Rollercoaster

There was a girl. And like every story, it begins with a person. This story is no different. This story isn't one of love, happiness, hate, sorrow, betrayal, death, or even teen-angst; this doesn't end with happily-ever-after, or and all was well. This isn't Cinderella. You never get the prince in the end. This is reality with a twist of tall tale; dotting your "i's" and crossing your "t's", this is just the icing on the cake. Life as we know it, a rollercoaster, ups and downs, staggering away only to throw up that coney-corn-dog-thing-they-call-food you shouldn't have eaten. This is a story of throwing up life, or perhaps, it being purged from you. The glitter and sparkle that comes off the tongue in the tone of this messed up tragic comedy is that you're the fool and your just too foolish to realize it. 1

___2

There was blood. No one told me. 3

Hands steadily, one by one, caressing, brushing, gently forward over the round framed figure. One, two, three. Boom. It stopped. The second of the hands, striking. Anticipating. Eyes watched the little solid bronze man mounted on the wall, shining glints of gold in the fluorescent lighting. White noise. Ring. Ring. Ring. Wake up. Twelve. The bell rang, and like one person everyone, everything exited the room. One big herd. One girl, alone, sitting. The black one of the flock. 4

It started with isolation. It ended with unwanted company. 5

Kicking, screaming, laughing, she dared not say a word. 6

"Do you think you could pull one over on us? Do you honestly think we wouldn't find out?" 7

"Say something freak! Answer, when I'm talking to you!" 8

They always tell you, when being attacked by a bear to roll into fetal position. Apparently doing this either disinterests the bear, or provides some form of protection. I was being mauled. All this talk of bears and they neglect to cover school children. What a loss. 9

Black bruises, blood-shot eyes, sores, and aches, possibly broken bones, a ribcage, maybe a concussion. 10

The man in the white coat. Grey beard, full head of hair, late fifties. Glasses from 1984. Man, his eyes looked huge. He looked like a bear, tame though. 11

"So, what happened again?" he said, wrapping gauze around my arm. 12

"I fell,…" 13

Eyes narrowing, I was found out. Living, breathing polygraph machine. 14

"Must've been some fall…" 15

It was a doozy. 16

"It was,…" 17

That's all that was said, a better excuse would have sufficed: My mother beats me, I was kidnapped by the IRS for back taxes, I went to Vegas and was caught counting cards they took me to a back room and brass knuckled me till I was choking on my own blood. Ninjas, robots, penguins, Hillary Clinton. Anything would've been better than "I fell". I should have said stairs. 18

"She broke her arm, and is pretty banged up. She said she fell?" 19

Oh god, Mother. Great. Last thing I need. I wonder how long it takes Dad to rush here? 20

"Oh my god, well, she's just so clumsy, always falling and tripping over herself. I can't say this is much of a surprise." 21

I bet.22

"Will she be okay, Doctor?" 23

I'm okay, I'm always okay. 24

"Well, in time it will heal. We've just bandaged her, so now all we need to do is set the bone in a cast." 25

Thank god for Vicodin and vodka. 26

Two solid, heavy doors fly open into the white interior. A man in his forties, with a receding hair line, a head set in his ears, a pager on his belt, a racing befuddled look, a racing heart, high cholesterol, high strung, round up. The old man. The one called Father. 27

"What happened?! I got here as soon as I got your message! Is she okay? What happened now? What did she do this time? Is she okay?" 28

I give him a timid wave. Thanks Pop. 29

"She's alright honey…" 30

"Well, she has broken her arm and fractured the bone in several places, and is pretty bruised, but she'll be okay, nothing of too much concern. Lots of rest should do well, ice for the remainder of the swelling, and I'm prescribing some Vicodin to kill the occasional pain." 31

Oh boy, here it comes. 32

"I was in a meeting! I got called out of work for an emergency! Oh, I'm sorry, a no concern? Is that what you're telling me Doc?!" 33

Yes.34

"I'll leave you two alone."35

Uncomfortable cough. He exit's the room. For the betterment of humanity. 36

"No, honey…calm down its just a misunderstanding, she's safe that's all that matters…" 37

She pokes her head out, and for a second I thought my mother was a "wacka-mole" she yells out into the hall. 38

"I'm so sorry Doctor! He didn't mean anything by that…excuse us." 39

"I did mean it! Why are you going and apologizing to that hack job?!" 40

"See, this is what I mean. Your daughter gets hurt and lands in the hospital, and all you can worry about is work!" 41

"If it wasn't for my job, how do you think we'd pay for all these hospital bills! This is what, the second time this week I've been called out of work for her?! First it’s school, then its she takes a spill head first, maybe tries to throw herself down a flight of stairs! Maybe falling knocked some god damn sense into her? Eh? Ever think of that?" 42

