Got some words, I dunno, gonna sing 'em, here I go...
Let’s cut to the chase, catch the rabbit, and skin it (sorry all of those animal rights activists out there, if you want, just read that as “cut to the soy, mash it, turn it into tofu”). I fell too soon, and ended up waking up with a bump the size of Vegas on my head, and it was almost as colorful. The year I fell, was the same year three of my friends went to jail, the year Gulli got hurt, the year that lasted forever, the year I ran away, the year I woke up.
Cast and Crew
- Gullina Tina Dina (How wasted would you have to be when you named your daughter this?)
Gulli was just turning around the corner from child to teenager, and her bitter, anti-social, must-be-nasty-to-everyone-that-has-the-something-to-do-with-family side was kicking in. I drove over to her house once, and I when I walked in, I could hear her mother crying upstairs. Gulli just ran by me, then ran back in, grabbed me by the crook of my left arm and we were gone. Gulli was only fourteen and somehow, she remembered every year, every day of every year, and every bad thing that had ever happened to her. She talked about every incidence in detail except the one that had her mother slapping her, her father raping her, and her sister killing herself, she only talked about that one once. She had thick, straight, white, hair; white as new snow begging you to jump into it, white as a playful cloud taking form as a dragon, white as the first bite of a Pink Lady apple. Her skin was wet sand, just after the waves receded, but her lips were the pink cream color of the inside of a conch shell. Then there were her eyes. Those eyes that were as big as a Persian Cat’s, round and never unnoticed. They had green and gray colliding into each other and resembled a dusty mint leaf. I was a few years older, but she was taller than me, a super model to the core, gorgeous on the outside, dying on the inside.
- Rory Aaron Rye-Erts (His mom forced him to sign her maiden name as well as his father’s name on everything, I don’t think she ever really loved him)
How do I describe Rory? He was a shy, cautious daredevil. Like a kitten you bring home for the first time, the devil first just wants to get away from you cause it’s not social, and then when it realizes it either has to stay with you or get lost in a new place, it chooses to get lost. Not that Rory avoided his friends, he was just careful around them. Rory didn’t look like a cat though. He was more of, a bright blue and white panda. He dyed his hair to match his eyes, blue; electric, solid, look-at-me-I’m-blue blue. He was tall, but built into a round face, broad shoulders, and thick waist. Not that he was overweight, in fact, he was underweight, just he was the shape of a rectangle with a circle plopped on top. He wore frameless rectangular glasses, and wore only jeans with a white or cream colored shirt. He knew he was good looking, but didn’t let on. He was funny in that way. He rarely talked, and when asked why, he would usually say something along the line of, “I’m a listener, not a talker, I know my place, and apparently you don’t.” Yeah, he was a funny guy.
- The Guy with an inkling towards inappropriate conversation (also known as Gwaitic or Joe)
“If I sat here for the rest of my life, I would never be able to beat the world record for not moving, those dead beats have a few million years in ahead of me.” Joe the Gwaitic was seventeen when he said that quote. We were sitting in biology and right after we saw a video on the first amoeba slowly (and tediously) turning into a dinosaur, this is the first thing we heard when the lights came on. Do I need to really say much more about him? (Well I shall anyway). I don’t even remember all of his name, I just know we called him the Gwaitic and sometimes Joe, how sad is that? I don’t remember that idiot’s name. He used to bring blankets to school instead of sweatshirts because, “More fun can be done, under this here blanket than a damned one man sweatshirt.” He was also physically a stereotypical surfer (you know what I mean, lean, blonde, blue-eyed). In my perfect world, i would have made Joe a brunette. He was a wrestler and always snapped and pointed at you when you said hi to him. He was never meant to leave highschool.
- Lucas Pewter
I just can not explain Pewter yet, I promise you the reader, you shall find out too much information about Pewter, just not at this very moment.
- And of course, your narrator, Me!
I’m the best character in the entire story! I promise you I am! (And yes, I am sarcastic when I say that, and yes, that is all false confidence in myself). You’ll find out more than you’ll ever want to know about me throughout this insane journey, so I see no need to try and explain myself here. Catch ya later... next chapter, whatever.
