Chapter 6
the players:
My Mom
My mom is usually a really cool person to be around. She likes ska and melodic punk. She doesn't like hardcore. She calls it, "kill your mother music." I taught my mom how to skank a long time ago. She will often catch me skanking, alone in my basement, to some crazy ska music. If she's in a good mood, she will usually join me in my private skankfest. We'll dance like crazy and then talk about the eighties. I think a lot of my friends want to come over my house, solely to talk to my mom and hear her crazy antics. My mom works too much and gets stressed out easily. She taught me a lot of the things that make me who I am. She tries to teach me about the brain of the female, but I just don't understand how flowers make things better. I remember when she taught me about the corsage. I thought it was a kind of car. A lot of the time that my mom and I talke, we are both over-tired. So our serious conversations quickly turn into a joke that we ran with too long. We will be in the middle of an idea about Osama Bin Laen hiding in the Amish country, when one of us realizes that the joke has gone to far. Every now and again my mom gets upset and slams doors. I told her she slams doors and it is really not needed to show she is angry. She denies the fact that she recklessly slams everything she can when she is mad. All in all, I couldn't ask for a better mom. Even if I could, it wouldn't be nice to say it.
Shayna
Shayna moved in two streets down from me in the beginning of the year. She used to have reddish curly hair. Then she dyed it emo black and straightened it. Then she dyed it brown with streaks of blonde. She hangs out with the skateboarder kids and obsesses over some kid named Brian. I always tell Shayna I'm going to burn her house down. Maybe I should stop. With my luck, her house really will burn down and she will really think it was me. I hung out with Shayna about three times. I think I wrote more about Theresa, than Shayna. All in all, Shayna is an average girl, worried about her physical appearance to the point where it pisses the hell out of me.
My spirit is broken. It is times like this, when I see the fire. A fire which at times can burn so brightly and so pure, but that has all melted away to shit. I remember a time when all of my mental pain could be solved with a quick slit of the wrist. The blood would glimmer as it flowed down my arm. Along with the red tears, all of my frustrations would ooze out of the lacerations. If only I were still that lucky. I feel my worth has become void. I can see nothing even remotely good coming from my life. I feel as if my life has become a burden, or damnation, upon others. I cannot think of one time when I have made a positve difference in this world. People can probably bull-crap an instance where I have helped him, but that cannot outweigh my debt to all who have put up with me. I often think it would be better if I chose to no longer exist. Unfortunately, ending my life cannot repay those who have given to me. Everyday seems to get darker and I'm loosing hope of ever finding my way out of this maze. The only place I seem to feel pure is in the darkness. There it is harder to see my less than human flaws. So I guess, I move forward, hold my head high and walk across the eggshells of life.
I awoke to the sound of rain on my window. "Damn!", I thought. Realizing that today, me and Joe were supposed to go skating at his town. I decided to get dressed anyway. So I went to the basement to get my clothes. When I emerged, I heard my sister crying. She was carrying on, as if someone had hit her in the face with the blunt side of a shotgun, and killed her mother. She had stubbed her toe. My mom was already unusually cranky lately. I could see in her eyes, she was ready to burst. I tried to escape upstairs before I said something wrong. I have a habit of saying the wrong thing when my mom is angry and getting yelled at for it. She then continues to be upset for the rest of the day. What I say might not be bad, it might even be funny. But when my mother is enraged, allowing yourself to sneeze could be a bad choice. Just then, the phone rang. I knew it was Joe, there was no use in sneaking up the stairs. I answered the phone, and sure enough it was the lanky kid himself. I slowly approached my mom to ask if I could still go. I thought she'd be ok with it, because that would mean she could get rid of me for a whole day. She said, "No" and gave me a whole list of reasons as if I was arguing with her. Even though I had not said a word yet. So I hung up the phone and went downstairs. I was feeling unusually down and my hair was pissing me off. So I decided to cut it off.