I knew I should have said stairs.43

"Oh my god, I can't even look at you right now. You disgust me." 44

"Oh, that's new! How's the flipside side feel sweetheart?!" 45

___46

They wouldn't stop fighting. They yelled, screeched, ranted, and again yelled and went on for the rest of the car drive home, until we passed the Arby's on the right, and there we sat in utter silence. Mother left her car at the hospital because apparently she was in no condition to drive. Mother always reminded me of Scarlet O'Hara from Gone with the Wind, the typical Woe is me! character, though with a slight difference, she certainly didn't land no Clark Gable. It was no secret that they both hated each other. They were unhappy in their marriage. They must think I'm stupid if they honestly believe I have no clue. I seriously wish they would get a divorce and get it over with, but they must have been staying together out of some sick warped idea that it was for the benefit of the child to have both parents. I mean I don't see the benefit. Maybe out of this sense of obligation, their judgment has been clouded?47

On the remainder of the car ride home, I sat and stared. I stared out my window, and looked up at the trees. They were so beautiful. Lovely trees. 48

I've always liked trees, there just something about them. The "wow" factor. How they stand so tall and fall so hard is a testament to humanity. Trees never move, they stand still reaching up towards the sky, longing to be up there with wings soaring. Trees want to fly, but they're stuck in the same place, aging, dying, being born again, just to see the world around them change. Life passing by them like a freight train, stuck like ongoing traffic, nothing to do, Birch, but honk your horn lest you become like Willow. 49

I always thought if trees could move there would be nothing to hold them back from kicking our ass. You know with the whole destroying the rainforest, cutting them all down, burning them, and all the paper waste going on in the world, its no wonder they really don't. 50

The average person wastes enough paper a year to fill 103,448 double decker buses, which if parked nose to tail would reach from London to Milan.51

___52

Social Darwinism sucks. 53

So I went back to school, after about a week of convincing them I was “oh too sick to go to school, Doctors orders I need rest oh my me where's my pills the pain.” Maybe I was over dramatic, but it worked. I figured the whole thing with the bears and the mauling in the courtyard would've died down by then. So, I spent my Va-cay on the couch under oversized blankets and comforters, in pajamas that reeked of me from five days ago, eating with my best friends in the world, Ben and Jerry, and watching the programming of daytime television that enriched the lives of housewives everywhere. I started with Springer, then with Oprah, then with the occasional Soaps, topped off with the I ain't yo baby's daddy with Maury. 54

It was enlightening; never have I felt so good within the mindless drool of self-pity and pathetic self-loathing. I had a splendid time, though. And I made many a day with it. But after the countless hours of pigging out, watching the boob-tube, and playing Warcraft while quietly crying on the inside, where has my life gone!? My honor!? Whoops guess I never had any. As I was saying, after countless hours of that, day after day, the weekend came. 55

It came, it went. Where did the time go? 56

Monday! Did I ever tell you how much Social Darwinism sucks? I've become certain that it’s no use, the American public education system is dead, there's no use in trying to revive it. Stop the CPR. The only reason we go is so we can grow up, be pushed into the line, maybe go to college, get a job, become our parents, reproduce, all the while keeping society and the economy going. It's the assembly line called "The American Dream". 57

Social Darwinism: a hypothesis that competition among all individuals, groups, nations or ideas drives social evolution in human societies. 58

Reading this text, and thinking this thought, it dawned on me. We're screwed. Humanity as we know it are goners. The world and its inhabitants, my generation, the hope for the future, have become a group of Elitists. And it wasn't because of the fact that I was having a bummer day because I had to go back to school, but more so because of the fact I start thinking very pessimistically when annoyed. This is what I mean by, "Shallow", but yeah no one ever listens to the weird girl in the corner. I keep to myself, occasionally fall asleep, can't concentrate or pay attention to what is said in class because I'm to busy lost in my own thoughts and stuck in my own mind. 59

Have you ever thought about tree slavery? Ever given that idea the slightest notion? Or ever looked into it's deeper meaning? 60

That was one of the many thoughts that crossed my mind on the car ride home from the hospital that day. Tree slavery, what an idea, I don't know how I came up with it. Maybe I really should cut back on how many pills I take. It's no matter, since I'm pretty much addicted to prescription medication and over-the-counter Aspirin. 61

I felt ballsy. Gutsy. Daring. It was science and we had to plant a bean plant, and dissect the seed. I was grouped with Girl A, and Girl B; I‘m not going to even waste my time in giving them names, just imagine two girls that pretty much talk, walk, look and dress the same. To get back on topic, I was the only one doing anything. They spilled our pot of dirt. They wouldn't shut up. I was buzzed with cough syrup, the good stuff, Ritalin, four or five Vicodin, and allergy medication that expired in 2005. I had nothing to lose. 62

