Trouble Every Day (incomplete I think)

(life writing attempt)

I will tell you all my secrets, but I will lie about other things.
First off I have to make you believe in fairy tales; fairy tales which you never believed in as a child. But you believed that hiding mother’s free range eggs underneath a blanket would give you dozens of baby chicks to look after. Though, the eggs never hatched and never did you bother opening the first box of your life.
It doesn’t open by itself.
The first fairy tale you believe in is self-awareness. I was fifteen when I discovered the values of honesty and what it meant to be me.
But life was going backwards. The future was a distant memory.

I remember Janine’s sixteenth birthday. I arrived at hers in the afternoon to help decorating the cellar. She had a huge party cellar. It was the place where I got extremely drunk on my seventeenth birthday; I won’t ever forget the power of peer pressure. Janine was now sixteen just like me.
“It looks gross when you and Daniel snog,” I said.
“Are you saying this because you haven’t had your first kiss, yet?”
I carried on putting beer bottles into the fridge. The louder the bottles bang against each other, the better.
“The fridge is overloaded. We need ice for tonight,” I said.
“We have snow outside, don’t we?”
The temperature outside was -1°C. Janine’s birthday was a day before the shortest day of the year – that was how I always remembered it. Her blond hair used to be longer and thicker in Year 10. Ever since Year 8 started, they had become thinner and looked like dirty blond.
I opened a bag of crisps.
“You should give Linus a chance,” she said.
I put the bag of crisps back on the table. The smell of cheese and onion made me ill. “And why do you think I should?”
“Come on, he only talks about you! I thought you like big brown eyes.”
I like green eyes.
The party started at eight. The cellar was filled by the time it was ten. Linus was trying his best to ignore me whereas I was trying to ignore everyone. The beer tasted bitter; it always had. It was them who liked my rosy cheeks and the way my eyes narrowed into slits. I left the half full bottle at the bar and grabbed my coat. I went up the stairs to the backyard where I lit myself a cigarette and sat on the bench nearby the half frozen pond.
I was nineteen when I smoked my first cigarette – three years ago.
I heard the cellar door open and close, leaving the drunken laughs and shouts behind. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.
“You must be crazy,” said Linus “it’s frigging cold out here.”
He sat down next to me with a smile.
“Are you not having fun?” I asked.
“I am. It seems you aren’t.”
I noticed that the shimmers were gone, although the moon was still clear.
“I’m tired.”
“Snap out of it. Have another beer or some Vodka.”
I looked at him, marvelling at his brown eyes. If only they were green. The cold was making him shake like aspen leaf.
“I just quit drinking.”
“You’re joking!”
“No, I’m not,” I said.
“Have you changed from a Punk to a fucking Straight Edge?”
Something inside me snapped. “Will you stop categorising me?”
“I’m just saying…”
“Saying what?”
“You’re only fun when drunk.”
I smiled and lit another cigarette. I looked at my watch and saw that the numbers were reversed. One o’clock. The moon was cool. I was watching the reflection of the water shimmering against the wooden fence. The movements signalled inconsistency and unpredictability, which were a sheer symptom of life’s mental instability.
“Do you remember me getting shitfaced on a glass of pure Korn on my seventeenth birthday?”
He laughs. “So you’re envisioning your own future in which you’re still getting drunk?”
“I’m jealous of you all” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“You are all moving on so well.”
I finally grabbed for my black box which was lying under the bench. Linus was mumbling words that no longer had meanings to me. As I opened the box, I found myself in bed with both hands clasped.