Ch. 1 Man, we sure knew how to dance
New Year’s Eve, before the endless year. I was with Gulli at some party of some friend of a friend of a friend of a friend (you get the idea), and I can still taste the smoke that had filled the house so easily, so quickly. There was more smoke in that house than there is steam in a fat man’s suana. I don’t remember much from that night (especially since I was stoned out of reality and walking among the mushroom fields by midnight), but I do remember Gulli meeting Rory before I did.
I heard Gulli laughing, and then someone joining in with her. (I always brought her with me when I went anywhere, I got her a fake id for her thirteenth birthday). I stumbled my way over and found the source of the laughter.
“Oh, this is my friend, um, what’s your name?” Gulli laughed as she put her head on the random boy’s shoulder, he smiled.
I observed his clear eyes, controled smile, straight posture, and, most of all, a can of soda pop in his hand. A clean boy in a place dirtier than the grease buckets that fast food restaurants use to fry “food” (well, maybe the party was as dirty as those buckets, but you get my point). Gulli looked at me, and just burst into laughter again, she had had more smoke intake than I had, which had to be a shit load at that time.
“I’m Steve,” the clean boy said as he outstretched a hand towards me for the purpose of shaking it. I knew what he was hoping for, that I wouldn’t suddenly freak out at him, have some sort of drug induced break down, where I try to bite his hand off (even though I have high tolerance to maryja-wa-na). This poor designated driver just wanted me to grasp his stupid, sweaty, clammy, nervous, meaty hand and shake it. I couldn’t give him what he wanted, that’s just not how it works.
So as this clean boy, Steve, kept his hand outstretched to me, I just stared at it. I could see him getting a little nervous and we both knew he couldn’t put that sucker at his side, it was already out there, in my power, I had the power, the choice to shake that poor sap’s hand or somehow make him even more uncomfortable than he already was.
That’s when I realized it was just Steve and me there, in the world of handshaking, Gulli had wandered off. Steve had realized at the same time that I did that she was gone, and we both turned when we heard her laughing.
“You know, I talk an awful, much for one person, actaully, I think I talk too much for two people! You don’t talk at all, now why’s that?” Gulli was talking to someone, and I couldn’t see who, he (or she) was standing in the kitchen, and Gulli was in the doorway.
“Listening, not talking, you should know your car before you drive it.” A deep bronze bell rang in heavenly notes.
I walked up to Gulli as fast as I could and said, “Gull-ee-na, doesn’t drive but I do, do you have a name?”
The owner of the bronze bell pointed to his shirt, there was a name tag there (which was such a Rory thing to do), it read, “Roooaaarrr-eee, like when a lion eats a kid and the kid thinks he’s on a slide (compliments of the Gwiatic).”
“Hi Rory.”
And then I don’t remember what happened next, though I do know that it was good clean fun...well, maybe clean...
- ...and I said what about, Breakfast at Tiffany’s....
I woke up with Gulli asleep on my lap. We were on a cot, I was sitting straight up with my back against the wall, all night. Gulli laid comfortably in my lap, until I moved, then I watched her frown as she had to reassign her head to the cot’s surface instead of my legs. She relaxed again. I wandered around the room, like a cat, I wanted to make sure I knew my surroundings more than I needed to know who’s house I was in.
The room was of good size, there was a plain white desk in one corner, with papers, pens, pencils, a clock, and a lamp so neatly arranged, it hurt to look at (or that might have been the hangover). There were two windows looking out what I guessed was the backyard (which was huge). The cot was set up next to a leather love seat. There was one wall though, that was all shelves, and every shelf, was packed with books. I walked over to that painful desk and read this (in neat handwriting, of course):
Sorry girls,
breakfast isn’t until 11,
if you need something to do,
read a book, or come find either
Roooaaarrr-eee
or
The Gwaitic
(points and snaps)
Welcome to Hell, where your prison gaurds will try to convince you that they’re God, and not only God, but a pimping God, I thought and then giggled at my own cynicalism.
I looked at the clock, 10:57am on January 1. I didn’t think Roooaaarrr-eee, or the Gwiatic would care if I went down three minutes early.