"Get out. I don't want you in my group. You're worthless and of no benefit to me. Both of you are nothing more than a waste of time. Just listening to the shallow squeals, and shrieks, of your speech you call the English language, which in all honesty make you sound like a toy poodle needing to be euthanatized on the spot, makes me want to claw my ears off and shoot myself in the foot. Fact of the matter is, you're not an individual, you're a conformist, and the sooner you face this, the sooner you can actually start living your life, instead of making others not want to live theirs. For example, you only are into peace and activism because it's what the 'in' thing to do is. I'm not saying it's a bad trend, but get over yourselves and actually make a difference instead of being complete hypocrites. I bet you can't even place Darfur on the map. You all are Drones. Narcissistic, shallow, self-absorbed, Drones. I'm pretty sure I could classify all of you, and every single one of these pathetic kids in this room, that make up the sorry sap of my generation in Kingdoms, and Phylums by phenotypes. It's that ridiculous, and oh so predictable. You're Elitists, every single one of you. And I understand, oh, this is High school there's always the jocks, the preps, and the nerds, but for god sakes you take it to a new a level of intolerable insanity. I wouldn't even be saying this if you hadn't screwed up my day so much already. I mean do something progressive. Stop screwing up my morning. And I don't know go fuck Mr. Teacher for your grade, because you’re most certainly not getting mine. Seriously, do me a favor and just grow the hell up. Because someday you and all the rest of these assholes will look back and ask yourselves what was I thinking?" 63

I said this relatively fast, because frankly I was not going to allow them to cut me off. They pretty much heard only every word or two, but I'm pretty sure it was enough. And to think? I'm the quiet one. This is pretty much what I wanted to get across. 64

"Wouldn't it be more of an act of rebellion if you didn't spend so much time buying blue hair dye and going out to get punky clothes? It seems so petty. You want to be an individual, right? You look like you're wearing a uniform. You look like a punk. That's not rebellion...that's fashion. Rebellion happens in the mind. You can't create it...you just are that way." -SLC Punk!65

Apparently, though, it's wrong and against some rule, to talk in excessive sporadic bursts while using profanity, and attacking the character and dignity of a school faculty member by just implying he would ever have sexual relations with his underage students. He grabbed my ass once. It was after class and I stayed late to clean up. On my way out the door he got a little touchy feely. I was tired. It was the morning. I gave him a free pass. 66

___67

Misguided Guidance, is always the best guidance. 68

So, I ended up in the office with the Guidance Counselor, which after analyzing me for about an hour, gave up, and said I could go back to class. Guidance Counselors are to Shrinks, as Dentist are to Doctors. In all reality they are worse then Dentists. The whole concept of the Guidance Counselor is ridiculous, they serve no purpose and play no role. Whatever neanderthal thought teenagers would want to speak openly, and discuss their “feelings” and what is happening in their life with a faculty member who doesn't have the whole Doctor-Patient-Confidentiality thing, was a complete loon. 69

So, when I got out off the couch I decided I was in no condition whatsoever to return to class. I walked out the front door. No one even noticed. I wonder how long it takes them to notice? To notice I'm gone. Do you think they even will? They certainly wouldn't miss me, and I wouldn't miss them. We only miss people who are dead or on long journeys. I miss Dorothy Parker. Now, she was someone with an optimistic outlook on life. Note my sarcasm. And if you don’t know who she is then look her up because frankly you’re missing out. However, walking around on the sidewalk in the cul-de-sac of houses that all look the same, perfect trimmed lawns, essentially same little dollhouse replica of your neighbor’s next door; coming to you from Tucson! It bored me. I decided to go to the park. Free some trees. 70

___71

Nature must outsource to China. Trees have never been this faulty. 72

Fake trees. You ask how a tree can be fake? I'll tell you, trees can be fake when they grow and then eventually begin to not look like trees at all, much like people I find. We grow in the stomach of our mother, our womb, for nine months like the little miraculous parasite we are mooching off our host/Ma for nutrients until boom badda bing! We're out! My point is, we grow looking like something out of an Alien movie, then into something somewhat remotely human looking, until we grow up into something that is really less than human. People are people, yes but we're really nothing more than animals, we're just so arrogant we can't admit it. What I believe makes us less than human is that we let the world define who we are as a person instead of rewriting our own definition in the dictionary. It's because of this less than human thing that when I got to the park I was distressed to see that the trees were less than trees. 73

They weren't truthful. Instead they were prim and prompt and trimmed in everyway that it just wasn't natural at all. These trees weren't wild. These trees were a dull grey. It was sad to see in fact I almost cried. Never was there such a crime against nature as these trees. These weren't trees at all. They were lies. They were assembly lines. 74

