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Cherry Soda Boy

People are always amazed at the things a they remembers from their youth. I, however, am more amazed at the things I don’t remember. I don’t remember the sweet kisses from a loving mother, the soft lullaby sang at bedtime, or the gently touch of someone who loves you so much they would die if to save you. The reason I don’t remember is simple-it never happened in the first place.

I was unlucky enough to be blessed with a mother who cared more for her reputation than her young son. And like most of the mothers in my neighborhood, the only time she ever showed affection was when she was putting on a show for her hallow, self-centered friends. All the block parties, the picnics, and the “small” get-to-getters s were just a stage for her and her friends to perform on. They pretended to actually care- they faked love and emotion on this stage, while singing songs like “My daughter can sing like an angel,” or “That’s nothing, my son is the best pitcher on his team, and he is only four.” They sang these songs as the rudely shoved their beliefs and wants down the innocent throats of the children bore purely for reputation points. How sad is it we were born into a show and not into a family.

As I got older, I began to see through the carefully decorated masks, only to see the hideous soul that was hidden behind the masks of all the “mothers” in my neighborhood. When I saw this, I realized my mother never loved me. I was only a prop to her, and if I would die tomorrow she wouldn’t shed one honest tear for me. After this revelation, I grew to resent her, and in time…hate her. Well it isn’t like the feeling isn’t mutual.

So in time, I began to expect certain things from this woman. I expected her to yell when I did something not up to her standards, I expected her to drink to get happy and to make her forget that her son was a failure at life. Thus I expected this scene- her passed out on the couch, a martini dangling helplessly from her perfectly manicured hands, and mumbling obscenities to the God that, in her own words, “blessed her with a curse family.” This is the scene I walked into today, after my little party in Reno’s car. She was a mess, but I knew this when I was eight…and there is no point in helping someone who refuses to be helped (not to mention the fact she doesn’t even care about me or herself to even care.) I assume she has always been this way…so I might as well let her continue down this road of self destruction. No skin off my nose.

I toss my sorry excuse for a school bag on the floor, and head upstairs to my very big…boring…black bedroom. I still had a lot of things to figure out, like where the hell Vincent went after he stormed out in a huff. I silently prayed to a God that wasn’t there, that Vincent would be safe in his house writing some angst poetry or sulking in his own bedroom. If he wasn’t home, he was somewhere he shouldn’t be and like hell I am going to let him get himself killed. I grab my phone and start dialing the number to his home growing more and more nervous as each ring rang out. I didn’t get the result I was hoping for, and my worry grew as his answering machine kicked in. ‘He probably doesn’t want anyone to bother him…I mean I wouldn’t and we think alike.’ That was what I kept saying in my head, but somehow I knew it was a lie.

I hang up the phone without leaving a message; he wouldn’t call back anyway…I know him. The next best thing was getting a search party and looking for this angry vampire. The phone still in my hand, I dial Cids number. He, unlike Vincent, answered after the second ring.

“Yo,” Cid answers.

“Did Vincent call you?” It was a stupid question, but I figure I’d ask it just to get the conversation in motion. I hate hello’s.

“Hi Cloud, nice of you to call,” Cid growls, “No I didn’t actually…you worried about him?”

Yes…

“No, I just want to make sure he isn’t getting himself in trouble.”

“Yeah…I remember vaguely what happened last time Vincent challenged anyone…and it wasn’t pretty.”

No shit it wasn’t pretty.

“Want to go look for him?”

“Yeah, why not…I’ll pick you up.”

I mumble an “okay” and hang up the phone without saying goodbye. I stare at the dead phone, realizing my rudeness today was probably going to earn a nice kick in the ass by Cid. He takes a lot of things personal…very emotional young lad for such an asshole in general. Now don’t get me wrong, Cid is one of my best friends, but he can get on your last nerve pretty quickly with his emotional outburst and generally rude behavior. Yes, ironic…he can be rude to others but no one better be rude to him. Confusing boy.

