Madame Bovary

So far, I am enjoying Madam Bovary. It is easy for me to read from it because I have been able to find many similarities between the plotline and my life. Say, the beginning of the book. It is about a new kid in school, on how he feels and everyone laughing and mocking at him. He is shy and quiet, and all he does is work, and himself from the rest of the class. This kind of applies to me because I’ve been the new kid about two times, and it’s always the same, some kids making fun of you, and if not yourself, behaving like a castaway. Later on in the book, the author, first first person and then third, moves on telling the story about the shy new student. Turned out—and I didn’t expect it—that this kid was the main character, or the main character of the chapters I read. It is enjoyable to read how this same person changes as he grows and how everyone that he meets and everything that happens to him affect him.

About the style, it’s sort of complicated, but I enjoy the descriptions, similes and symbolism that the author uses, because it helps me visualize the characters and the setting a bit more. The plotline also reminds me of a book I read at the beginning of 8th grade, which was La Casa de Los Espíritus, by Isabel Allende. It also talked about the life of a family, in different generations, and how they got married, and their social lives. The setting though, is totally different (colonial Chile and France).

I really want to finish the book, because I feel like I really need to know the end, and all that will happen to the characters. I want to know why the book is called Madame Bovary, because so far they haven’t mentioned her as much as Mister Bovary. Also, I want to know, whether the author is in the story (first person) or not, because at the beginning he/she was. These are questions that I think about often as I go through the book.

Road Workin' (Part 5)

“So, what’s up?” Tracy asked, but she wasn’t really concerned of awkwardness. She scanned the dance floor, and spotted Trisha dancing crazy with some other guy. He was muscular and very good looking, and they were too close together. Maybe she should—do nothing. Trisha was always getting herself into trouble and it seemed like she would’ve ended up pregnant—had Tracy not been there to save her. But tonight, her intention was to relax. Trisha was not a baby, and maturity might stop her. If she was mature, that is.

“Nothing much.” Mark said casually. He drank a bit more, and Tracy noticed how he sighed heavily, as if he was about to tell her something big. “Actually, a lot.” he fixed his position and Tracy opened her eyes, wanting to show full attention and concentration. She was not the only one feeling pretty confident, tonight.

“My girlfriend Stephanie just dumped me. It was nothing nasty, she was all honest and calm. But still, I loved her.” Mark said closing his eyes and grieving in silence. “You did.” Tracy said nodding, perhaps too much. And, what did she knew? She knew she’d had whisky, and that was sort of it. But Mark was honest. He must’ve really had feelings for her. Suddenly, Tracy felt all jealous of this girl, Susana-whatever-her-name was. Without the need of another whisky, she realized that her job was to make Mark forget about someone else.

“But you know, perhaps if you don’t deserve her she didn’t deserve you.” Tracy said, fully tempted to place her hand on Mark’s knee. “Yeah, maybe.” Mark said, and Tracy could still notice that there was doubt in his voice. Convince. Convince.

“Maybe it was all for the better. You know, you’ll be able to meet more girls, and who knows, maybe you’ll like them more.” Them, me. For a sec, as she had done many times in her past, Tracy wondered whether she was pretty. Everytime she looked at herself in the mirror, she concluded that she wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t beautiful either. Her body was sort of chubby and not perfect, and her hair was just there and her eyes were plain. But she had a good feeling about Mark, whisky, and whatever Mark was drinking.

“Yeah. Just that, I’m not really social. I tried so hard to get to Steph. I really did, and it’s like I’m starting all over again.” he said quietly, drinking a bit more. Steph. Tracy didn’t know whether she hated the nickname, or if she hated the name—the person— as a whole. Next thing she knew she called the guy and asked for two whisky’s.

“Here, it’s on me. I know I am totally sounding like an alcoholic, but wherever you’re in sorrow, whisky is the best.” she said and gave him the cup. He smiled thanks, and drank some of it, and yet his reaction was still the name. Tracy had to calm herself before sighing out loud.

“You know, I’ve heard people here are very good at shots. Wanna try?” And yet she said herself to be clean and non-alcoholic. But tonight, it seemed, was an exception. She had a broken heart to get to, and whisky wasn’t that bad. She really hadn’t heard anybody say anything about people here, and she doubted whether a specific group of people was better than another, at shots.

“You’re on.” he smiled a bit and shook his cup in the air. And she was about to prove it.

Hug (Poem)

While some girls—most,
tell about the ways in which they’ve kissed,
and all the things they’ve done, and toast—
I don’t. And I’m not pissed,
he hugged me. He did.

I wasn’t expecting it,
and yet it wasn’t bad.
He’s cute—like a kid
he’s been meaning to do it, he said.

We were walking,
heading up the long way—talking,
and he said he had forgotten,
and he approached me,
and placed his arm around me,
and I smiled.

He’s happy, I see in his face,
his eyes are widen,
the grin, the look.
He’s glad he’s done it
I am, too.

Road Workin' (Part 4)

Tracy always wanted to become a dancer. That is, until she realized that the purpose of life was to earn money and live. Her grades and dedication suddenly grew when she made her mind about dancing, and she was done with it. She kept on liking it, though. But this time, there she was, and everyone was dancing, and suddenly she didn’t want to dance at all. Trisha had already join the rest of the people, and she was dancing deeply. Leo, Tracy knew he wasn’t really a party-someone, but he was not there. So Tracy had no choice but to seat at the bar.

She had never been much of a drinker, but she admitted, guilty, that she’d never say no to whisky. She ordered some, and expected for it to not be as good as it really was. She closed her eyes and did her best as to ignore the music around her, and enjoy the moment. It was called getting drunk.

The other people at the bar were each in their business, and there was someone sort of lonely, sitting at the other end. Sort of like her, Tracy thought. She was really shy, and she knew she would need more whisky, if she was planning approaching and talking to him. She couldn’t really see, whether he was cute or not, and she didn’t know whether he was alone, but she decided to try it. Another whisky. Never mind the money she had. Which was Beth’s actually. It’s not like it was being wasted.
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He had been there quite a few times, and yet it wasn’t as happy as it had seemed before. The music, it was cool and so was the drink, but something was missing…Stephanie. He thought he didn’t deserve that. He tried so much and he was the happiest guy in the world when she had finally agreed, and he had been the most loyal ever, and she simply said stop, and no. And there he was, alone, drinking like he had done many times before, but post-Stephanie.

It had been hard all along. Because he wasn’t the type of guy that girls loved. He never called much attention. It was not like girls followed him everywhere, or like anytime now, any girl would come and seat next to him, amazed by his…beauty? That only happened in movies, certainly.
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“Hey.” Tracy said a little bit loud, and sat next to the blonde boy. He was sort of cute, and though his nose was too big, and his hair too soft, everything else was okay. The bewildered look in his eyes made Tracy feel a bit scared and doubted whether this had been a good idea after all. But she had already done it, and she had had her whisky’s, and there was no point turning back.

“H—Hey.” he said, and he was a bit happy, Tracy noticed for her sake, that is, the part that was still sober. “I’m Tracy. From New Haven. And you are?” she asked as casually as she could, but with enough volume as to be heard.

“I’m Mark. I’ve lived here all my life, actually.” he grinned, and Tracy as well. He was better than…Leo, say, and crazy-Trisha and mean Beth. Much better, actually.

Road Workin' (Part 3)

Trisha hurried down, to the lobby as if being chased by something. She was sort of restless, but relieved when she saw Leo standing close to the wall. Surprisingly, Tracy was standing too, much her pose was rigid, and she was sort of scared.

“Hey. Are you coming too?” Trisha approached them and pictured Beth, so alone in the upstairs room. Whatever. I asked her, and she didn’t want to come, she thought and declared herself not as guilty. She had imagined that Beth and Tracy would stay and talk of boredom, but now that Tracy was here, she was sort of angry, and sad for Beth.

“I wasn’t as tired. Plus, it’s nice, to walk around and get to know the place.” She shrugged. Right. Trisha tried hard not to mock. She had never been close to Tracy, thinking of her to be incredibly innocent, with typical piggy tails and pink flowery dresses and leather shoes. It was pathetic, and it seemed like she was becoming just a bit more. Tourism.

“Yeah, cool.” Trisha hate hypocrisy, and yet there she was, her tone of voice incredibly mean. Leo removed his always-playing iPod, and opened the door, and gestured the ladies to head outside.

The climate was nothing to worry about. It wasn’t chilly, and not so hot. It seemed, though, the crowd had gotten denser, and people were walking everywhere, and for a second, Trisha doubted. When she had entered her room, the bed was okay, and there was a small T.V., and a desk and everything. And though the floor was cold and colourless, it was provocative. Perhaps it was wiser to go back inside, and hide or something. Because Tracy was coming along too. And Leo, he wouldn’t really care. But then Trisha reminded herself of who she was, and how she always wanted to do something, and her love for partying. This was not exactly Las Vegas or anything, but there were various songs playing in the background, and despite all the noise and commotion, Trisha tried to guess where the sound, the most appealing, was coming from, and she started walking.

The noise got louder, and then there was this sign, and it called their attention, and Trisha stopped and she was excited. Tons of people were coming inside, and yet the size of the thing wasn’t that big. It was a club, that was for sure. People just their age were partying inside and Trisha turned to face scared Tracy and bored Leo. “Come on!” she took out some money, as if gesturing Tracy and Leo to do the same. “Are we going in?!” Tracy shouted, and it was still difficult to hear her out; a new song had started, and it was much louder, and it seemed as if it was motivating people even more, to dancing, to shouting. “Yes!!” Trisha said, rolling her eyes and minding that she had to state the obvious. She grabbed Leo’s hand and led him towards the entrance, packed up with people. Tracy was catching before they went inside. She was sort of trembling, and Trisha could tell she was not so sure about all this. She might as well go back with Beth, she thought. But an anxious man insisted for her to pay, and then she was dragged inside, where there were lights and music, much more louder. She always got so excited and happy, about to dance, no matter place or companions.

Road Workin' (Part 2)

He didn’t know whether he wanted to stop. But he had said it, and he felt like his words were the reason they were here.