I climbed on top of the playground equipment, onto the fort. From there I crawled and found my way into one of the plastic tunnels, I laid there for awhile. Eventually, looking up at the yellow plastic inside, and staring at the glow from the sun shining onto it, I fell asleep. When I woke up I judged I must've been snoozing for about an hour or two. I wonder what the little kid's and the mother's thought. I wonder if the suburban stay-at-home-moms freaked? I could just imagine them, "No, honey! Stay away from the Hobo!". That was a possibility. It had been forever since I went to this park; this playground was never here, and the trees, the trees weren't fake. 75

___76

Life is a circus. We get all painted up, just to become the clown. 77

I decided the best course of action would be to go back to school. My timing was impeccable. I was like a clock full of twisted humor and irony. It was the last period of the day and I had to go home sweaty. I hate sweating, overall it’s gross and unnecessary, not to mention smelly. It all started in Phys Ed. I'm no athlete and I had faced that fact some time ago. What I find somewhat condescending though is how people stick to that idea that the physically strong, are the ones who survive and carry on with humanity. The whole hunt and gather is the provider mentality. I beg to differ I mean, who is it exactly who are the leaders, the rulers in the end? Someone may accredit the puppets for the performance, but who is actually pulling the strings? In my mind I'm destined for great things. Things, the average Midwest less-than-humanoid, would never understand, nevertheless my generation. I'm an old soul. I'm a genius. I've never had my IQ tested, but in reality there's no clear test for genius, it's opinionated. Quick drones! I am your intellectual superior! Bow before me! And hence forward to merry-making! Nope. Wait. Yep, nothing, thought so. 78

Why do I even have to take Phys Ed? They say it's because of childhood obesity, they say they only credit participation. It's a lie. It's a con. No one at our school fits the criteria of a fattie nevertheless an obese kid, in reality this school should be renamed the “Center for Eating Disorders”. You would never find a fattie walking these halls. It would be an outrage, truly, for our fit and thin reputation. The lunch ladies never had it so easy. And I suppose even the kids that would be considered fat, which they clearly are not, are exempted most of the time from Phys Ed. Participation, don't make me laugh, it's just so it looks like they’re doing their jobs, so the PTA moms (thank god my mother isn't one) don't complain. But I participate. I'm here aren't I? Well, even if it's just in body, because my mind's elsewhere and my spirit's crushed. I think I'll catch some Z's while Mr. PE just babbles on. Wake up. Where am I? Oh I remember now. A flood of consciousness came to me as I remembered where exactly I was and what exactly was going on around me. 79

"…dodge ball." 80

That's the only part I caught upon waking up. So I assumed that's what we were going to play. The whole idea of attacking one another by throwing your balls at them seemed rather barbaric to me anyway. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. So, did these people honestly think that by running around in circles over and over again like a hamster in a wheel or by throwing a round object at someone repeatedly, seriously offer them some kind of closure or just reward, some conclusion that was different to end the repetitive madness? Ask me if the very definition of insanity doesn't match perfectly with what we call Physical Education? 81

Dodge ball, great target practice. I just stand there, zoned out of my mind. The ball flies, hits me on the side of the head. I just stand there. I don't move. 82

"Move out of the court! Freak!" 83

"That's enough. Move your ass Lebowski!"84

I couldn't believe he was a coach, nonetheless a physical education teacher. He had the most oddly shaped body I've ever seen in my entire life. I mean, imagine a big hunk of meat, the biggest you can and place that as the man's torso; seriously, it looked like he had toothpicks for legs. I can't really remember his name; all I know is that it was pretty funny, even though I was the only one who probably saw the humor in it. It was Bob Loblaw, now I remember. The humor in it though was that he is and always will be Mr. Blah, Blah, Blah. Let me explain, because if you try and say Bob Loblaw as fast as you possibly can it in turn becomes Blah, Blah, Blah if you saw him you'd think it was funny. He looks like a Blah. 85

I was a white elephant. In more way's than one. I wore sweat pants, even though it was pretty much summer. And everyone else wore shorts. Natural beauty was my forte. More than anything I was just too lazy to shave my legs. 86

I thought it was pretty low for Blah to make me play even though I had a broken arm. All he said was that I had another arm and could clearly throw with it, and what was the problem? I really wished at that time that my parents were the type of parents who actually care about their kid, the kind who wouldn't stand for it and wouldn't passively nod and say 'meh' about things. But I know the stuff you see in cereal commercials and 1970's sitcom reruns isn't true. We can't all be like the Bradys. 87