I put the glue in my hair for the last time ever. I made sure it was perfectly perfect. I put my hair into eight excellently erect mohawk spikes. I had promised my friends they could each have a spike when I cut my hair. The sad part is, I had enough spikes for all of my friends. I cut the first four off. It felt as if I were cutting off an important appendage. I almost cried when I saw the first one detach from my head. All of the growing, all of the work, and all of the conditioning, I had put into my hair. My mom was happy, I was one step closer to being the person everyone wanted me to be. (a mindless media zombie who is controlled by society's unwritten code) It seemed too easy to do. A few quick snips, and my hard work and dedication lay on the counter in front of me. I arranged the spikes into a sad face and put my old man hat on.
We then ventured to Erin's graduation party. I decided it would be nice to give her one of my spikes in a handy little envelope with a certificate of authenticity. When we got there, Vinny and Joe were skateboarding. I jumped out of the van and did an “all up in your grill” old-school trick. We stayed outside for like half an hour. I had not even stepped foot into the actual party yet. I guess I liked it that way. I hate parties, especially occasional parties, like graduations, birthdays, and New Years. Eventually, the smell of freshly baked food lured me into the building. The entire places smelled like a pile of anus, or floor wax. I wasn't surprised to see a room full of people I did not know, and most of the people I did know, I did not like. My mom seemed to be having a good time. She was dancing and smiling. She tried to get me to dance, but for some reason, I was not in the mood. In enough time I started to be stupid and to stupid dances. By then the party was over and I went home.
As soon as I stepped in the door, the phone rang. It was Shayna, talking like a beastly man. Her and Jena had heard I cut my hair and wanted to see it. Last thing I heard, Shayna and Jena were mortal enemies. On the phone they were giggling like school-girls together. This is why I hate teenagers, but I asked no questions and attempted to go to Shayna's. My mom was afraid I was going to get shot (we live in the ghetto), so I couldn't walk to Shayna's. Instead, they drove to my house and rang the doorbell. I was just about to listen to my new CD from the band “COMEBACK KID”, I recommend you purchase that CD. Anywhoo…, They came in and we watched the video me and Jena made a while back, good times, good times. We talked, and I threatened to end Shayna's life in several different ways. Then I realized that not all of my thoughts are so “normal”. Like, I sincerely thought at some point in your life, you have to wonder if you can make your butt talk by manipulating the cheeks to make different sounds. Shayna and Jena claim to have never thought that. Either they are in denial, or I have a problem. They also said they never thought about putting a Play-doh spaghetti maker in front of their bunghole to make poop spaghetti. I guess now that I think of it, That was a little bit weird. Jena wanted Taco Bell. So I gave Jena a chunk of my mohawk and signed her certificate of authenticity. They left and I went to sleep. I did just find out Jena has my spike in her car for good luck. I feel like a rabbit or something. Maybe she'll murder someone with it. Maybe I should start a new paragraph.
They next day I went to church, the house of God, the holy place, the sanctuary for hurting souls, the gathering place for many religious zealots and hypocrites. I don't come to judge though, so I just ignore those who give the church a bad name and try to focus on the message. On my way in, some woman gave me a mysterious Shop-Rite bag. I looked inside to find a pair of blue dress shoes. Not just blue, but royal blue. I quickly put those on. They went perfectly with my sea-foam green pants. Afterwards Joe and i decided today would be a good day for our skatepark extravaganza. We invited some others and we skated. Nothing eventful, we just skated.
Joe and I went to my house and ate pizza. All seemed well in my household. My mom didn't seem to be cranky, so I told Joe he could stay for a while.
After Joe left I decided to go online. Just as I did I heard the "WHOOOM", followed by some really fruity music. It was apparent my mom was trying to use my stereo. When I went down to my dungeon, my mom was holding her ears. Two of my speakers were making sparking noises. She had blown out my speakers. I didn't care, I got them for free anyway. My mom said she put the CD in, but it made no noise so she thought she should turn it up. The CD player was unplugged. She noticed it was unplugged after she cranked the volume up to 90 percent. She she decided to plug in the CD player. Hence the sonicboom, and blown-out speakers. I said, "good job!" jokingly, "Did you think to ask?" She then yelled at me saying something about not having her own place and she ran off crying and slammed the door behind her. I felt bad, not knowing what had really happened. This is why I feel so worthless. No one understands my thoughts, jokes, sarcasm, or even my simplest gestures. Sometimes I wonder if I really am retarded and no one has told me. This is my life, a constant swirling cesspool of sorrow and mixed emotions.