“Let’s look for a hotel or something.” Beth said as she grabbed her purse, and closed the car, and it sort of seemed like she was hoping or thinking everyone would follow. She wasn’t a dictator, or anything. And yet Leo followed, probably because he needed a bed. But not right now. There was time. He tried to think back, to the last time he’d been this independent, so far away from college and family and the city, and he was happy, and he felt the need for party. Gladly, that wasn’t gonna be much of a problem, he was reminded. Because jumpy Trisha was following too. Her excitement was rubbing off on him, it seemed, and on Tracy too, sort of, because she followed both of them, and looked around like some geeky-professional tourist.

Leo had met Beth not so long ago, just in college, because both of them knew Tracy. Because Leo was sure that there was some sort of far away-family relationship between the two, and Tracy just happened to be Beth’s roommate. Trisha was talking Industry and Design too, and Beth knew her, and then the four of them had decided to do this thing together. At the beginning, when he thought it was only he and Tracy, and he saw Beth and Trisha approaching delightfully, he was a bit mad, because of being the only boy. Then, he had convinced himself of it being fun and interesting.

“Hotel Buttercup. What do you say?” Beth stopped and they hadn’t been walking for long. The three followers looked up, and the sign was bright, but small, and not so bright. The corny name was made as to represent an elegant calligraphy, but it wasn’t more than a neon thing, that was about to fall. Beneath the sign, the entrance, it wasn’t big but it wasn’t full. There was a small carpet as to make it more welcoming, but the door was closed, and it wasn’t glass.

“Have the best time of your life. Ok, cool.” Tracy was the one who was always into details and more information. The one that made sure the model was never lacking glue or paint somewhere. The one—the only one—that read these kind of lousy mottos out loud. “You do notice that it’s spelled wrong?” Beth said, mocking rather than laughing. And yet she managed to scare her co-workers just a bit more, as to make them realize what they had gotten themselves into.

Inside the lobby, which looked similar to a janitor’s closet in organization, Beth approached the counter and started talking and asking. Leo stayed with the two others near the door, and it seemed for a second that Beth was their angry y mom, the one that was in charge. Because he was the male, that scared him a bit. Then again, he had always seen Beth as somewhat leader-like, like an independent women, not like any sort of tomboy dominant figure. And so he rested against the wall and closed his eyes for a second and sang a bit of old music.

“You know guys, I have a feeling that Beth hates us.” So Tracy was always focusing on detail, which certainly led her to mention things that didn’t need to be mentioned. Trisha followed, because she had nothing else to talk about. “I thought this project was going to be good. Because I know she works, but she works too hard.” She agreed.

“She’s just a bit stressed out because of the traffic and the staying-over thing.” Leo pointed out. Because who wouldn’t be stressed, right? Wait, he wasn’t. He had actually agreed and said that he wanted to stay. “Most probably. Well, we just go to bed and wake up and we keep going, right? I mean it doesn’t matter much.” Tracy proposed quietly. Tracy’s life was cute and small. She tried to be good, ignoring the fact that it sometimes it was boring to be one.

“Sure we are.” Trisha said it, and smiled, mischievously. Leo smiled back, and understood immediately about their sleepless future.

Beth approached them with a couple of keys dangling from her fingers. “We’ve got ourselves two rooms. I’m going to bed.” She gave this other key to Leo, as if it was up for him to decide who to sleep with. They gathered their bags and went up the stairs.

Literary Contests and Magazines

The following links I found them in class, of Literary Contests and Magazines.

Cezanne's Carrot
http://www.cezannescarrot.org/guidelines.html

The Apple Valley Review
http://www.applevalleyreview.com/

Road Workin' (Part 1)

“We should stop.”He said it simply, but with such a serious tone that for a moment the girls drove in silence, as if obeying.

Truth be told, it was shocking and so unexpected, because for the last hours, he had sat in the back, silently, and heard Fleetwood Mac all the way, just a little bit loud, in his iPod. Because Leo was a quiet person and had never bothered in being heard or being considered, when making choices.

But there, in the hot car, they were choosing, and Leo had mattered. Very much. Trisha was second to talk, after this long and vigorous silence. “You see? Even he wants to go. Come on, what’s the point of getting there at night? Not like we can present at this time.” She mid-laughed, and checked her watch, or pretended to. Trisha was not that kind of person who needed a watch for life-guidance.

But we have to get there, like now, Beth kept debating in her head, because she was tired of these people, and somehow a bit scared of Leo. Now, it was three against one. Because Trisha was party girl and lazy, and somehow she was here, and because Tracy was manipulated easily. She was also tired, too, and she was willing to use this ‘let’s stop thing’ for her to rest. Beth wanted to inform her of the low chances they had, of finding a good place to stay the night, or at least, a better place than the car.

The car was Beth’s. Actually, her brother's. But similar to Trisha, both of them slept and danced, and screw school. And so there she was, driving her kind-of car with her eyes willing to close, but not being allowed to, with this weird guy, party-girl and go-with-the-flow girl. The car wasn’t too big, but good enough as to fit all of them, the four, along with back packs and supplies and posters and models for their proposal.

“Beth, come on.” This was Tracy. She placed her hand on Beth’s lap, as she was seating up front with her, and her eyes were pleading and Beth had to look away and kept driving. Traffic had become heavy since the four of them had entered this place, so small but apparently, so affective. As in being able to convince people of staying. Though it was kind of early, there were people either walking or standing in full sidewalks. And Beth wondered, glancing around, why the hell was it that this people, wanted to stay. “We know you’re tired, too. How do you expect for us to do good if we haven’t had sleep?”

“You think we’re staying for sleep? Sure, ask Trisha.” Beth said reasonably, but so annoyed. She knew she shouldn’t have snapped, because that was mean, and Tracy was sensible. In the back, Trisha rolled her eyes and pleaded a bit more. Leo had actually pressed pause in his iPod, it seemed, and he gave his small arguments, on why to stay. And Beth just kept imagining, the next day, when they arrived, if they did, the tired looks on their faces, the hangover and horrid smell of rum or whatever they drank here, and how the so-unlike-them professionals would approve hypocritically and laugh out loud as soon as they stepped out of their room.

And yet, she turned and parked in the first suitable space she found. Peer pressure, she thought with disgust. Whether it was negative, she wasn’t sure. She was first to open the door, and looked around, and was filled with bad-made combinations of noise and music and people. Then, Trisha’s smile told she was happy and excited, like a small child in Disney. Leo was smiling too, but he always did, sort of, but he wasn’t mad anyway. Tracy sighed, of relief. And to think this was for work and education, Beth thought with grieve.

The Drastic Choice

His hand wasn’t sweaty. His legs didn’t tremble. The make up in his face, it wasn’t ruined or touched, and there was not even a bit of regret running in his veins. He really wanted to do it, he was convinced. He raised his arm, the gun in hand, and he felt a touch of relieve. He was finally ending this. He was going away. Away. He even smiled a bit. It seemed like the world around him, everything was gone or worthless. The audience shrieking and clapping continually, the voice of happy workers, the acrobats, the other clowns. His mind, it was quiet. He desired it.

Before allowing himself to think about the once beautiful world he was leaving behind, a piercing noise was heard and it was all done. With just the pull of a trigger.

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It was my turn. It was soon to be. And yet, I went the other direction, and I knew the boss would be crazed and red as hell, but I didn’t care. At all. One of the co-workers called my name, but I just kept walking. Though I had already changed into my costume, and had my face retouched, I felt pretty calm. Suddenly I didn’t care so much about my absence, about the soon-to-be-disappointed kids seating in the audience. It was my life, acting all stupid and retarded and making people laugh, and feeling important. But I wasn’t feeling important, not at all. Suddenly being a clown wasn’t really pleasant.

Everything was pathetic. Pathetic. My life. I used to be happy, I thought, walking out the huge canvas tent into an obscure sky. But now there was something missing. Like this really huge gap that made my stomach get all rickety. I thought about my losses. My job. It wasn’t a loss, but it surely was to be. But I kind of deserve it in all its misery. Mostly because I’ve never been an anxious, dedicated person. My wife. Surely, she was not entirely my wife. The relationship, the marriage, we were both drunk and young. You might be beautiful when young, but you’re surely stupid. I have always been modest, and so I don’t consider myself to be smart, now. I didn’t have any kids, and my family, it was there, but not.

I walked around, back and forth, and thought of me. Of my life. So normal, plain, stupid, worthless. I felt sad, extremely sad. Didn’t felt like crying, because there was even scarce of water. Trying not to depress myself too much, I think about its good aspects, despite my pessimism. I was happy. I enjoyed the shows I made, the mistakes, meant to be, and the times in which I had gotten dirty of cake, and whipped cream. My friends, their jobs as bizarre as mine, we snickered and enjoyed cheap beer on whichever place we landed, and dreamed of gorgeous ladies and tons of money.

That was not really happiness. It was more like an excuse to forget real life. Sure it worked. But to forget? Pathetic. Life is here, I thought, and I was just being a coward for trying to avoid it. So what if my life was sad and horrible? Was it even horrible? My payment wasn’t much, but it wasn’t bad. I had grown a belly, but I wasn’t ugly.

I had to be patient, I thought. Sure, I was never a patient person. But it really ends when life ends. Death. And so, for the rest of my life, I’d have to seat somewhere and waits for Death.

Though I didn’t expect them, the words of my boss came to my mind. Ya’ know, in case of any asshole tryin’ to ruin our show. He had bought it not so long ago, but when we saw it, it looked pretty real. And he had placed it in some drawer, within the tent.

I ran back, into the boss’ office, and I open the drawer, and there are some papers, and knick knacks and cash. And effectively, this very attractive box. And I opened it, and it was like finding a plane ticket, when road tripping to the other side of the country.

Italy, McDonalds and Paul

“He’s American. Seriously, we all have the same face. It’s not even funny.” He said and pointed at this nearby blonde kid, with green eyes. “He’s Italian. He’s in my Math class and he speaks all funny.” I answered, biting a piece of my apple.

Paul wasn’t feeling like going home that afternoon. Me neither. It’s not that I hated my family, but I just felt like staying. Paul needed help in Math, but he hadn’t brought his workbook. And so now we were both sitting by the soccer field, staring and pointing at people.