___88

Everything life has to throw at you but the kitchen sink. 89

I walked home today. It was a decent four or five miles, but I didn't mind, it's a lot better than the bus. I had to be the only person my age without their license, not to mention the only one who still hadn't gotten their temps. I don't feel that driving is such a big deal, I mean, yeah, wow, big step into independence and adulthood, as far as I'm concerned it’s rubbish. I'm already independent, and I have a Peter Pan complex. So, why waste the time and effort trying to prove that? I don't need a license or a car, because frankly, I don't go anywhere; why pay the insurance? And I wouldn't want to contribute in killing the environment anyway. So, if anyone asks about that issue and finds it necessary to question why I haven't taken the slight interest in learning how to drive, or even attempt in getting my temps permit, I'll just say it's for political reasons. 90

I got home. Mom and dad were already there. I walked across the lawn, to where Bogart, our still-as-a-statue family bulldog, usually waits for me to get home from school. We always got complaints from the neighbors about Bogart and how he would poop in their yards or give people heart attacks when they walked by. Problem was, people thought he was a lawn ornament, and then when he would move, he ended up scaring the beejesus out of people. Bogart was a stone cold killer, no joke. Once our neighbor’s mother-in-law came to visit from Florida; well she walked right by him and when he moved to lick his crotch or something, the old lady dropped dead. Apparently she had some problems with her nerves. 91

When I walked by Bogart, he wagged his tail suddenly and let a grin escape as he trotted over to me, smelling my feet and legs. It was weird, I could never understand why he always liked to do that, especially considering how badly I smelled of sweat and gym stank. But for some reason he got a lot of enjoyment out of it. Well, I patted him on the head and went right along my way inside the house, Bogart trailing me in back. 92

"Here's looking at you kid." 93

That's why I named him. See, when I was younger, after seeing Casablanca a few million times, I thought when we got our family dog I might as well name him after the man himself. So I did, I named him after Bogart. It was a fitting name, I think; he looked the part. Fact of the matter is, our entire family is full of movie references. You have to think, when the family Lebowski moves in next door with their English bulldog Bogart, “Could we get any stranger?” 94

___95

I went back to the hospital in the next two months to get my cast off. You know how when people break their arm and their friends and stuff write little messages or draw little pictures on it? Well, the doctor from before must've thought I was really lonely or OCD or something, because mine was bare, nothing, nada, zip, still as white as ever. When my cast was finally off, the doctor said that my arm had healed okay, but that I should lay off for awhile and be more careful. I'm not a total klutz despite what was said about me. It was amazing though, this guy. Anyone who didn't believe in evolution, should honestly take a good long look at my doctor. He was like a bear, Sasquatch, just covered in hair around his face, beard and all. He reminded me of a hairy caterpillar. Every time I looked at this man, I was reminded of the old Brawny paper towel man; you know, before the clean shave? 96

Bears. I just couldn't get away from them. 97

Perhaps I have an overactive imagination? We were in the waiting room, at the front desk. Mother was signing some paper work before we left. I looked around. A lot of sick people. My eyes shifted to the open coat closet. I saw a pink bear; he turned and stared. You know those scarves for children with the plush stuffed animals sewn onto the end of them? Well, this one was pink, fuzzy, and had a bear at the end of it. I was looking at it. The pink bear turned his head and stared at me. It gave me the creeps. I was sober, too. Mother had woken me up this morning at eleven. I didn't even take my ADD medication, I swear. I chugged a chaser of some OJ with two generic Aspirin. But that couldn't have been the cause. Maybe I need to be heavily medicated? 98

I turned away, blinked a couple of times, and shook my head. I looked back at the closet. The bear was still staring. 99

"Chez eff'n Christ Chex!" 100

It was complete gibberish spawned from the ravings of a lunatic mixed with random teen-speak. I couldn't wait to get out of there. Mother looked at me bewildered. I had embarrassed her. 101

___102

I felt like Molly Ringwald once a year. 103

The car swerved, almost hitting a bush, a 35mph speed limit sign, and two children. 104

"Shit, its your birthday."105

Yeah so glad you remembered. This was our tradition every year. On the day or the day after, my parents would suddenly remember when exactly their precious little miracle was brought into this world. 106

"Damn it, why didn't you say anything?" 107

I never thought I had to. 108

"Jesus, mom you should remember you're the one who was in labor."109

"Don't get smart. I had an epidural, there's a lot I don't remember." 110

My mother was a flake. My father, a corporate cynic. 111

We pulled into the driveway. Mom slammed the car door. Dad was home, his car was in the garage. He wasn't working late tonight. It was a good day. We went inside, through the side door in the garage. 112