I was praying.
“Please, dear God, stop making me feel this way. I even talk to you through my diary, can you not hear me? I asked you to speed time up, so I no longer have to face school, so I can be an adult and do what I want. I asked you to make Andy look at me and maybe ask me out. Are you not paying attention to me at all?”
I fell asleep with tears in my eyes.
As I woke up, I immediately wrote down the dream that I had. It was a fairy tale, except it was one about dreams that didn’t come true. A lesson well learnt and I no longer prayed after that. Something inside me had died, but hope outweighed that feeling of dissociation.
During break time in school I was reading The Misanthrope by Molière. Reading was a good change from just standing around in the schoolyard, watching other pupils play. Then I saw a large shadow looming over me and my book. My form teacher Mrs Kelmann was smiling at me.
“Don’t you think you’re a little too young to read this?” she asked.
“I don’t think this is suitable for a Year 7 pupil.”
“But it rhymes so beautifully” I said.
She smiled and finally left me alone again. Mrs Kelman had caught me reading Sartre’s The Chips Are Down before – an almost unphilosophical piece. That one she enjoyed, too and didn’t tell me off for reading it, as it was simply a love story about unrequited love. The conclusion I drew from that story was that there were more important things than love. It helped me to understand that in reality I had no feelings for Andy at all.
I looked around me and saw that people were still playing the same games, as if they were a tape on repeat. I realised I was no longer walking on solid ground and that I needed to venture into something drastic. Maybe I should start preparing to become a secret agent, if not, an assassin. And they were still playing the same games.
At home my mother prepared some lunch for me.
“How was school?” she asked.
“Why do you always ask? What do you care?”
She looked angry, but she was a fairly patient person back then.
“I don’t want to hear that tone of yours again. That’s not the way to speak to your mother.”
I looked at the ceramic cup that I made for her when I was still in kindergarten. It said “Best mum”.
“You’re not the best mum in the world. There is no such thing” I said.
I didn’t touch my lunch. She went to the living room with hers and I saw her take a little bite into her sandwich. The peanut butter must have tasted really bad. She started sobbing.
My friend Katja came to pick me up after lunch time. She was a lively kind of girl who always attempted to lure me into coming outside which I did, although I had no desire to. I still had stories to write which I wanted to finish by midnight.
The sun was shining, so we went for some ice cream. I’d forgotten my sun glasses and therefore hated her looking at my squinting eyes, as if mine weren’t already small enough.
“I don’t understand why you do your homework straight after school” she said.
“What else is there to do?”
“I don’t know! Why not take your dog for a walk or watch Sailor Moon?”
I was swallowing my ice cream so quickly that I got a brain freeze. The pain felt sensational. Katja looked at me in disgust.
“You eat like a monster” she said. I must have robbed her appetite as she was now playing with her ice rather than eating it. I would finish hers if she offered.
“Andy kissed me” she said after which I clenched a fist. She continued “We’ve done petting as well.”
I spooned more ice cream into my mouth and then swallowed everything at once. The sluggish way the ice cream slid down my oesophagus made my entire body freeze. For a moment I felt stiff before the head ache occurred.
“Will you stop it?” She sounded more disgusted than before.
I pressed my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth to warm up. I was full.
“Katja, I lost my virginity at the age of nineteen!”
“Fucking hell, you’re insane!”
She stood up and left me there on my own at the ice cream parlour which was full of elderly couples staring at me as if I was an imbecile. My bloated belly still wanted more, so I started spooning Katja’s half full bowl.  There was a medium-sized black box on her seat. In order to quickly have it done with, I grabbed for it and opened it.
I saw myself lying on the sofa in the living room with my hand placed underneath my skirt. I was only about four feet tall.

I was touching myself. In the background I could hear some Disney cartoon music. It was early in the morning and I was sighing, sighing as my hands moved along my little tummy and undeveloped breasts. I must have sighed loudly, as I heard my father saying: “What are you doing!”
He was standing by the door, angry. I immediately stood up but didn’t know what to say. On the screen I saw that Goofy running away from an elephant.
This was another fairy tale; a fairy tale about self-discovery on the sexual plane as well as learning that my current entity was without foundation.
I got ready for school without having had breakfast. I hardly ever had breakfast. Usually I’d wait till school finished and would have some lunch at home. Ever since attending Primary School, I’d been feeling less hungry and less excited about life.
The girls tried to talk with me and I wanted to make friends with them, but something inside me was hindering me in my efforts to utter any word to them.
“Can you not speak?” a girl asked me and stared at my eyes.
I wanted to play with them so badly. Soon it was too late. They had lost interest.
I looked around me in the schoolyard and realised that I wasn’t the only one on my own. There was an Egyptian boy playing alone in the sand, a Russian girl from the parallel glass walking around alone, and there was me. Some kids laughed at me whilst singing the offensive bully song against Chinese people. They also placed their forefingers at the corners of their eyes and pulled back so that their eyes narrowed heavily into slits. Twelve to thirteen years of school. It’ll be over soon.
During the art class I needed the loo very badly. I wanted to just leave the classroom, but I knew Mrs Cube would tell me off. I walked over to her to the front desk and hoped she could read my mind.
“What’s the matter, my dear?”
I wanted her to read my mind. I wanted her to send me outside. I eyed at the door, but she didn’t notice and told me to carry on painting my rainforest before the lesson finished. I sat back down, unable to concentrate. I heard water flowing everywhere. It was raining outside and kids were rinsing their watercolour boxes or washing their hands. A boy was whistling. Whistles always have a huge effect on my bladder; I could feel my bladder vibrate along with his whistles. That was it. I couldn’t hold it any longer. I got a tissue out of my pocket, placed it between my little legs and then I released.
Here I failed Bukowski’s endurance test which I knew I would never forget.
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…
I opened the next black box, but before I could figure out the content I heard several shouts; shouts from my distant memory – back when I was twenty, nineteen, seventeen…I heard voices arguing about the moral of the story.
But in reality there is none. I’m just glad that the eggs never hatched. I’m thinking of the ladybirds that I used to catch and keep in glass jars. I used to catch tadpoles as well. I never bothered piercing holes through the lids, though. I’m glad the eggs never hatched.


by Paula Deckard (c) 2011

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