“You believe you can tell an awful lot about people by their looks.” I told Paul. He was a bit stubborn, and a true-born leader. He had lived here all his life but I had just met him last year. He was all political-like, and liked to analyze things, though everything he said was mostly wrong.

“But what do you know about this Italian kid? Maybe he’s just faking the accent.” Paul said reasonably. Maybe he wasn’t, though. “Nah.” I said simply. More apple. Paul looked around a couple of times. “Perhaps his family is from Italy. Perhaps he was born here. Maybe he eats more McDonalds than we do.” He insisted. He never gave up. And this was good, till some point.

“He has the accent of his parents, though. And he was raised the Italian way. His house is like a smaller version of Italy.” Truly, I was just babbling. Unlike Paul, I didn’t like to get all philosophical about kids I didn’t know. “So if your house is like a smaller version of China you’re Chinese.”

“You’re not Chinese, but you might be educated like one. Because you are influenced by your surroundings.” Paul had this way of understanding things that just confused them up a bit more. This, I said with a bit of desperation in my voice. Because we were supposed to be studying Math, right now.

“What is the difference?” He wasn’t totally confused. Just curious. I know he wasn’t doing this to get me angry, but rather because he really cared about it…a bit. “There are Chinese people and people who are not Chinese but they act like one of them. Because they have been influenced ‘Chinese-ly’ sometime during their lives.” Breath in, breath out. More apple.

“Huh, interesting. How do you think they are influenced? Like what they wear and the music they hear—” “And the food they eat. That affected them too.” I finished, afraid that he might come up with any other option, that might lead us to more discussion. But Paul proved me wrong, and brusquely responded to my food comment. “Food? Come on, do you really think there are people who have enough dedicated as to cook Chinese everyday? I bet even Chinese people try hot dogs every once in a while!” Not logical, and not funny. Therefore, worthless. “Well, they prepare the food, every once in a while. They vary between hot dog and Chinese. Paul, the dialogue, though, that is what influences them the most.” The dialogue. Sure, there was nothing bizarre about that.

“Yes, I agree. Sometime, the weird noises and vowels and words they use stick up on them. Like these Italian boy. So I was right! Perhaps he isn’t really Italian, perhaps he’s just influences by the Italian culture!”

For a moment I thought Paul was going to jump up and down because of closing the circle. I was happy too, for I didn’t have to keep talking. I was done with the apple, and laid on the grass, and closed my eyes.

“You know, now that I think about it, perhaps I am a bit of a Latino. Because my mom has this statues that she brought from her trip to Guatemala, and she likes to sing in Spanish, a lot. Sometimes I even hum the music as well!”

Latino. I had to give up, and noticed that it was hard to talk complicated with Paul. “Paul, wait! You’re talking about that kid? He’s not Italian, I was just confusing him with the other guy in my class. I think he is American.”

Bus Ride Perception

That day, she climbed up the stairs, and found the small bus to be completely full. It was awfully quite, though, because there were no little kids. The tightness was still unbearable, and she had been seconds away to turn back, and run back inside, and get into the messy bed, and be alone.

It seemed years before she found a seat, if a seat is what you call it, because already very close to the window was this little boy seating. She just removed her backpack, and sat, and tried to be unnoticeable. She wasn’t intimidated by the boy, or anything, but she did notice him a little nervous. Shut up, you little dork, she thought before realizing the bus was quiet as hell. This was the only seat available, and it’s too bad you have to share. She had never been much of a mean person. Her mind, though, it was mean.

The best was to ignore the boy. So she looked towards the other side, into the sidewalk, so huge, somehow, so filled with air, and suddenly she noticed she wanted to walk to school, from now on. Because she didn’t want for her daily rides to be filled with lack of air, and weird window-viewers. In the sidewalk, jolly people—jolly, it seemed—walked by, some where running, their dog following happily behind.

There were small parks, and though she’d never used them before, she wanted to try them now, and the grass looked so comfy, as in comfier-than-the-bus-seat comfy. The smell within the bus was harsh, and gasoline-like. The noise, much worse. Every once is a while it seemed the vehicle had learned to breathe, and so it decreased in speed, and sighed, and increased once more. She thought now it was old and pathetic. It certainly didn’t seem it was going much faster than the people walking parallel.

The bus came to a stop, and for a spilt second she pictured a stranded bus, in her head. But there was a person—a boy—mounting the bus, and that meant good news. More than that. This boy, he was not so tall, but thin enough, and his eyes were small and round and his hair like a true brunette, and a charming smile. Suddenly, she forgot about hating the bus, and the weird kids, and ignored the smell and the sound, now so quiet.

He started walking towards the backseat, and there were truly no more spaces left. She looked at the small boy, still stuck to the window, and she thought no more about his well-being.

She didn’t want to make the wrong noise, so she gestured for him to come and seat. He smiled, and nodded, and said thanks. And she loved his tone of voice. To think she had been worrying about who and how many sat next to her.

“I’m Sunny. Nice to meet you.” She herself made the little boy scoot over so he could come and seat next to her. Forget the tightness and stress. Suddenly, bus rides had never been better.

To Eat Food and Nerves

The dishes are set before us. I am not hungry, though. She picks up her fork and digs into the food. She doesn’t dig, no. She’s more than that. She’s eating whatsoever, and I try to do something sane. But the food doesn’t look any good. I breathe in and out, and though I am sweating like crazy I smile at her, as to tell her everything is fine. She smiles back, and eats with delight.

Everything is not fine. I thought this was going to be a good idea, as I seat here, with her in front of me, so beautiful I’m intimidated. Her clothes are so precise and fit her so well, and I picture my clothes, and perhaps I’d rather be naked.

She has been the only one talking, throughout the night. She’s happy and whatever is brought to her she eats or drinks. Unlike me, because I really felt like puking and almost chocked when I drank just a bit of water.

Now that the food is here, the odor burns my nostrils, and I feel like I want to drop dead, just right there. I’ve never been too much into elegant eating. I wasn’t really hungry, but I just couldn’t eat. It was as if nerves famished too. I don’t know where to look because the food will make me sicker, but she will make me sick too. I finally pick up my fork and shiver at the touch, for it was so cold, untouched. I cut the meat into moderate bits. I didn’t remember for cutting to be so hard. And yet I pretend it’s easy, like if it was something I’d do everyday. Well, it IS something I do everyday. I just don’t usually do it seating in front of my favorite girl.

For a second, finally convincing myself, I examine the food. There’s the meat I’ve cut, and some bits of it are bathed in this yellow sauce, with red bits of something. There’s rice, but it’s not white. The salad is so full of little green things I don’t want to eat. I have to, though.

She is already finishing when I eat the first mouthful. Immediately, I remember my grandma, and how she used to make this soup of weird color that was supposed to cure anything. I hated it, and so I sort of hated my grandma. I was surprised, though, because I munch this food, now, and would’ve given anything, for the soup instead.

Perhaps is was so horrible, though it was more than that, because of nervousness mixed up. So nasty, acidic, bittersweet, and I really wanted to throw it up. Her always-smile tells me to hold it, to be a gentleman, or to try to be one. And so I smile, with hideous crap in my mouth, and mumble an excuse me and run to the bathroom.

I thought, to go out on a date, never again, a restaurant. If I’ll ever be able to date again, I admit miserably. I decide I’m going to stick with the movies.

Responding to McSweeney

Today I read an article called On Behalf of Adam, Eve and Humanity at Large. The speaker was trying to defend our position (humanity's position) in the incident of The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. She brings up supportive details, such as why was it that Adam and Eve decided to cloth themsevles (because of protection of supposed dust, instead of guilt and embarassment). Somehow, she is asking God to think about it, to view our behavior as innocence. Also, she is blaming it a little on God, because certainly he was the one to place the serpent that would tempt Eve.

This article reminded me a bit about a discussion we had on Pre-AP English last semester, about how had been the most guilty for Eve's mistake (of deciding to try the apple of this certain tree). Personally, I do believe all of them are a bit guilty, because all of them had control over their own actions. Certainly, the speaker is saying that the most guilty of all, was God.

I liked this article because the speaker is considering details that might proove that she is right. This points are expressed in a humorous way, and so it makes the piece enjoyable to the reader.

Certainly Uncertain

Think about it. Most people try to come up with theories that mean to help us, but they just confuse us a bit more, they do. Laws, I really don’t get them. Hell, I wish someone would invent a law or something that would explain the difference between ‘law’ and ‘theory’. But, if I’m looking for something not-confusing, then I’m definitely going the wrong way.

Think about it. It’s raining outside, and you have nothing to do but think. And there are cars passing by, and you see the raindrops splashing, and there’s lampposts, some that flicker, and your neighbour is watching T.V. like he usually does. It’s the world out there. The society we’ve created. Made up of different theories and laws. Things that were meant to be. And you can’t help but wonder, throughout boring times in your life, how a television works, and electricity too. Bossy scientists get all mad at you, and they explain the whole thing. But you just wonder, why? Why is it that colour? Why not green? Why not round?

Because things are just this way, some might answer. But it’s not enough. Laws are made to explain something logical, or something that can be explained. It’d be good to know, to be explained, about illogical things. Or things that are too cool for us, the humans. Traveling through time. What is time? Seconds, minutes and hours. How was it created?...I really don’t know.

There is this law, a small law that is somehow shy and can’t come out to make itself clear. It is living all among us. This law, so different, tries to explain the illogical. We love this law, though we don’t know about it. Sometimes, it avoids head aches and allows us to think a bit less, and leave everything as it is.

It’s Uncertainty. We are goddamn full of it. How many times have we said, I don’t know? Because we are too lazy to browse Google.com and try to find an article explaining the Quantum Theory, or something. This Law had to be heard.

Who are you to be certain? You say there’s things you don’t know, but what do you know about you? You might as well be living two thousand lives at the same time, and therefore allowing your different ‘selves’ to be in different worlds and times. We thought time was certain, but it really isn’t. We can’t know if there are different ways in which to experience time. We can’t know if time is repetitive, or dangerous.

