Today was everything but impressive.
I was going to be with my lover today.
But I wasn't. 'Tis the story of my day that should have ended as soon as it started...
I woke up… I mean, was woken up at eight o'clock this morning by my mother. On a Saturday. I know she means well, but you can't expect someone to be active all the time, it's not healthy. Anyway, it wasn't just to get up; it was so we could go get me a winter jacket. A winter jacket. At eight o'clock in the morning. Why couldn’t it wait until later?
"No reason", they told me. So I ate, showered, brushed my teeth, got dressed, threw on some shoes -- my wonderfully comfortable, beat-up, blue Converse shoes purchased at Target. Mmm… -- and jumped into the backseat of the truck. So there I was, phone-less, iPod-less, tired and cranky. Fan-fucking-tastic. Oh well, at least I was getting a jacket.
I want a red one. A simple, yet functional red jacket. I hope we go to Target or somewhere close. … We just passed Target. Maybe we’re going to Scheele’s. … Nope, there it is, about a block behind us now. Where the hell are we going?
“Where are we going?” I finally asked.
… No response.
“Hey! Where are we going?” I repeated.
“We told you already,” my mother answered. “We’re going to Wheel’s to get you a jacket.”
Wheel’s? Ugh… I don’t want anything that has the word “Polaris” written seven times in big, white letters all over it.
“Oh, Cool.”
We pulled into the parking lot of that seemingly little building about ten minutes later. We walked in. It had probably close to 500,000 dollars worth of merchandise on display in there. I started looking at the jackets on the wall to my left. Too big. I moved down five meters or so. Hmm… These are better. But there aren’t any red jackets. I began to panic a little. But then I saw it in my peripheral vision. I turned around. Yes! A red jacket! I got it. Oh, and it was for sale too so it only cost my parents 60% of the original price. They were glad that I picked from that rack. I was just glad that the jacket was red.
We went to Paradiso for lunch because we were already in town nearby. I ate a large plate of Nachos -- covered with melted cheese, shredded chicken, jalapeños, and tomatoes -- and two tall glasses of Coca-Cola. I didn’t eat it all so I asked for a box. I’ll probably eat it tomorrow. All the while, I was texting my lover about a fat, ugly child that she saw walking on the sidewalk. I told her to take a picture of it, but it ran away. Oh well. Everybody else finished eating. We headed for home. Huzzah!
When we walked into the front door, I kicked my shoes off and proceeded to the stairs. There are fifteen of them that went to the basement; six going north, a landing, and then nine more in the opposite direction. I was only fifteen steps away from peace and solitude. Fifteen.
“Hey!” My father bellowed. “Go empty the dishwasher and then fill it up with the shit in the sink!”
Damn. So close…
“’Kay,” I replied. I quickly did what I was told and then escaped to the basement without a sound. There I was, lying on my couch, content with myself, and talking to my lover via text messaging. We talked about Katamari and not returning games to the video rental place and how she made her little sister shoot milk out of nose, similar to what she does to me when I’m taking a drink from the water fountains at school. Soon after, I fell asleep on my couch. About one hour and ten minutes later, I woke up to find that I had three un-read text messages, all from my lover. They informed me that they returned home and I could go over there when I was ready. Yay! We are going to have fun today. I just know it. I ran upstairs to ask my mother if she could give me a ride over there.
“No,” she told me.
“Wha-Why?” I questioned.
“Because I don’t want to leave the house.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a reason, mom…”
“I don’t need to give you a damn reason. Me saying no is reason enough. She can come over here though.”
“But… That won’t work. Her parents want me to go over there for some reason.”
“Wyatt. I don’t fucking care what her parents want.”
“Well… What if they come pick me up? It’s virtually the same as them driving over here, dropping her off, and then going home.”
“No. You aren’t going over there.”
“WHY?”
