but I’d aim lower so he’ll never have kids.”

I smile.

Yep.

Life really can’t better than this for me.

*
*
*
In the beginning of my epic, I forewarned you about my pending death.

Once you see no more words in this story, you know it’s because I died.

But unfortunately for all of you, this story will probably go on for another 70 years or so with a gazillion more words more or so and who knows if you’ll want to keep reading for that long. Who knows if I can still write for that long.

Even if I did, by then, it’s all boring.

I can talk more about my obsessed crazy T-shirts, my Spamwiches, my excruciating treatments, my screams, my nightmares, my crazy family, Maria and well Max.

But I won’t.

I’ll leave it up to your imagination. It’ll probably be much more crazier than what you come up with. Sure, Max and I will have our own hanky panky imagination, so we won’t need you to imagine that up for me.

I can guarantee one thing. I’m happy and I will remain to be so.

I may not be well enough right now to do the things I love, but I will. I will become better soon.

So, I, Liz Parker, will leave you off with this note finally after so long.

Carpe diem and fuck what people think.

Yep, that’s my last note.

After reading my story, don’t you think that fits nicely? Sure I could say to you—eat Spam, but I won’t. All I’ll say to you is Carpe diem.

So…

Carpe diem you all.

And…

Fuck what people think because if you don’t, you will live your life based on other people’s judgement.


By the way the whole fuck what people thing reminded me of something from the beginning of my epic… the website for the T-shirts is www.funny-novelty-t-shirts.com/odd-t-shirts.html.

Go to it and get a shirt.

Offend someone.

Attract someone.

Who knows what will be in store for you there.

Look where it led me when you fuck what people think.


THe End







Hello everyone. This is Ambrosia and this is the end of this story that took me over a year to write and finally finish. Thank you for sticking around for this rollercoaster of a ride. In the beginning I had this plan of letting Liz die, but during the course I changed my mind. Who knows why. It's probably the fact that every other story I wrote I had Liz die. So let her live for once.

Anyway, any questions or anything you can leave here and I will hopefully be able to come to the board and reply, but it's hard for me. It's been busy.

And oh yes, the website...I just found it from a search engine. Quite a site...


Later

Ambro
posted on 1-Sep-2002 7:32:14 PM by Ambrosia337
Thanks a lot for the feedback. See are you all glad I didn't kill Liz?? I can still change it of course and switch back to my original plot....

I'm not that mean.

Well..

Anyway, thanks again. It was a fun story for me to write.