The Law of Uncertainty. We live within it. Because we never know what will happen, for certain. We really don’t know what or who we are, and what we will do. We don’t know if God exists, if there is Karma, and Destiny, we don’t know for certain. Why are apples red? Uncertainty. You see, apples are not only red, but green and yellow too.

Obviously, sometime you’ll get stressed for being so ignorant, and leaving everything without a proper explanation, but I don’t want you to die of stress. So, here’s some optimistic views about something we most fear: death. You should actually look forward to it. Because when you’re dead, when you’re in that other life that people talk about, then you’ll know everything, for certain. Too bad we don’t want to die. Why? It’s uncertain.

Sleepless (Punctuation piece)

The snoring. I was not dreaming, no. I woke up fast and was a little lost. My eyes were open, and still I felt as if I didn’t see. Such darkness. I hadn’t left the phone on or anything, so there wasn’t even minimum light. Soon I forgot why was it that I was up. It was after all, midnight. I wasn’t much of a party person or anything. I had school the next day, and I really wanted to rest.

She snored once again. Much louder this time. I was all tensed up suddenly. I looked in her bed’s direction, though I wasn’t sure where it was. The noise guided me. In, out. The heavy breathing being interrupted by walls of dirt in her nostrils, producing but a melody. Definitely hard to sleep again.

I close my eyes. I’m quite awake. I lay there, ready to fall asleep. I can’t. My arms are stretched parallel to my knees. I thought I must’ve looked like a dead person. So still and straight. With the palm of my hand I touch something that I’ve never touched before. It’s in the bed. A small bump. It’s round, and I get curious. I believe myself stupid, for not noticing it before. I wonder what it might be. No movement, no bug or anything. I relax. I can’t figure out any shape. I don’t know what it is. I can’t look because of the darkness. I touch like I’ve never touched before. Concentrating. Nothing.

There’s nothing I can do. I think. About things. Random topics that might come across my empty mind. I do my best to ignore the snoring. It’s playing not so quietly, like an unprofessional background music. I’m jealous. I want to be her. To sleep like that. Amazing.

Suddenly I get sweaty. I feel all warm. The blanket soon becomes an uncomfortable fortress. I remove it and breathe a bit. I feel unprotected, but I’m still warm. I ignore, I do my best. I think about homework. I did it, complete. I read what I had to. It’s so stupid. Everything that we’re assigned, it’s just torture. Because teachers are jealous that we have free time. I think about school during the day. I was good. I got all worried because I didn’t study for the test. So pathetic. I’m too filled up with myself. I don’t realize there are certainly other things to worry about. Greater things. That concern us all. The End of the World. I’m scared, I’m curious too. I think how are we going to die. There’s so much theories these days. Global Warming. Contamination. Starvation. Overflow. Floods. Gay marriages. I laugh a bit. I ignore the fact that I’m supposed to be sleeping. I laugh at the world, I laugh at me. I’m in bed. I am touching the bump, and I am so warm. And I am worried because I can’t sleep. I am ignoring the fact that I’m going to die someday. Somehow it doesn’t traumatize me. I reproach myself. I decide to take life easier. I decide to enjoy everything from now on. I really do. Because sleepless and failing tests are nothing. Compared to the real thing. Nothing.

The alarm sounds. I seat up. I’m annoyed, but I feel bad when I see the time’s correct.
Must have been what a night of sleeplessness felt like. Now I’m tired. I want to complain. But I stay quiet as I remember everything I said. I am happy.

Buggers and Modesty

Definitely not a good day. Before I tell you about it, you must understand what I am. Certainly, I am not perfect. My hair lacks life and colour, and my eyes are too big. I’m afraid, and people tell me, that they might jump out someday. My eyebrows are extremely dark, and so big, unlike my blue eyes and what you would call ‘blonde’ hair. My nose, I can breathe, yes, but it goes in a weird curve and then totally drops. It points down-like. I’m hairy. Not monster-hairy, but enough as to remind me of wax and depilation. I go to school. I don’t totally suck, but I know I am not doing my best either.

Before I think about killing myself or something, I compliment of me to be modest. Which is just the same as pessimist, I’ve come to realize. I am good at finding flaws, specially mine, and I’m usually blaming myself for everything that happens to me. What happened today, though, I don’t know what to say. I’d say I was thinking too much already.

I do sports. I’m not good at them, I just started playing them this year. Not only was I extremely bored of books and T.V., but I thought it would be good for my body. Soccer it is. I’ve always considered for the girls in the basketball team to be sort of mean. Or maybe it’s just that I’m pure innocence. I’ve never been able to come with good comebacks, on time. I always spend the night thinking about things I should’ve said during the day. It’s always too late, though. I’m weak, physically. I’ve never liked volleyballs. There’s a higher chance you’ll get hit in the head, and I feel sort of naked if I’m said to remove my watch and bracelets. Should I leave them on, the pain increases. I just walked away.

I’ve never been to social. I met this girl, she kind of met me first, but she’s not that nice. She came today, and I start practicing without much enthusiasm. I was doing my best to ignore her, I was. She’s some sort of pervert, annoying little freak. Little. She’s one year younger. I’m so stupid, letting her take advantage of me, but I just ignore. Perhaps what bothers me so much, it’s her skills. Jealousy. I’m very jealous. She makes really good tricks with that ball, and sometimes I stare. Her mouth shuts up when she plays soccer, and that’s good.

It’s water break, and I drink water rapidly. It seemed the coaches had read each other’s kind and now the guys were resting too. I must acknowledge, I like this guy, in the boy’s team. He’s cute and everything, but I can’t find a way to describe him physically. He’d seem too much average. He isn’t. His skin tone is darker, for instance. He drinks water, and I try not to look. I’m kind of dreamy already, when the soccer freak arrives. She’s so filled up with herself, and she walks next to me. I smile, and her eyes get all weird, and it’s scary, and I can’t even fixate on the smile. She fills up her glass, and drinks all the water, and throws the glass into the trash, so tuff. She walks again. “You have a bugger right there.” She doesn’t point, but it sort of destroys my life, what she said. The boy, he’s still there. He’s not a fast drinker, and I can’t really see his reaction. He’s sort of serious, in most cases. I’m scared, and so embarrassed. I hear her laugh a bit, walking back to the field. I’m immovable, but I don’t remember where I was looking. I don’t want to see him again, though. But I know, bitterly, there’s no chances, if there once were. I’m bugger girl. It takes me long enough to get to the bathroom, and clean my nose. I hate myself, I think. Because I discovered, too, I’m too careless to goddamn clean my nose. Bad, bad day.

Fishy Business

Every once in a while they approach the surface, and open their mouths, round, and open and close it. As if they were breathing. Perhaps even they get tired of water.

What do they do? I wonder. Perhaps animals—or fishes—have a different way in which to measure time, or something. Maybe they live in a second—what we live in a day. That would explain the endless days--lives--that they live, just swimming around.

Their tales wiggle, and they really don’t stop. Sometimes they stand still, but soon enough they realize that with the bright colour in their scales, they really can’t camouflage. From what, though? Are they scared?

I wonder if they dream. If they have nightmares, if they even sleep. Personally I’m too lazy to wake up during the night, and just glance, and see whether they’re still awake. I’m really not in the mood to try it. Once I try to set the camera, and record them, but if the batteries were not done, it was too dark, or it just got wet.

I’ve never been as close to one of them, as to see whether they have ears or not. But I turn on the music, and one of them dances a bit. Maybe she—she—just got altered, but the nerves were really coordinate with the music. Sometimes, she even positions herself vertically, and imagines she has a dance partner, as if there were any other fish as willing to dance as her. It’s like an impossible dream, those that we all have.

The other fish, he’s sort of fishy. Though I’ve never had the chance to observe and study the whole species, he’s a bit awkward. It has happen more than once, that I’m doing my homework or something, and then he’s floating there, still, and his eyes are not moving, nor his tail. I get a bit nervous and rub my hand against the aquarium. After some seconds he moves again. I sigh of relieve. Perhaps he is sort of intelligent. Perhaps he enjoys fooling me and scaring me to death.

I don’t love them that much, though. They are sort of Plan B after dog. Our puppy was way too hyper and so we had to return it. Then, I got fish because they’re calm. They’re too calm. Whenever you feel lonely, you glance at the fish, and you just feel worse. But I don’t want them to die. So I feed them every morning, and they eat their food—if food’s what you call it—slowly, as if they were never too hungry.

They’re never too anything, now that I think about it. They have no worries. They don’t get dirty, among water that I clean so constantly. They can do whatever they want, whatever’s inside the aquarium. I’ve never expect them to jump or anything. I really don’t know about their ages, but they’re kind of old. All modest, and slow. And I hope that for the day they die, it will be because of oldness, rather than malnutrition or contamination or something.

Responding to The New Yorker

I read a piece called The House Behind a Weeping Cherry. It was mainly about this poor man (the narrator) who lived in a whorehouse, because he didn't have enough money to pay another rent. As time passed, he got used to his situation, and talks and becomes friends with the prostitues. They are glad because they feel a bit more secure with a man in the house. Throughout the story, the reader is able to realize and experience how the relationship between the narrator and the prostitues changes, or gets 'better'.

Another thing I like is the way in which he describes the prostitues, because people would think about them as dity, and somehow inhumane. The narrator made me realize that they are normal people too, and that they are only doing that job because they need money, for their families back in their home countries. He believes they are as much of a human as he is, and he even falls in love with one of them.

I think that this story is sort of unique, because not many people would like to write about a character living within not expected places, or places were he/she doesn't belong.

What I really want to Do

My phone conversations with her were seldom worthwhile. Like I felt she was calling—because she was the one who started always—just because she really had nothing better to do. It all started with the typical what's the math homework and then there was silence and all I could do was hear the television at the other end of the line. If she wasn’t calling she was watching T.V. Good thing she had decided to try both. But yesterday it was complete boredom and desperation, what led me to do something.

“ I still don’t get why we have to learn Logic. It should be optional, you know? Because we think it in different ways and so no one is right, right? I—”

“Hey, have you ever thought of something that you really wanna do?”