“You’re fifteen. You’re not married. You don’t need to hang out with her all the time. You’re digging yourself into this hole. The more you hang out with her, the less you hang out with other people. You’re becoming socially retarded. She isn’t like you. She’s quiet. And weird. She’s like Britta. Look at Lindsey, she’s in theater, she has lots of friends, she’s fun. She doesn’t have any problems talking at all. Your girlfriend hides behind you, she doesn’t say anything. She isn’t --“
“-- Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! She is NOT weird! We DO have a LOT in common! She is NOT like Britta at all! I could care LESS on what Lindsey does! You DON’T know ANYTHING!”
I left the office, and ran down the steps. I couldn’t stop myself from crying. Just as I was getting to my bedroom door, my mother shouts down the stairs, “Why the hell are you fucking crying?!”
“You don’t talk about her like that! You don’t know her and you don’t have the right to say anything!”
I slammed my door. I called my lover. I told her we couldn’t do anything today. She wasn’t happy to hear that at all. While I was talking on the phone, my mother opens my door and apologizes for saying all that stuff. She left. Then she came back ten seconds later to yell at me. I was sitting on the window sill; my room is in the basement and I get better cell-phone coverage when I’m on the window sill. Hm. Apologizing and then yelling at me ten seconds later pretty much cancels out the apology in its entirety. Bitch…
After I hung up, I turned on my computer and checked all my sites. First was deviantART, then YouTube, next was Blogger, Twitter after that, Gmail followed, and I concluded with LoudCrowd. There, I played games; I danced by following the on-screen instructions and pressed the arrow key that corresponded with the arrow on the screen. I won some loot, tracks and stamps, and I requested a song. One Day by The Juan Maclean. They played it two songs later. About six to seven songs later, my parents came downstairs telling me to get upstairs because they… I mean WE, were going to Walmart. At Walmart, I got some khaki pants for swimming and a plecostomus for my fish tank because it was getting dirty and it needed one. My parents got stuff. I wasn’t paying attention to what they bought. Before we left, we had to get food for dinner. We went to the food section on the other side of the building and got some frozen pizzas. We passed the fruit. I wanted to get a pomegranate. We always eat pomegranate seeds at my lover’s house. I wanted to stop and look for one, but my parents kept on walking.
“Can you stop for a second?” I asked. “I’m trying to find a pomegranate. They are really good.”
“Save that weird shit for when you’re at her house,” my dad replied.
Just because we don’t eat it at our house, doesn’t make it weird. It’s just different. It’s absolutely normal and I can’t believe you would even say that.
“’Kay…” I sighed.
As soon as we returned home, I went to my room. I opened Gmail. One new message. It was from ECare. I sent them an email yesterday asking them to help me unblock the use of short-codes on my phone so I could use Twitter Mobile. They asked me for some information. I gave them information. My phone rang. However, it wasn’t the normal ring; riiing-riiiiiiiiiing-riiing-pause-riiing-riiiiiiiiiing-riiing. No, it was different; riiiiiiing-riiiiiing-riiiiiing-riiiiiiing. It was my mother calling my room from the kitchen with the phone’s nifty little intercom-thing to tell me that the pizza was done. I lazily dragged myself to the kitchen, wasting as much time as I possibly could. I didn’t want to eat with them. I wanted to wait. I wanted to just roll up into a corner somewhere and just collect dust. I wished I could learn how to photosynthesize. That way, I wouldn’t have to go eat with them. I ate with them anyway. Mid-bite into my second slice of pizza, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I quickly wiped off the grease on my fingers on to the napkin next to me and checked my phone. It was a message from Twitter asking for my username. What? Hm. Bruce must have unblocked shot-codes for me. Thanks, Bruce. After I ate, I hopped back on to my computer and checked Gmail again. I was right, I had another message in my inbox from him telling me that he unblocked the use of short-codes and that if I had any further questions, all I had to do was ask. I thanked him. I sent a message to Twitter. It worked. I was elated. My phone rang again. It was the all-too-familiar intercom ring.
I picked up the phone, “Yeah?”
“What the fuck are you doing? Hurry up!”