"It's her birthday, Richard." 113

Dad was in the kitchen chowing down on a Hot Pocket. My Hot Pockets. 114

"No joke? Why didn't she say so?" 115

Mother shrugs, dropping her jacket on the back of the dinning room chair, gracefully plopping her purse on the counter. That is the only time you will ever hear me use the words 'Graceful' and 'Mother' in the same sentence. And she thinks I'm clumsy? Tell you a story, my mother once broke her tailbone falling off a chair. Why was she on the chair to begin with? Well, she was trying to change a light bulb. 116

Dad opened his mouth in mid chew. 117

"So, what do you want for your birthday?" 118

Every year, as far back as I can remember, it was the same thing. They would usually go out to some random store and let me pick out whatever I wanted for my birthday; that, or give money. The open 24hr stores were the best. I only accepted cash or credit. 119

"I want you to get a divorce." 120

The shocker. 121

I tired to do the math in my head, but I've never been one with numbers. This had to be the most expensive gift I've ever asked for. Considering the cost of a lawyer for both parties, and whether they charge on the hour, which most do. The cost of alimony, child support, new housing for the losing recipient, taxes, etc. has to be substantial. They must've thought I was joking. They laughed at me. They said I was overreacting, and out of my mind pretty much, and pulled the whole 'Mommy and Daddy still love each other' bullshit, which I know isn't true. There's no love in this household. Tolerance, yes, but not love. We got along better that way, the detached way, it was simpler. So in conclusion, the answer was No. 122

___123

"The Function of art is to Provoke. Love or Hate." 124

If this is true, I'm a work of art. I'm a walking, breathing, masterpiece. 125

It was Monday again, and I decided to walk and tread the marathon home. I didn't mind though. I'm not going to begin to take you through my day, probably because it was a complete haze. I can't remember anything from it. Except for maybe Art class, my favorite time of the day. I get to express myself in the weirdest, most messed up ways and I get graded for that insanity. The jumbled mix of ideas bouncing back and forth in the stimuli of my brain was ingenious. I was a innovator. See with art, there's always room for improvement, and change is a blessing and a curse. However, if you had the plague or were a leper, in the world of art, the more original and popular you are. All the good ideas in art have already been taken. Our mistake, in my generation, is that we strive in art on trying to mimic the works and styles of others hoping out of that counterfeit comes some form of individuality. But in reality we're doing nothing but raping the canvas. 126

Now, I'm not placing blame or singling myself out, I'm just as guilty of this as anyone. It's inevitable, impossible to avoid, because, like I said before, all the good ideas have been taken, so we find ourselves going back almost always trying to perfect it and get it just right. To truly excel and succeed in art you need expression, emotion. Art is nothing without the expression of emotion. If it doesn't make you feel something or doesn't make you think, then it's not doing its job. I feel that to create art you need to find something deep inside you that needs to be conveyed, a message that needs to get across. Without digging deep inside yourself and ripping the roots up from that vulnerable, cold place, that truthful place inside, art becomes void. Without that, art is apathetic. This is where people fail in art, when they neglect to look within and tear themselves from the inside out. I, however, in order to remove myself and give me some form of specialization apart from the norm, am different. I do this; I tear apart at myself everyday. I become a God; I create. I make beauty that isn't natural but manipulated. 127

I was different. Some may view that as a bad thing, but I don't. I find the differences which define me as a person to be a blessing. I wouldn't want to be like everyone else. Normal things, sane things are boring. Why would anyone want to be the same? The way I see it, if your not accepted, and considered weird or different, then your doing a good job of not falling into statistics. Acception should only be for those without reserved judgments, and my judgments were observations. Why then did I secretly yearn for acceptance? I didn't want it, but the idea dug its heels into me. Maybe I could be a ghost? Boo. Did I scare you? I never did anything but scare myself. It was exhilarating, though; fear was a drug, and often I found I was an addict. 128

___129

Brace yourself. Slam the brakes. Stop. Impact! 130

I was crossing the street then, between the two white lines drawn with chalk. The world was spinning in dizzying circles, vision blurred, people and objects looked like blobs. I was down for the count, K'O. I was airborne. Slamming face forward into concrete. It was a mini van that took me out. I always thought if I had to be hit by a car, God please make it a doctor or lawyer driving a Ferrari. But no, my fate was doomed to lead up to this very point, death by mini van. Except I wasn't dead. It was pretty freaky, and hurt like hell but like some George Romero, Night of the Living Dead, shit I rose up from the pavement. I was pretty sure I cracked my head open on the asphalt, but I was good. I was hardheaded, any other time then this that might have been a bad thing. I staggered a little, and braced myself. Jesus, my head hurt, it was throbbing. I felt like I had been crucified. I know it’s blasphemous but whatever, I'm agnostic. I think the painkillers softened the blow. At least, I was limber when I took to the sky. Other than that there really was no apparent injuries. 131