“Um, what? We were just talking about math and you bring this up?”

“You were talking about Logic, and now I am not. Something you really want to do?”

“Actually, there’s tons of things I want to do. You know, travel, and get married and things.”

“Yeah, everyone wants to do that.”

“Well,? it’s because that’s what you should do. Because it’s interesting.”

“But there must be something that you want to do, not because it’s the typical interesting, but because you really want to do it.”

“…You mean something weird and abnormal.”

“Well…sure, if you put it that way.”

“I wouldn’t do anything weird. Why would I?”

“Because you wanted to do it.”

“But I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in public.”

“I see, so it’s about others watching you.”

“Heh, yeah. I don’t want people to think I’m a weirdo.”

“Exactly. Say you really wanted to do something, but you can't do it because everyone is watching. You shouldn’t care about the others. It’s bad to pretend to be someone who you truly aren’t.”

“Now you sound like a counsellor, you know, the freaky ladies who think they know so much about teens but they don’t, like remember—”

“What? It’s all true.”

“Come on. Even you pretend someone who you are not.”
“I know I do. I try to convince myself not to do it.”

“Okay, cool. It’s nice to propose yourself with challenges.”

“…Yeah, talking about creepy counsellors.”

“Yeah, whatever. You know, being ‘not-different’ doesn’t really make me unholy or anything. I admit that we are absorbed in a society that makes us be the same, and we can’t be different because—”

“A Chocolate Bath.”

“What?! You’re so random today it’s not even funny! Quit it!”

“Hey, you say that you don’t want to do anything weird because you’re afraid that the We do the Same, Screw the Rest Club might expel you. Since I am doing my best at avoiding your clone society, I want a chocolate bath.”

“…Sometimes, you really scare me.”

“Think about it. Do you like chocolate?”

“Um, yes, but—”

“Everybody likes chocolate. Everyone appreciates its sweetness and deliciousness and imagine a bath, with all of the above.”

“Still, it would so…unclean.”

“There is not clean or dirty chocolate. It’s just it, in all it’s glory.”

“Why the hell would I bathe myself in chocolate? There’s something called water, you know.”

“Hey, even you would like it. Just imagine it. You home, after school and so tired of pretending someone who you really are not. And all you want to do, is relax, and sleep, and enjoy, and be yourself. You open the bathroom door, and your bathtub is filled with melted chocolate, looking so provocative. You are so temped, and you jump into the chocolate bath, and it’s so cosy and delicious, and you want to stay there.”

“…God, I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m supposed you are as flattered as I am.”

“Em…sure. Listen, I really gotta go, you know, to do the Math homework. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, have fun.”

After I hung up the phone, I realized I had found a way in which I could avoid phone conversations with her, forever.

Cooper's Technique

What we tell the Children


KNOCK, KNOCK…!
Who’s there?!
Thieve.
Thieve who—

And next thing you know, you find your son dead on the floor or something. Not dead, but freaked out. The thieve has entered the house, anyway, and now, walking slowly through the living room, you do a mental list of all the books you’ll have to buy, to replace your long hours of T.V. watching. In the kitchen, the microwave is gone too. And you thought you’d never actually need all the recipes grandma had given you a long time ago.

Knock, Knock…in the joke, there’s supposed to be oranges, and shampoos, and cows at your door, but in the real life, other than the obnoxious neighbourhood, or the eager mailman, who would knock on the door? How can a joke be made when these kinds of people knock, knock on your door? Are you willing to open the door?

A thieve knocked on the door this time. It was about time, though, for us to realize what is it that the daily knock, knock thing was telling our children to open the door, even though we weren’t supposed to.

Kids open the door, because their parents were careless enough as to not buy one of those see-through glasses that are perforated on doors. And this product does sound like a thing only Info-mericals would shoe, but the ridiculous glass, it would’ve saved children’s lives—or well-being. Then again, the small ones, they open the door because they don’t reach the glass. They are too anxious to glance by the window, because they only want to open the door and laugh out loud at the giant cookie, or something.

Others, sadly, open the door because they believe the black outfit the “knocker” is wearing is so totally cool and Star Wars-like. They probably think he’s there to give them costumes, or something.

Children are optimistic, and that is bad. It is time for our children to be save, and so they must know the truth. Tell them the truth about the jokes, about the one behind the door, out there. It’s not happy. If one day grandma comes and visits, and she gets mad at you because your son didn’t want to open the door, think about it, it is better to have hysterics mothers-in-law than strangers coming in the house, and taking the T.V. along with the microwave.

We should be grateful, though, because everyone knocks. I mean, the strangers could bang the door and come in, or something. And that’s the whole point of the knock, knock. To realize there is some decency within thieves and criminals.

Perhaps these jokes were developed by the criminals themselves. They wanted to indirectly educate the children to open the door, no matter the person or thing outside whatsoever. If kids thought about it this way, then it would be much easier for a thieve to come in the house, and steal things.

Knock, Knock…!
Who’s there?!
Cow.
I’m not opening the door.

Revision

The climate had first bothered me, but now it was really affecting me. The humidity and instability of the place were an influence too. The ecosystem itself was something amazing, and there was so much green and variety, and it was beautiful. But its niceness was rubbing off, cause I had sat there, looking at it for…what was it? My stupidity amazed me. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that I was stupid. Maybe it was reasonable to start forgetting about your past and time when the present and the near future completely sucked. And I had been stuck in the present long enough to believe my past to be some sort of dream, anyway. And so as I made progress through the jungle—or I hoped to—I tried hard enough to ignore everything that was molesting me, which was much. The humidity made my clothes stick to my body with such pressure as a lost child, and the heat was something like I’ve never felt before.

I was never used to experiencing heat, because I didn’t have to. I used to live in the city, where the weather was everything but balmy and sticky. If it ever annoyed me, was because it was certainly too cold. Not that that worried me too much. If you’re cold, you might as well stick around in your house and drink hot chocolate and sleep like a bear till cold’s over. Now, that’s something you can’t do with the heat. Unless you’re valiant enough to take off your clothes in whichever place you happen to be, when heat strikes. I looked around. Just dense jungle. There wasn’t anyone around that I was aware of, and so I could take my clothes off…just that I didn’t want. It’s not my fault that I’ve been living all my life clad and I’ve gotten used to it. Not my fault either that I didn’t want to feel all Tarzan-like.

All my life. I sat down on a nearby trunk, and tried to feel its texture as if it were a welcoming and comforting first class airplane seat or something. I tried to ignore its roughness, and the fact that trunks are home to more than a thousand bugs each. Relax, Relax. Then, I think that the live that I’m currently living, I really don’t deserve it. Why did I get did? Bad luck, I guess. Cause I wasn’t much of an awful person. I’m still not that bad, I’m trying to relax despite the conditions I find myself with. I went to church on Sundays, before, and I did social work whenever I was asked to. I think I’m pretty average. Compared to the rest of the world, there are billions of people that give a damn of charity or the less fortunate. I cared, and I thought about them, from time to time. Hell, I did. I was never, too, a great consumer. I placed my socks and shirts in the same drawer, and I never brought crackers or gum just because I felt like. I did my own laundry, and people said I smelled funny. Hey, at least there was no water going to waste.

I was never mean to anyone, except to the people that tried to steal my lunch in the Elementary School. I think about them. What’s of their lives? What have they been up to? Robbers, I say. Because all their money, they ate it, somehow. And so, if robbers, why aren’t they punished? Why aren’t they here with me?

Perhaps the women, perhaps they wanted to punish me. Because I never felt like marrying anyone. Perhaps they are loved me, secretly, and so here I am, lonely and ----.But, no. To marry or not, it is more a personal choice, it isn’t bad, much less a reason to punish someone. Truly, they were probably married already to that someone who’s karma hasn’t been as badass as mine.

Suddenly, I remember. 14 years. 14 years ago, I had been able to live within life, the one deserved. And so I depress myself being logical. In 14 years, millions of babies were born, and hectic infants became notorious teenagers. People died. Someone whose determination is infinite might have been able to cure cancer. Maybe there were people living in Mars already. Maybe humanity had discovered some other long lost place, or invented a bug repellent that actually worked. Perhaps carrots and cows had become extinct, and now people had to find other ways in which they could eat calcium. New elements might have been discovered, cannibalism might have been legalized, and maybe gravity had decreased. Maybe California was known as Lake California, and Miami was now Atlantis the Second. Maybe, my sister had found a man that she loved.

No, she wouldn’t. And I could spend twice the time here, and she’d be getting better at finding men’s flaws. Supposedly, we had many. I’m glad I remember my sister. I admit she was the one, her face, who encouraged all this. The escape, the force, energy and determination I had needed. She had guided until now. But, for the instant present, I was seating on the comfy trunk, trying to find warmth and happiness within my messed head and melancholic thoughts. The last time I saw her, she as 19. She was totally reckless, and didn’t even try to play hard to get, because she was. Studies were 3rd on the list, just beneath party and list-making. Cause she was very organized. I remember once that I was mad at her because I was studying and the odor of a burned surprise birthday cake had filled in the house, my room uncomfortably. It was my birthday, but I had to study. Mom was out, and dad was somewhere working. She got even angrier, and said that she was trying so hard, and that I was being mean to her. She wasn’t the best cook, and everything she did was too just-had-an-awesome-idea improvised. She had the mind, but lacked a bit of talent, as I mention cooking. It was the first goddamn salty cake I’ve ever had.

Now, amid the jungle, I’m too old and wretched to cry in despair. But I think. How I would like for my life and death and resurrection and marriage and graduation to smell of that cake, rather than be filled with never-ending solitude—and goddamn pureness. Heat was surprisingly good when we were at the beach, in vacations, and she would chase me around with some hideous creature at hand, holding it gingerly, as if it were a soft puppy. Somehow, she grew up to be much manlier that me, because I never dared to touch one of those. I would’ve liked to touch them, though, before my death someday. She seldom cried and felt sad, but when she did, it was something similar to like the end of the world. She would bang her head—against her pillow, thank god, but tears flushed down her face for a long time, like an uncontrollable damaged squeaking shower. So unlike me, because I felt sad to commonly, and yet I never cried as much as she did.