So I opened the door, slowly, carefully, making sure that a black hole wouldn’t appear out of no where and suck me into eternity. The stairs were just off to the right of the door and I made my way downstairs, holding onto the railing secruely. If Roooaaaarrrr-eee or this Gwaitic had spread butter on the stairs, I was going to be ready. I could smell pancakes and maple syrup, and I could hear my stomach starting to complain.
I breathed in the smell of the house too. It was rich, clean, and fresh. I listened to clammoring of pots and pans, and then knew where the kitchen was. I tip toed my way to the door, which I was sure was the kitchen, then peeked inside. It was the kitchen, but there was also a televsion that had a cooking show on it (Here, you really need to stuff the bird to the fullest for the flavor to be released more). There was no sign of any people, except the two plates of pancakes. There was a warm pitcher of maple syrup, and a bowl of strawberries. I was tempted to eat all of it right there, but I knew I had to wait for Gulli, it just seemed, more appropriate. I went back up to the second floor, and when i reached the landing, I realized that I should suprise Rory, just for kicks.
I walked around the landing, listening for someone snoring, or walking, some music playing softly, anything. Then I heard it, a shower. It turned on, who knows for how long I was standing there, and then I heard the pipes shake and the water stop flowing. At that moment, when I heard the shower door open, did I realize, I was standing outside of the bathroom, and if I didn’t move I was going to be caught listening to whoever it was taking a shower. I turned towards the room Gulli was still sound asleep in, when I felt a damp hand on my shoulder. I turned around and came face to shoulder with a tall, blue-haired angel.
“Hello handsome.” I said as smoothly as I could.
“Listen, not talking. Think of what you say before you say it.” With that, he knocked on the door of the room Gulli was in, and then on the next one. I heard someone moan, “too early”, and then I heard Gulli’s petite yawn and her feet rustling on the floor. Rory was already in his room, and that’s when I realized he had only been wearing a towel.
- All calm on the eastern back...
Gulli peeked out of the room, and smiled when she saw me. She then showed the note, and looked towards the stairs.
“Pancakes and strawberries,” I said easily.
We walked down the stairs, Gulli let her white hair shoot out in lightning bolts. She stretched her arms out in an awkward attempt at a trianlge, but alas, the thrid segment had run off to bigger better things. We sat down at the light wood table, and poked at our pancakes. They were a little cold, but still edible and the syrup seemed to stay warm forever.
Soon after we had cleared our plates, I realized that there was a third party standing in the doorway watching us nibble away on the cakes from Pan.
“The Gwaitic I pressume?” Gulli chimed in a friendly tone as she dragged her napkin across her conch shell lips.
This blonde haired boy leaned his head against the doorway and dropped his head in a dramatic plop.
“How old are you? twelve or eighty-seven? Cause your face says one thing, then your hair screams another.” He had a higher voice than Rory, it was like guitar (rather than a bass or a drum set, then again, he could have had a trombone in his throat).
“Why do you choose eighty-seven instead of eighty -six or eighty?” I asked, pushing my way into the conversation.
This boy lifted his head, it seemed my comment interested him.
“Eighty-seven is really old.”
That’s where it ended at, he came over and sat down. He pointed at Gulli, and snapped. Somehow in those two moments, I established a friendship with Gwaitic. He knawed some strawberries, and I could see Gulli staring at him, seeing if she liked his looks. I was paying more attention to how he ate his strawberries.
First, he scraped away the seeds and a thin layer of the red fruit and then would swallow that. Then he would take a small bite of the point of the berry. After that, he would stuff the rest of it into his mouth and let the juices run down and flow over his lips. I don’t know why, but it was really quite entertaining.
- ...Got some words...(about Lucas)
June 9, the day Lucas got a job at T.K.’s (an upscale restaurant on the outskirts of the city). He was supposed to start the next Monday, and he planned on going. First, he had to go home though to find Kaia.
Monday, the day Lucas was supposed to start working at T.K.’s. Look who slept in.