I stand in my room for a few minutes, feeling the evil, lying walls of my house closing in on me. Its crazy how this house makes me feel, like a rat caught on some sticky paper, or a bird trapped in a cage. I am stuck in here…for another 2 years. The wait is almost not worth the prize…freedom. I have been stuck here since I was born, forced to listen to my parents as the try to mold me into a clone of themselves. Arrogant, greedy, ignorant people. Their dreams for my future were planned out since the moment my mother realized she was pregnant with me- I was to be a rich, successful lawyer…living in a nice large house somewhere New York City with a beautiful wife and 2.5 kids. I never wanted to be like that. My dreams are to become a writer, live somewhere where no one would bother me. I never liked kids, they annoy the hell out of me so I would choose not to reproduce. As for spouse? Heh, well at the rate I am going my only partner would be my left hand. That’s sick even for me.

I decide, after a few seconds of pondering, to wait outside for my dear friend Cid. Maybe if my mom doesn’t think I am home, she won’t look for me to start her routine bitchfest about how I am such a fuckin’ loser, and that she regrets having such a pitiful son like me. I don’t quite feel like being suicidal today. Before I run out of the house, I steal some of my mothers cigarettes since I know, not for a fact, Cid stole mine…and I am NOT dishing out fuckin seven dollars for something that is going to kill me…so…I will just steal my mothers how’s that?

I stand outside my big, obnoxious house, smoking my future murderer…waiting for Cid to drive up in is sorry excuse for a car. It is still cold out, getting colder by the second, but nothing is colder than the cold that is in my house. If you all haven’t all ready figured out I hate my home and my family, I am not going to spell it out for you…I think I used enough metaphors and cute little phrases to express my HATRED for it. So, no more.

“You know cigarettes cause cancer right?” An annoyingly sweet voice echoes behind me. I knew exactly who the owner of the voice was…and I would have rather stayed in the house if I knew she was going to show up.

“Yeah…what of it?” I retort.

“Cloud…look at me when you talk please.” I hate that about her, always trying to make me do what she wants. Even after we are long through she is still trying to force her mannerisms on me. Okay so yeah, it is polite to look in the eyes of the person you are talking to…but does she REALLY deserve it? She who decided to RUDELY go behind my back and do it HIM.

Alas, I turn around and face my capture anyway…just to show her the coldness and hatred that are evident in my eyes. She doesn’t seem to flinch, she is already used to these cold blue eyes. She smiles at me, that beautiful smile of hers that would make the strongest and most prideful man bow down before her. She seems so innocent, so beautiful…but like everything in this neighborhood it is just a façade. She tosses her long brown hair out of her face, letting her fascinating green eyes shine so that they are the only things I am allowed to focus on.

“That’s better,” she giggles…that annoying giggle…THAT giggle, “I know it is a month in advance, but, I don’t want anyone making plans on my birthday soooo here!” She practically shoves an ugly pink envelope at me with “Cloud Strife” written perfectly in script. Her birthday…November 15...like I could ever forget that date, though God knows I would love to.

“Okay.” I respond apathetically, dragging my eyes away from hers…and staring at the pink envelope that held my fate.

“You are coming right?” She sounded like she was pleading with me to join her and her boyfriend at her party…with her asshole friends, getting drunk and high and having sex in mulitple places in the house cause I KNOW her parents are never home. That is why she can do whatever the hell she wants cause her parents were never their to tell her “NO, you can’t do that!” In her head it was perfectly okay to sleep around, cause that’s what her mother did…so she is just doing everything she has seen in her own cursed home. Who can blame her huh? Who…

Not even I can…

“I’ll see.”

Her face changed when I said that, her smile morphed into a sad frown while her eyes when from a beautiful green to angry color only seen in someone like Cid. Does she have the audacity to be mad at ME for acting cold to HER. I certainly hope I am just seeing things.

A rough honk from her boyfriends Mercedes breaks our standoff.

“Lets go Aeries!” Sephiroth screams, honking some more.

“I’m coming honey,” she giggles again. Giggling at his abuse how absolutely romantic. I never yelled at her, I never honked at her…I never treated her like a whore…but yet she rather be with him than me. “Well I have to go! Seeya.” With that she flies away, back into his car, back to him. I begin to ponder something as the speed away together…what happened that night that makes her think her and I could still be friends.