This might sound corny. The day, the day it happened, we were walking towards campus, and she accelerated, and caught up with a group of people. I lit a cigarette, and kept going at my own pace, looking nowhere interesting. She’d always been socially capable, but not me. In the park, when the big boys of the time came and menaced us off the swings, I turned around, and walked humbly towards the slide or something. I loved swings. She didn’t, but she wasn’t about to let some obese kid remove her from where she wanted to be.

It was the only time she’d ever injured someone in the physical sense, but the kid was coward enough to run away weeping, and yet good enough to not tell his mom about it. From under the trees, sort of, I crept, and she rolled her eyes and smiled foolishly. I felt gay and incapable, but then again, we have our strengths and talents. We stayed in the swings for the rest of the afternoon.

I was soon distracted by my busy mind, and the nicotine, and sometimes heard shrieking and laughter. I smiled sort of, feeling happy for my sister. I hadn’t notice this car going so slowly, so close to me, right behind me, till it finally stopped and I was somehow obliged to stop too. First, I didn’t feel fear at all. Thinking for the passenger to be some sort of lost tourist (inside a huge black Volvo, right), I peeked inside expecting the dark window to lower down, but the door opened, and I was hit in the leg. Had I complained about this pain louder, she and her friends would’ve heard. But I didn’t.

Taking advantage of my leg, the back door opened and two huge guys lowered from the car, cause it was actually pretty tall. I recalled the bullies in the Elementary, or the wannabe Jocks at college, as if those people were playing some sort of prank on me. Not that I’ve ever seen them worrying completely black outfits, with scar and gloves included. These guys, they growled too. It was weird, but I was dumbfounded. The guys approached me and each grabbed me by the arm, and my muscles tensed as if I was a kid again, stalking the girl I used to like, the blonde one who made me get all tensed. One of the guys, the smaller one, neared his head right next to mine, and said softly; get in the car. So they were like forcing me, believing they looked like nice people to talk to and reason, or something. I shook my head, as if the nice ones would let me free if I didn’t. The inside of the car was darker, and it was creepier too, and there was this other guy seating by the window. He looked at me demandingly, as if about to grab a gun and shoot me or something.

The bullies, one of them kicked my leg, and now both were weak. Thanks, I think of saying, hoping these guys were stupid enough to not know about sarcasm. I am mounted in the car whatsoever, and surprisingly I am not shaking aggressively, like a hungry beast being chained or something.

Seating between two huge guys, and as if there wasn’t enough blackness, one of them placed this scarf-like things surrounding my eyes. Not much trembling or violence neither. I just sat there, my thin body being really squished.

Arrival (Part 8)

Outside, she saw someone walking towards her house. And he approached. Just as if seeing him in school every day wasn’t a sufficient surprise and hard to deal with.

Kat grasped her breath for a moment, and tried to calm down. She couldn’t look like some kind of freak. She wanted to go back inside and hide like a coward she was, as soon as she recalled were they had left off at school on Friday.

The Sometime Reunion. Right. The one she herself had planned out of the blue. And now it seemed he was kind of eager about it. So eager that he had walked all the way from his house, to her house. Now, that was compromise.

“You remembered.” Kat said warmly, referring to the location of her house, where he used to go sometimes—all the time. Her hands urged her to put her hair in place, and to arraigned her not-adequate-for-meeting-someone sweater.

“Well, yeah. You get used to it, after you’ve visited the place long enough.” he flashed a smile. Kat smiled back sweetly. She sat on the yard, and he did the same. Kat was freaked a bit, by such the short distance at which he sat from her. She didn’t even think twice, about which topic to put up. Because seriously, she couldn’t support more than a second of silence, with him.

“You know, the other day, I thought about the pencil, the day we met. Remember?” she said. She was just doing it to stop the awkwardness. See where the old times would take them. Not that she had thought about the pencil, though she was embarrassed to admit she had actually kept it.

“Yes, the pencil. That was in 6 grade right?”

“Right, when we met.” Kat nodded and smiled. She sort of hated herself, as a Newbie in the Middle School. Then again, she kind of hated herself, always.

“I liked spending time with you, you know. All the things we did, back when we were young and frolic." she decided to say, and realized when it was too late, that is was sort of a compliment. She didn't feel as to walk around telling people nice things. It was too...frolic.

He chuckled. This was cool. She loved this laugh of his, specially liked the ease in which they could talk, and was grateful for all the time they’d spend together, which now gave them a chance to talk about their past together. Alright, she had missed him. “I remember how we used to chug Coke and chocolates, and then we’d complain about tasting like sweet corn.”

Ew. Yeah, she remembered. “Corn, yeah. I stopped doing that, after you left.” she said freshly, and then, she realized she shouldn’t have said it. The Leaving Part, yeah, not something nice too talk about. So she shut her mouth, and thought doing something totally stupid as offering something to eat. It seem she was saying things she shouldn't be saying at all. But then again, was that worse than not speaking at all?

“Yeah. Hey, but we’re not that old yet. We can still frolic, you know.” he said optimistically. She noticed he was doing his best at ignoring that last chapter, too. And what did frolic exactly mean for two teenagers? Nevertheless, Kat didn’t want to waste her time getting all red because of those dirty thoughts. Not like he wanted to do that, though. He surely meant, eating chocolate and drinking Coke...again. He surely meant…um…getting together…again…?

“Kat, I would’ve liked to had stay here, to grow up with all you.” Kat knew he was referring to HER, but decided to ignored the, um…compliment. She nodded. Awesome timing and...out-of-the-blue topic. “But you’re back now, so enjoy it.” she’d seemed to have gotten much more happier than she’d been—in 3 years.

“Yeah, I know. But you know what has been bugging me a lot? How things ended. That didn’t help me to be quite satisfied during my time away.” Okay. So he wasn’t willing to avoid that part as much as her. But if it was time to realize one’s flaws… “Yeah, me neither. I’m sorry for being so difficult.” Kat admitted. She had been a bit stubborn, as to hide her sadness, or something. “Yeah. I’m sorry for being so cold-hearted.” he agreed. “It’s okay. You were just as surprised as I was for leaving, probably.” because at least, it had gotten to her by surprise.

The End of the World

The world around me is white, and it is big, and I am around my people. It is very organized, and we have been assembled in groups, divided by our own cabins. Above me, there is another level, and there are beings much bigger than I. They are hollow too, and transparent. In front of me there are other beings, and they are thin, and I can’t see their entire face. They are formed in lines. The odour in the air is not decent, and I can conclude therefore that we haven’t been washed in days. Despite our organization, some of us are tied together, uncomfortably. I wonder what the hell will happen when everything is not white anymore, and we go in darkness..

Everyone is very clueless and some of us are scared. I stay calm. We can’t move, no. We can’t run. I look around and there is no exit, no light. What calls my attention is a noise that starts. It is very peculiar and it is increasing.

Like something flowing. Everyone is unsteady and we are looking desperately around. We bang against each other, struggling, and as we hit ourselves, our ears tremble uneasily. We try to stay as still. But the noise becomes louder, and we can’t just ignore it anymore. We’ve never known to be too optimistic, anyway. Hell, we’ve never been known for anything at all.

I listen hard. Something seems to be moving fast, somewhere, here inside. Like flowing. It might not be safe, but it’s refreshing, it’s cool.

Some of us, they are willing to defend themselves with their knives and their spike, but some of us, and me, we are helpless. We try to protect the small ones, and it is sort of satisfying to know that the hollow and plain beings, are scared too.

The air becomes humid, and my eyesight is blurry. Everyone is even more desperate, because we are enclosed, so many of us in such a small space. I start sweating, and the bad smell doesn’t help at all.

For a moment, I am focussing on my state, rather than the noise enclosing me. But it’s becoming much louder by the second. Everyone gasps in chorus as our bottoms are wet. The water is surprisingly hot. Some of us try to jump, but we can’t. We have humidity surrounding us, and there is not much we can do. Everyone is shouting, and so the gasps and mourns, they don’t help decrease the heat.

I am burning, and I think everyone is too. The water, the noise becomes louder, it is rushing up, each time faster. Soon only my giant head is safe. But not for long. The water level rises, and soon our cabins are completely enclosed by boiling water. The hollow ones, un top, soon the water reaches them too. Some more shouts, and I am trying to resist.

The tension increases as the water moves faster among us. Faster, faster, and soon I can’t feel the pain. I am quiet and still and just wait for this to finish. I get dizzy because there is a loud buzz, and just water.

Suddenly it seems the water stops moving, and it starts to drain. The hollow ones, they are the first ones free. Then, the water reaches our level again, and I can stick my head out. There is not much I can see, because we are still in darkness. Now I can only hear sighs, and everyone is being suffocated with suspense and nervousness. No one is breathing sort of. We all hold strength within ourselves and try to think about what might follow.

I start feeling cold. And knowing that a second or so ago, I was dying of heat. But the air turns so cold, and the water runs down my thin body, and I surprisingly miss the hot water of before. The odour is gone, but we are all trembling softly, and still molest each other. A new noise arises, and this goes softer. It’s like a buzz all over again, though. Should we have hairs in our heads, they’d be quite unstable and frizzy, I think with a bit of humour.

Then there is no more buzzing, and I am not cold anymore. Another type of sound is produced, and for a second I am scared, till I see the huge door opening. I look at everyone. We are too surprised to notice how clean we are now. How sudden perfection followed such disaster. The hollow ones and the plains are clean too. They look around though they can’t move much, but at least we are happy. We are sighing in relief, and glad for the odyssey to be over.

“Mama!” Someone shouts from the outside. “The washer is done! The dishes are clean!”

Amid Gloom and Jungle (In Class, Part 2)

*The first part of this story is posted in this blog, in February.

My first reaction, I try to run away. I look around. I’m not in a cage, and the men seem distracted enough in whatever they were doing. I wonder, what did they do? Not like there is much fun around the jungle. But then, I become logical, despite the heat and impatience, I seat down. They’d kill me if I make a violent move. Where could I really go? Where the hell was I, now? They could run after me. So, contradicting my mighty self, I sit down, ashamed.