Lucas, our hero with brown hair, gelled into a finely curved wave, that wave we’d all like to surf on. Lucas, that crazy cat that loves poetry and will never quite shut up about how in love with writing he is. In fact, here’s a genuine Pewter Poem:
Juicy little beads of tear ,
that the sky has dripped,
crying in such a shameful way.
Are you man or mouse cloud?
For your womanish woes are getting
in my path.
Move it asshole,
this is New York,
Not Oz.
Ah, Lucas, our rumbling, bumbling often stumbling hero. If you were to suddenly transform into an animal, we would like to call you a Maine Coon Cat, for, like that specific breed, you are active, playful, affectionate, docile, healthy, independent, intelligent (without speaking much), and compatible with most others cats, well, people you meet. Although, all of these positive qualities, do have a downfall, like the Maine Coon, you need to be groomed to look like an Egyptian god. Miiiiiiaaaaaoooooow.
.........................................BOO.
Summer rested it’s ass in California and let it’s beer belly spill into New York, as heat desperately tugged at the coasts for some relief, but alas, the coasts are selfish of their relieving H2O. Silly, selfish, shellfish-filled oceans.
The summer dragged on, not because it was having trouble or anything, it was just down right slow and lazy. It was hot everyday, hot and unbelievingly humid. Gulli was gone for basically the entire summer (she had been sentenced to overnight summer camp), and Rory had to work double shift to impress his unc. So, the Gwaitic and I spent our free days at the beach, or just waiting for Rory to get off work. I was working at a small bakery and the Gwaitic was at a movie theater. Usually, I would get off work aroung 6:30pm, and the Gwaitic would get off around 7, so for about a half hour I would goof off at the movie theater, and by the end of the summer I was kicked out of the movie theater if i was seen by the manager.
Anyway, when the Gwaitic would get off work, we would drive down to the beach and make illegal fires, and sing stupid songs. Sometimes we drank a little, but rarely. Every thursday night Rory didn’t have work, and wouldn’t have to spend time with his uncle so he joined us. The summer was slow, but I’m not going to go great detail into it. We partied on rare occasions, but it was hard since most of our party hosts were away in Europe or Asia, or helping in Africa. One friend went to Alaska, then to Austrailia, and then Hawaii. All in two months. How jealous was I? So very very very jealous. Summer did eventually cease though, and Gulli returned, and so did our party friends, and school again started it’s dull but comforting purr.
So there we were again, bored and useless students in a place that can only under appreciate the great and over rate the mediocre. Ah what a high standing proud school.
Sad September
School smelled of sweat socks, body odor, grandmothers’ perfume, and chlorine. I was so close to leaving, but still just out of reach, like a kid on a tricycle with no where to go. Every day was in and out, the first few weeks settling into new teachers, old aquaintances and the same friends. Lunch and free periods were dedicated to homework, and after school to bad movies with our invincible quartet. It was pretty good for a while. Then life kicked in with a tae kwan doe “hi-yah”.
The day had been a long one. October was on the tip of everyone’s tongue, and I could already taste roasted pumpkin seeds, and bite size chocolate bars. Gulli met me outside of the auditorium, and we waited for the Gwaitic and Rory to come along for the usual ride to Rory’s house for the purpose of teen movies and action flicks. We waited eagerly since it was Schwartzenager day.
The bell rang at three, and people happily scurried away from the brick building that held them for hours each day. I knew something was wrong as soon as the bell rang. The Gwaitic was down the hall, walking with a different stance, he didn’t seem as sure of himself. He was wearing a sweatshirt. Gulli started to dig through her purse, looking for either her lip gloss or her speed stash (her new thrill she had aquired at camp). She pulled both out. Joe approached slowly. I automatically asked about Rory. Joe’s eyes raised slowly and then he clapped his hands together and rubbed them furiously as if he wished a fire would relieve him of his duties as a friend. He looked straight into my eyes and breathed, “Rory’s being held on a weapon’s charge and rape.”
****OK, I'M HAVING MAJOR WRITER'S BLOCK FOR THIS BECAUSE MY WRITING STYLE HAS SORTA CHANGED SINCE I STARTED THIS SO ANY IDEAS WOULD BE MAJORLY APPRECIATED. E-MAIL ME AT SOCIALGRRRL@AOL.COM.
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