The guy driving came flying out his car, nearing falling out, really. He rushed over about six feet where I had landed. There was a look of dumbfounded horror stuck across his face. I thought he would honestly piss himself. 132

"Holy smokes man! I did not see you! You came out of like no where! That was like messed up, dude I thought you were a goner. You went flying. Man I'm so screwed. You aren't hurt or anything? Are you? Shit, if my mom finds out…shit my insurance…ahh!" 133

I don't know what this guy was on, but at least everything I take is legal. 134

The guy was obviously a college kid. I predicted community. It's always community with guys like this. Judging by his apparent age and the fact that he was driving his mother’s mini van and wearing a purple tie-dye tuxedo shirt, I knew he didn't have a dime to his name. Why couldn't it have been a lawyer? 135

Once I assured him that I was in fact alright, and I was not going to 'friggin sue' or 'call the friggin cops', both him and I were free to leave and were on our way. I was walking the remainder home, when he suddenly pulled up next to me. I was a little gun shy by now and was startled a bit. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Great, now I can add mini vans to my list of phobias. He looked a bit distraught though, which was an odd mixture of expressions on his somewhat stupid-looking face. He looked contorted. More than anything he looked constipated. 136

"Dude, are you sure you're alright?" 137

This was getting ridiculous. 138

"Yea, I'm okay, considering." 139

Considering I just got hit by a car. Yeah, I'm peachy. 140

"You need a ride somewhere, or something? I mean I'd feel a lot better if I could drop you off somewhere." 141

I know your always told not to take rides with strangers, but I figured we knew each other pretty much. We had a somewhat unusual introduction, but an introduction nonetheless. So, I agreed and was about to get into the car, when he began clearing off the old junk mail, McDonald's bags, and the open bag of Sun Chips which were lying all over the front seat. This guy was a complete pig. I suppose that's expected from men anyway, well, my dad being an exception, his car was spotless, probably cause he hadn't paid it off yet. I got in; the first thing I did was put on the seatbelt. 142

"Sorry for the mess man, haven't had a chance to clean out the ride yet you know?" 143

That was obvious. 144

"So, kid where can I take you?"145

I hated when people called me kid. I hated when people called other people kid in general. The words came out rough and sour, not what I expected. It was a nice term, don't get me wrong, but it sounded better in my head. His car smelled like Reefer Madness; it was like living in a comical propaganda film, full of twists of irony and drama. The scent radiated from the van. I'm convinced this guy's car is the leading contributing factor to global warming and the emittance of greenhouse gases. I couldn't stand being in that car, but figured it was better than walking. I gave him the name of my street but he was driving really slow, probably just in case he plowed down anymore school children. He got lost once or twice, turning onto the wrong street. Luckily he found his way there, eventually. 146

"You sure your okay?"147

God this guy just wouldn't let up. 148

"Fine."149

I made him drop me off at a house a few blocks down. I didn't want him to know where I lived. Thank goodness for long streets. Safe and sound. Home sweet home. Never have I been happier to see my house. You'd think the dread I felt going home at the end of the day was the result of being from a broken home. It wasn't, though. I just hated the silence. 150

I stepped up to the welcome mat, fiddled in my pocket, and slid the key in the door, it opened. No one wondered where I was or where I had been. This was alright with me, because I didn't feel like explaining. Dinner time. I'm not hungry. We were having macaroni. 151

So, I went to my room. I sat on the bed and watched the ants crawl up my leg. Have you ever looked at ants before and realize the tragedy of their existence? They are capable of so much. Yet give a kid a magnifying glass or the average person a shoe, and ants are dead. They are dead before they even lived. Bang. Ants are small, fragile, identical, and hide behind masses. What one ant could never do alone they make up for in armies. Yet, with a force greater than their own, the ants world around them crumbles. They're easily killed, and easily destroyed. It doesn't take much. 152

I let that idea roll around in my mind. Tumbleweed. I tried to sleep on it, but couldn't. I just laid there looking up at the white popcorn ceiling. The sun was setting at the time I had gotten home, and by now it was already dark, somewhat. It was weird laying there and watching the room go from orange, blue, pale white, black. I laid there for an eternity. Until I rolled over to my side and closed my eyes. When I opened them I had a face pressed against mine. I had thought I heard growling earlier, but figured it was my stomach. That, or the monsters under my bed. So, there I was again, I'll admit at first when I woke up and opened my eyes the sight of Bogart sitting there startled me. It gave me a fright. It was creepy to know that my dog made it custom to watch me sleep. I felt uneasy after that, and couldn't find it in me to turn and go back to dreaming. Which was no problem due to the fact that once he saw me, I was his. His tail was wagging. Any other time, I would be too lazy to let him out and deal with the consequences in the morning. I had no pillow-talk left in me and I couldn't think, period. I couldn't come up with a way to force myself into sleeping. This is normal for someone my age. This is normal for me. If you're deprived of more than one thing chances are the leading one is sleep deprivation. There's just not enough hours in the day. 153