My second thought, I’m angry at the world. Anger and desperation, as I have never felt them before. The world. Ignorant little brats, who are living their daily lives, and ignoring me so. Some of them are laughing, some of them are buying a car, and all of them are happy. And I, seating here sharing my oxygen and space with bugs and God knows what else. Bugs are abusing of my sharing. I want to be with the brats.

Because, after all, I was one of them too. I had been, until a couple of hours ago. There is no reason to get angry. There is, but not at them. I think about it, and maybe, I do deserve this. There were already people here. What about them? Had you ever thought of them? Not really.
I even knew they were here. During the last years, headlines containing the word Kidnap in them had become common and not so shocking anymore. Not like I ever thought it would happen to me.

But now I am, and I don’t care admitting it, and I know I’m wrong, and I am extremely angry. Maybe at myself, too. For being risky. It wasn’t risky. It was the street I’ve been walking in for my past life, always. I didn’t know it was dangerous.

Had I been a little more convincing and hard, I guess I would’ve killed myself. I’m glad I didn’t, I now realize, sitting in the trunk. Green, green, green. The only difference is that I am alone and hungry. But it is better this way, rather than being emotionally-lonely, in danger, and a little hungry. Though now I’ve rather have clean oxygen, than rotten shared bread. It is better.

I need to plan what the hell I want to do. When I took this wise choice, and actually made it come true, I didn’t think of what I was going to do later on. What I was going to eat, or entertain myself with. It was reasonable. When you’re about to do something extremely risky—not that I would do something like that again—your mind has to be all focused. I don’t know if it’s true, that we humans use only ten percent of our brains. If it is, I know I used 10 percent point 5 percent that day, that second, that crucial moment, which would change my life back again. I believe that was the type of concentration an A plus in SATs would require.

What helped me do it, was regret. The regret I would feel deep inside me, if I didn’t do it. I would’ve end up killing myself of desperation, but then again, I would be too coward to kill myself. And so I did it.

Arrival (Part 7)

It happened to her, that sometimes, she would rather stay home and do something boring and lonely, than go out and hang out with her friends. It wasn’t as entertaining, but it was so much better, and calm.

Thing that happened that Saturday afternoon, and it started to rain some. Kat found a couple of old magazines under her bed, and somehow thought of them to be better than
T.V., in such a day.

She was skimming the ads, and was too distracted to start reading articles, with their
too-small fonts and endless sentences. Old magazines. Their news so antique, things that felt as if they had truly happened a million years ago. Things unimaginable today.

Kat thought about the times in which she begged her mom to buy her each of these editions, that she kind of looked at for one time, and then they just seemed like any other old magazine. All these articles had seemed to be like an ideal manual for staying alive. It was at the beginning of her teenage years. The 7th grade. Funny, just when the reason why she was buying these stuff as crazy decided to godamn leave.

And so they turned out to be useless, and now serve to Kat as a lame memoir she’d rather not remember.

The dust and the non-admittance with herself seemed to get suffocating and each time more, and so she ran downstairs and not cared whatsoever about the little water falling. Her family was each distracted into something else, so nobody asked and she was grateful.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The view from his window was nothing breathtaking, and any other person would have taken the street and trees and bushes for granted. But not him. Not when he had just arrived form literally another world. Seriously, nothing against Russia. Their culture was interesting, and so the views were the different and the cities too. But he was home again. Same house, same environment. Same people. People he knew and missed.

He was sitting in front of his desk, looking out instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing. He never had seen what people liked to much about biting the pencil near the edge, while zooming out or daydreaming. And so he had nothing to do with his hands. He let happiness and satisfaction erase the boredom, and thought for a moment about her.

Kat. Somehow, they both had connected on the first days they had met, in Middle School. Then he left, and now he was back, and they had talked yesterday. He hated the past, this certain past. It embarrassed him deeply, to think about his way of acting, how he made things end, before he went. Unconscious.

It was still kind of early. The heavy and unsteady snoring of his brother wasn’t helping him in someway, reason why he stood up, looked for a good jacket, and headed out. There was a bit of rain, and he didn’t want to waste money on a cab, so he walked. He thought about the street number, and it wasn’t too hard, though. He felt somehow proud for not forgetting about it, but then cursed himself, for seeming a stalker too much.

While walking, he thought about it, a couple of times, of simply turning back, and not doing this. It would’ve been monotonous and stupid. But he didn’t even understand what he wanted to do. She said they should talk. Not like she specified the place and time. He would, certainly as soon as he arrived and met her.

He considered for her not to be there, but then it was impossible. He felt he knew her…still…a bit. He tried to look as casual and as not-that-I-wanted-to-see-you as possible. He didn’t want for Kat to see how uncomfortably direct was this intention of his.

About the most recent conversation they’ve had. She didn’t seem as excited. But she shouldn’t be. He hoped that maybe she did realized that he was still interested…because he was. They definitely had to talk again. He was almost there. The walk was about 15 minutes. He felt exhausted, when he finally approached the familiar street, but rather because he was chocking with goddamn nerves.

Arrival (Part 6)

“Kat…hey.” he said, and the things that Kat pictured that were about to happen, the busy hall was just no scenery. He had been actually capable. Of going straight to her and talking. No MSN, no phone. For a moment Kat was worried, about what the other people might say about this, but then again, what could they say? It was a normal conversation. Or was it?

She told her suddenly annoying giggly friends that she would catch up later, which was for her a nice way to say go the hell away. “Hi.” she said simply and tried to sound as nice as possible. It wasn’t hard. She knew the guy. Kind of a no stranger.

She focused on his tone of voice. Much, much more deep, and adult-like. In the 7th grade, he was always sounding so exasperated, and he used to add this little high pitch ending to all his phrases, and so it made everything he said sound like a command, coming from the mouth of a wannabe-colonel or something.

No more high-pitch. It was hard to depict was he was thinking or feeling. Was it really that important to know these?

She though of the things he might want to say. Hey, sorry for being so mean. I hate Veronica. No kidding, Kat would say. I hate her too. Or maybe, hey, I hate you. You’re not the same. You aren’t either, Kat would snap. She was mentally ready.

“How, how have you being doing?” The typical casual question wasn’t casual at all in this case. 3 years of how she had been doing. The typical casual answer might be able to fit into the context too, Kat thought. “Very good. School, vacations, High School, more vacations. It’s been pretty fun.” she said with a touch of humour, and he smile-chuckled. She smiled back awkwardly. What the hell?

“But what about you? Where is it that you went?” She knew. Off course, she wasn’t an ignorant. But she didn’t want to have a silent conversation either. “Russia. It was kind of weird you know, adapting to it. It’s just so different.” he said and she nodded.

Russia. Not only was it so far away. So different too. What had he been doing there? Why did she want to know?

The bell rang, and Kat didn’t know whether to be grateful or not. Not like she was used to talking to him already. Not that she wanted them to remain as total strangers. Reason why she probably decided to ask him out.

“So, hey, we should probably meet someday, to catch up on everything.” she asked gradually. Actually, not gradually at all. It did seemed like she wanted to talk to him. Not good. What if he said no? She’d be so ashamed of herself for being a bigmouth and that would probably lead to suicide. No, it wouldn’t. Self confidence and stableness!

She was blushing, that she knew. But she stayed…firm, and it seemed like a million years for him to say something.

“Yes, we should. We’ll talk later…?” he nodded slowly, as if to enunciate the ‘yes’ part. It was better than ‘no’, anyway. Kat nodded back, but much faster. “Yeah, later on.” She thought ‘bye’ was useless, because technically they were both remaining in the same place. So she simply smiled, and turned back, and tried to back as normally as he could.

It didn’t turn out to be as normally, she noticed, since it was the first time in years she had focused on the normal way in which she should walk.

Arrival (Part 5)

“Um, nothing dude. We talked a bit, but you know, I haven’t talked to her in years.” They hadn’t talked at all, actually. Seemed like they didn’t want to. But then again, he did, at least now. Nothing involving love, no. Not like last time. They were just friends.

He observed Johnny. He’d never been too close to Kat. When they talked, they hadn’t mentioned her, never. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to, because, he admitted it, he hadn’t liked her very much. Perhaps, because his mind wasn’t capable of thinking about two girls—with different aspects—at the same time.

He suddenly felt the urge to add the little detail. “Actually, I met this girl, back there.” Then, he felt like he didn’t want to share anymore.

“No kidding, dude? Russian chicks?!” Suddenly Johnny was existed. Sure his response would’ve been different, had he not mention chicks—girls. He laughed a bit. “She wasn’t Russian. She was English.” “Awesome, I love their accents! But what’s up with this girl and Kat?” he asked, again.

Well, other than the fact that they didn’t know each other…no, not much. “I told you already, Kat and I are not back together.” Johnny nodded and he was glad because he understood. He really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Hey, cool. No offence, dude, but I’m sort of glad you moved on.” Johnny padded him on the back. He just smiled, and tried to ignore the fact that Johnny was probably saying that he never liked Kat. “I mean, I don’t think she’s hot or anything.” Because Johnny only cared about looks, so unlike him—

But the looks, they had counted too. What he had seen when he entered Chem. last week, it hadn’t been disappointing. Her hair was much shorter and its edges were not as wavy. Her eyes, he was still glad for the demeaning presence they settled, so well-known of her. Yet, he tried to ignore all these, and remember her as a friend. His friend.

“If you care, she stills reads a lot. She’s still smart as hell, and I think she’s gotten smarter. It’s so stressing when she’s the only one passing a class or somethin’, seriously.” Johnny spoke. Good for Kat, he thought. Not like she needed to feel bad for lazy-asses. She…deserved it.

Suddenly Kat deserved anything. Because his friends deserved the best. Seriously.