What the hell are you talking about? Jeez, dad… You don’t need to yell all the time.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“We’re going to the Edeen’s party and you’re coming with. Get your ass up here.”
Oh… I completely forgot about that…
I hung up, grabbed my phone and my iPod and I bolted up the stairs… Again. It’s only fifteen steps, it’s not that difficult. They add up… They really do. I put on my shoes. Oh, my wonderful shoes, how I love you so. I put on my jacket. Oh, my jacket, bleh… We walked across the street and then went two houses left where we then turned right into the driveway, walked up the steps, rang the doorbell, and waited. The wife opened the door. She welcomed us in. There were so many people in there. Supposedly, they were all people who lived in the neighbourhood, but I only recognized two of the twelve or so families there. Am I the only person here who can’t drink legally?
“All the kids are downstairs if you want to see what they are doing,” said the wife to me.
Hm. Can you read my mind? Then she winked at me. Not a creepy wink, no, but a just-between-you-and-me kind of wink; like she was telling me not to say anything about what I just learned. I took off my shoes, placed my jacket on the bed in the spare bedroom, and skipped down the stairs. They have more steps. Eight more than we do. I’m not jealous. I mean, who likes to climb stairs anyway? When I reached the bottom and made the corner, I realized I had just walked into Hell. There were children everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Playing video games, running and screaming, shooting each other with nerf-dart guns, throwing Linkin’ Logs; I turned around and went back upstairs. I snacked on fruit. Soon after, half of the kids stampeded into the kitchen asking their parents if they could go outside. They all said they could. I decided to go out too. We set up a game of Ditch. Two teams, six kids each team. I counted as two people. It was really cold and the kids were retarded and couldn’t go one round without fighting about something. I suggested that we all go back inside. They immediately agreed. Somehow, Wii games came up and everyone wanted to play. One of them asked Ethan if he had Super Smash Brothers for the Wii. He said he didn’t, but I said I did. Because I do. I told them I’d go home and get it and I’d meet them back in the house. I went home. I took off my shoes. I went down the stairs. I grabbed the Wii game from the family room. It was in the stack of all the other Wii games; the third one from the top. I walked back up the stairs. I put on my shoes. I opened the door... I stopped. I could stay here. I could close this door, take off my shoes, head to my room, crawl into bed and just sleep. Wait… No. That wouldn’t be the right thing to do. All those kids are waiting for me. Sigh… Why do I have to be so nice all the time? I shut off the light in the entry-way, headed back out into the cold, and closed the door behind me. I walked across the street and then went two houses left where I then turned right into the driveway, walked up the steps, knocked on the door, and then let myself in. I took off my shoes and went downstairs. They were all waiting for me by the television, fighting over who would get to play first. I played the It’s-My-Game trick and got to play every round. Surprisingly, most of them could actually play the game well. I played as Kirby, Lucas, Pikachu, Yoshi, and then Lucas again, in that order. By the middle of the fifth round, they were tired of playing Super Smash Brothers Brawl and wanted to play Rock Band instead. Suddenly, this terrible wave of depression flew over me. My lover and I could be playing this at her house. We would have so much fun and we would sound awesome. Even so, I played a little. It was mostly the guitar though because everybody wanted to play using the drums. Slowly, people left the party-thing until there were only two families left. Mine and the ones who lived in the house. It was midnight and I was ready to go home. I never even wanted to come to the party. I wanted to be cuddling on the couch with my special someone in her house on her couch watching the telly until one or both of us fell asleep… Ten minutes later, we left. I opened our door, took off my shoes, hung my jacket on the back of the chair in the dining room, “fell” down the stairs, crawled to my room, pulled up Blogger, and wrote this…
Hmm… 2,471 words… I’m not very good at summarizing stuff.
Hey, I just had a great idea.
Here it is: I’m going to bed now.
‘Night.
P.S. Anything written in green was stuff that I was thinking at the time... Stuff I never actually said aloud.