I've always wanted to stop time, to control it like TiVo. Stop. Rewind. Pause. Play. Fast-forward. Life would be fun if it was on demand, all the time. I could always imagine life like a movie or TV show. My life would be a comedy/drama. Well, actually, no, my life really isn't that dramatic. So, no on the drama portion. But it would definitely be a comedy. I can look back and laugh at life, we all can. One of the best parts of aging or dying is that you can look back at the parts you're leaving behind and laugh. Smile. With life you can easily laugh at it, we mask all pain in laughter. Other times with life, you cry. Maybe life does this to be mean? Maybe life does this to stick it to us? I don't think life does either. I think life does this to show we're still human. 154

___155

"Imagination is the one weapon in the war against reality."156

-Jules de Gaultier 157

Mine was tank. I always thought I was a creator not a destroyer. I always thought I was a lover not a fighter. Now I think I might just be a bystander. That, or I might be a diplomat. 158

Imagination is a dream I never wanted to wake up from. But with reality pressing against me I had to force myself asleep. I'm nobody in a world of somebody’s when reality comes into play. I'm somebody in a world with nobody when it comes to my imagination. I preferred being the only somebody with nobody as opposed to nobody with somebody’s. This doesn't really make sense, I know, but let me explain. I would much rather be the only person on earth, because then I would be a somebody and no one could take that away from me, and being a somebody wouldn't matter, so I wouldn't care as much as I do now against my will. I wouldn't be forced to care. I could get along with that perfectly, too, if it were only me. Sometimes I wonder if I would get lonely being the only one in the universe? That idea frightens me, so I decided I wouldn't want to be alone but rather have Bogart there. Someone or something that couldn't bother me on a verbal level. 159

___160

"Stop the World- I Want to Get Off." 161

I remember smelling that persons hair, maybe that's weird like they say. But, I couldn't help it they were sitting in front of me. I had no choice but to lean in and gently grab a lock and put it to me face. It smelled like tea tree. I use that very same shampoo myself. Rewind. I never knew there was a rule about who you can or cannot like. This among a long list of other peculiar exhibited behaviors was my downfall. Never write a note or leave any physical evidence behind, for that matter. Circle Yes or circle No. 162

I was a clown. I was a freak. I painted on my face each morning to hide who I was. I don't know who I am hiding or who 'she' was to begin with. When you tell a lie for so long, it starts to have attributes and characteristics similar to truth. It becomes blurred, the line between fact and fiction. Emotions are tricky to find because it gets to the point where you can't tell what's happy or sad. And that's scary. It's scary but exciting at the same time. Feeling nothing is more like feeling everything, and having no where to put everything in the end. 163

I look in the mirror now and I see more than what is apparent. I see a stranger. A stranger I've never met but, who has met me. Time and time again. I wave and smile, I don't want her to know I forgot her name. She is always happy, always friendly. I hate her for it. She's more than perfect. It kills me every time. But, despite that I smile. I smile because I know she'll always be there. I smile because of hope. I smile because I'm finally convinced the girl staring back at me is me. That we are one in the same. Even when its painful, I do the only thing I can do. I smile. And I hope for a new day. I smile and I hope it will soon all be better. I smile because I know one day at least I won't have to. I won't have to smile to remind myself, hey! I'm still here! I won't have to pretend. I know one day I'll be able to genuinely be happy or sad without having to remind myself to be. 164

I'll be able to stumble and fall. I'll be able to grow and learn. Something will be able to teach me. I will have developed better social skills. I will be able to deal with change. I will be able to sort through my thoughts and create meaning with them, meaning which makes sense to more then just myself. I will stop smelling peoples hair, and I will stop trying to abolish tree slavery. I will deal with the fact that despite how unhappy my parents are that they still love each other, because that's what love is: unhappiness. I will learn to live life instead of question it. I will relate human beings to human beings and not insects or animals, even if that's what they are. I won't avoid my problems; rather, run and face them head on. Well, not run, walk because I hate running. I will stop sleeping in order to escape reality, and only sleep when sleeping is necessary. And finally, I will accept the fact that no matter what I do I will not change the pre-determined results of the universe, no matter how hard I try. I will not defy the laws of gravity. 165

You may feel up to the challenge to get onboard, and take your first step into the rollercoaster. You may have the time of your life or you may hate it. But you always have to remember eventually the ride ends and you have to get off. We all have to leave.166