Then he wanted to stop defending her. It was something that she—the other one wouldn’t have liked. Kat would’ve liked it either, because she was always so independent and—

“So what about her?” Johnny asked and his mind-in war was interrupted. “Well, I don’t know, you tell me.” Last time he checked, he’d been the one who had just arrived.
“About her? Sure dude, as if I knew everything about her.” Johnny rolled his eyes. It took quite a long time for him to realize that Johnny was not talking about Kat at all.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m kind of lost.” Sure, Johnny had to understand. Lost? Lost is love, perhaps? “She’s English, she’s hot, she’s cool.” Somehow, he really didn’t know how to describe her. “Wow, dude, what is she not?” Sarcasm wasn’t really Johnny’s thing. Then again, he tried to be more descriptive. “You’re not really convinced about her.” Johnny narrowed his eyes, like a true pathetic detective.

He was. He loved her more than anything, more than chocolate, and more than Kat—
“What else do you wanna know? Get a love life of your own.” He joked. Not like he had to tell Johnny all about his life in the past years. Curiosity, he thought, shouldn’t be anybody’s thing.

“Okay. Okay, chill. Maybe I should, though.” Johnny wondered out loud. It was good that he didn’t mind that much. “Hey, if you wanna know how your best buddy’s doing, just talk to her.” Johnny made some sort of not-really-what-I-meant intonation in the ‘buddy’ part and that tensed his nerves a bit. Because Kat wasn’t his buddy, but more than that. Or, because she was and he wanted to for to be more.

But then, he realized Johnny was right in the go talk to her part, and he ignored his mind as she entered the hall with her usual group of friends. Somehow, she stood out than the rest of them, and she was filled with books, and stopped by her locker. He focused on her face. She had changed. But she was still the same. Sort of happy, and intellectual.

Not like he wanted to keep staring like a total freak. Not like everyone was doing it too. Not like she needed it or liked it. Not that he could do it. So he wondered what was it that made him leave Johnny behind, and walk up to her.

Arrival (Part 4)

The bell rang and everyone stood up. He took a few more minutes to go out of the class. Not like he had a hurry. Though it was pretty corny, he was actually enjoying this coming back and looking and enjoying everything he saw. The ordinary classroom, with scribbled-on desks and not-to-sleep chairs, it was amazing.

“So, wazzup man? Everything the same?” came Johnny and indirectly brought him back to reality and normality. They were supposed to get out. “Yep.” he added and they headed out of class into the busy hallway. “I know dude. It’s like this place is stuck in time or something.” Johnny made it sound as if it was bad. Maybe it was, but it wasn’t for someone who’d just came back from the other side of the world.

“What about the people? Are they stuck too?” It didn’t matter though. He was back, and it was okay if the school had decided to wait for him.

He tried to answer his own question while Johnny babbled, and he looked at Johnny for reference. His hair was shorter, but messier. Same clothes, with a small touch of freshmen elegancy. Maturity. The surroundings, the careless students passing by, logically they had grown, some of them. Their attitudes were depicted, whether they had said hi or recognized him on Friday.

“Most of the girls, I’ve known them since forever. So no good or interestin’ chicks.” Johnny finished. “Chicks, huh?” he wondered out loud. Well, now that they had gotten into the subject—
“Yeah. So, hey, how’s…how’s Kat doing?” He couldn’t help it. Well, she was a 'chick' alright. He admitted and now realized he had been avoiding the thinking about her. Not like he was expecting her in Chem. on Friday. Coming back in the plane, he had thought about it, about what he would say when they met again.

First he tried to be optimistic, by guessing she was probably gone or had changed schools, but then realized this guessing wasn’t as probable—and satisfying—as it sounded. Well, maybe she wouldn’t recognized him. About the people changing, he had changed but was too modest as to admire himself. But off course she’d remember him. It was Kat, after all. And her memory was partly the reason why he had fallen for her—

Yes, yes, he did. And he was embarrassed about it, but seemed that he liked to think about it…her. He thought of the future back again, and assured himself that something would occur to him eventually. But Chem. had been just too soon.

And now he wanted to know what had been of Kat here, to get a bit prepared for that eventually.

“Kat? Katherine Bristow?! Oh dude, wazzup with her? Somethin goin on still?” Unfortunately, Johnny’s eyes widened with interest. And he thought he was the one asking.

Arrival (Part 3)

She felt some sort of an electric shock rush up and down her stomach, and she didn’t know and she didn’t want to know, why had it occurred. Anger, nerves…love? Pathetic. Thanks, she thought of saying. But then again, Veronica wasn’t the type of person who would distinguish sarcasm and reality.

“We’re….okay, I guess. Being friends again.” Kat decided to say, concisely and totally cool. Veronica nodded, and Kat was grateful for her to not ask anymore. “But, hey, what do you really think about him? Like right now?”

“What? Well, I don’t know. I haven’t have much time yet to talk to him, you know, because he just arrived Friday. Why?” Kat pointed out. What the hell did she mind? Typical of her, to remove information and go tell him. Not that she had anything amazing or totally juicy to say about him…them. Certainly nothing at all.

“Don’t you think he’s totally hot? I mean, compare that to when he left last time."
Veronica was looking at him way to intensely. She was only missing the pointing finger to look extremely rude and infantile.

Like if he was something one could truly admire, anyway. He was in the soccer field, making some passes with other dudes in the class. The two girls were seated at the bleachers.

Kat could only blush. “Well…um…” She looked at him, like glancing. She had seen the difference. Not that she really wanted to admit it. But what could she say to him, or to anyone about it? Obsessing over hot guys with Veronica, it was not fun anymore. Not since they discovered how different their tastes in guys was, and since Kat observed it was certainly not fun to simply BE with Veronica. She wasn’t willing to observe his hot body as Veronica was, so she nodded and prayed for that mid-answer to be valid enough.

“He is, isn’t he?” Veronica spoke rather to herself and Kat just ignored. The teacher was coming out of the gym, and so she used this as a distraction. The class started, and the teacher didn’t seem to mind or notice, that it was like the second class of the year. Running was what made most people groan, and the type of thing for which the girls (Veronica!) said they had a twisted foot or something totally false—and visible. The teacher just laughed, and threatened with zeros. Some other girls stood up, and others kept looking for ways to convince

Kat tried to run whatsoever with her jeans. When the class was instructed and the boys started running, Veronica was planning to stay, but took off uncomfortably as soon as she saw Kat starting to run with some other not-stupidly-cunning-enough-as-to-come-up-with-lame-excuses-for-running girls.

Veronica thought talking with Kat might distract her from feeling tired, but it was all the opposite. Kat tried to stay as quiet as possible, and vaguely nodded whenever Veronica asked her something. It was depressing.

3 laps. In Jeans. With her running beside. Bad, bad day. When Kat had done 2 of the total 3, he suddenly passed by her, at a much faster speed. He had good rhythm and didn’t seem one bit tired. Amazing.

Stop. It was not prohibited to admire him, but not like she had already convince herself fully of…liking him...again. No, that was simply not going to happen. Veronica, like an annoying conscience said something about his abs, but Kat did her best to ignore. She wondered how was it possible for two different people, to be have been such good friends.

As she completed the laps, and slowed down, she didn’t know whether she was referring to herself and Veronica, or herself and—him.

Arrival (Part 2)

Not only Chem., but P.E. too. In their last year ‘together’, she had never paid particular attention to his physical abilities, and so she didn’t know how to compare to what she saw and could conclude, in this class of the now.

He was much into sports, now. Maybe he had always enjoyed them, but now not only was he happy, he was good at them. All. Not that she knew about Hockey or Tennis, but she could make assumptions.

And so he was different. Tremendously, in a physical way, but then again, socially too.

He hadn’t said hi, on Friday. Just some kind of lame smile, that seemed more a surprised frown, because of its lack of kindness. Had he seen something in her that suddenly he didn’t like? Hair, eyes, clothes? Did he suddenly hate her? What was he thinking?

Then, she felt like hitting herself as he passed, heading to the soccer field to run or something. She even had to convince herself to not stare in…awe? Why would she like to know what others were thinking? She had sufficient problems and confusion with her own thoughts already.

Someone came out of the gym door, and she was disappointed and suddenly stressed. She had prayed to not see her in any of her classes, but the office and scheduling were not in favour ,and nor were they perfect.

She approached and Kat saw the usual flaws. Long pink nails, hair so messy and so full of highlights, tight t-shirt so ironic to her gigantic curves, and her legs looking short compared to the sweats she was wearing. Walking with too much moderation, as if she was going to ruin something special that she didn’t have, if she were to move too fast. Her music on full volume, listening to something she’d wished she’d sing in some kind of lame Talent Show, in the near future.

Kat rolled her eyes and hoped for her not to notice, and felt stupid. It had been like two years of the same thing. As shy and complicated as she was, Kat planned things to say and never actually said them, because she was scared they might harm others.. Now, with this girl, she hated her, really. It was a horrible thing to say, since she was her friend and everything, but Kat had just gotten so tired of her. It was mostly because of her I-act-like-a-spoiled-but-I’m-not-one stubbornness, and her I’ve-met-worst-and-much-younger-alcoholics addiction, that she got tired of her.

She forced a smile, but was way too sad and stressed. Other than the fact that it was Monday, and an extremely bad day, the one person she truly hated and one person she truly didn’t know what to think about were in her P.E. class. Her sweat pants were too short, and so she had to leave her jeans.

“Kath!!! Kath!!!! Hon, I haven’t seen you in ages!” Veronica was excited and accelerated her speed, and hugged Kat way to hard. “How was your summer??” she asked seeming to be interested.

“You know. Basket, family, ocean. What about you?” she asked back, and yes, she wasn’t really interested. “Sucked so much. It was most of the time with my family. I was able to attend some parties, and passed out. You just couldn’t really think about how much beer can college guys chug. It’s amazing. I was like, how does he do that?”

How? Why the hell, is that so amazing?, Kat asked herself. Passing out, something she wasn’t willing to experience. It had been a tough day, but as tough as to want to pass out? Not possible.

“Parties, huh? Awesome.” she nodded and smiled, and her mouth hurt so much. Veronica then started telling her about some of the ‘beer-chuggers’ she had made, and almost got laid by. Okay, she didn’t say anything. But Kat felt witty enough as to guess.

She was bothered enough, by her babble. She was even more bothered—though she didn’t thought it possible—when Veronica decided to change the subject.

“Enough about me. What about you? Not your summer. Like, what about him and…you know…?”