"Normal"

[Guest Carlyan the Wise]

Introduction:

 

Err... I know I said I couldn't write, and yada yada yada... but I've just found one of my really old, old stories. I opened it up because I didn't know what it was, and I read it, and it just... clicked-- I haven't written that long on something... or written period, in a long time.

 

Reading this will be quite a task in one sitting, so I do suggest finding another thread if either you don't have much time or you want some light (as in short... I can't promise this will be very deep) reading. I do appreciate any comments for those who do (if any) take it upon themselves to read the whole thing... and thanks. On a side note, this is set in 'RL'-- although it is a work of fiction. It's going to be in three posts because there's so much of it.

 

“NORMAL”

 

She glanced at me for a moment—just a second, really, and then looked back to the clothes she was hanging on the department store rack. She had been watching me off and on since we’d entered the store, and I could tell she was “interested”. Pretending that something near her caught my interest, I walked over and examined the item—a t-shirt. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.

 

I turned my back to her, and pulled the shirt off the rack of items. I looked at the price tag, and put it back. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my arm. I smiled to myself, and said “Well, hello there,” in a deep voice, and turned to face… my mother. There she stood with at least a dozen pieces of clothing in her arms. I flushed immediately, and the girl snorted, and went back to her work.

 

“Hello yourself. Here, Christopher, go try these on. The fitting room is right over there, see?” and she pointed to make perfectly sure I could find my way to the changing room. I turned redder.

 

I walked across to the fitting room and was about to go into one of the compartments, when I heard her yell across the store from where we had been standing.

 

“And you make sure to come out and show me everything so I can see if it fits… I’m not making another trip here to return these when they don’t fit,” she called. I pretended she wasn’t my mother… pretended I wasn’t in the store… pretended I was at home… I’m watching TV… there’s no one staring and trying not to laugh at me…. There isn’t… unfortunately, I don’t think anyone was fooled as my blush deepened.

 

After she had decided everything satisfactory, we approached the checkout counter, where the same girl was working. She asked, “Back to school shopping?” while barely being able to contain her laughter.

 

“Yeah,” I muttered, still as red as ever.

 

“Chris, do you feel alright?” my mother asked. “You’re red as a tomato! Do you have a fever?” and she reached over to feel my forehead. I shook her off, mumbling that I was fine. She was always very prim and proper… she even said tomato as “tomahto.”

 

“You hold a civil tongue in your head when you’re speaking to me, young man. I’m not here for you to be smart with me,” she said. After a few moments of her glowering at me, she said, “I’m waiting for an apology.”

 

“Sorry,” I muttered.

 

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” she spoke, her frown deepening.

 

“I’m sorry, mom,” I said, though I didn’t look her in the eye.

 

“That’s better. Now, we’re going to go see your grandmother and Nana after this, and you’d best show respect when you’re there,” and my mother wrote a check for the items. We left the store with the girl working there shaking with silent laughter. All the way to Grandma’s I leaned my head against the window, feeling the coolness of it, and pretending I were asleep so as to avoid conversation with my mother.

 

When we arrived, Grandma opened the door, and smiled. “Well hello, Chris, Diane. This is a pleasant surprise.”

 

My grandmother is a wonderful woman. How she and my mother existed in the same family I don’t know, but it happened none the less… don’t get me wrong, I love my mother to death, but sometimes she’s just so… embarrassing.

 

Grandma, on the other hand, is just… cool. She knows that I’m nearly an adult, and she treats me like it. She even has a tattoo on her ankle, but she’s careful to always cover it with a pair of white fuzzy socks—my mother didn’t like it. We walked into the house, which always smelled like cats (my grandmother kept eight), but I liked visiting anyway, except that Nana is always there… Again, I love the woman to death… but you know how it goes. We walked into the living room, where my great-grandmother was sitting in the recliner chair, her walker to one side and a table with a glass of half-and-half on it on the other (half-and-half is all my nana would drink—it was half lemonade, and half iced-tea). The television was playing “The Price is Right,” at nearly the maximum volume, as my great-grandmother was already nearly deaf. Unfortunately, she refused to buy a hearing aid, insisting she could hear just fine, when really, she couldn’t.

 

“Hello, everyone,” she squeaked absent-mindedly, watching her television program and muttering to herself about the stupidity of the contestants unintelligibly.

 

“Hello, Nana,” I shouted, partly for my mother to hear me so she would know I had answered, and partly so that Nana would hear me as well.

 

No one said anything else to her during the program… if they did, Nana would have shushed him or her and waved a hand at them anyway, so we all watched it, mainly to avoid boredom. When the program finished, Nana picked up the remote control and switched the channel, where the same program was re-running, and watched it again. No one dared protest against the wishes of our matriarch.

 

When that program finished, Nana switched the set off all together, and we began to “converse.” While my mother and the other two ladies discussed things, I drifted off, thinking about school and other random things, until my great-grandmother commanded my attention.

 

“So, Christopher, do you have any idea what you want to do when you grow up?”

 

I hated it when people used that phrase… I never did. In my opinion, it implies that you’re babyish right now… not ready to handle things on your own… immature. Regardless of this, I replied that I wanted to be a writer.

 

“What?” asked Nana, turning her head and pointing one ear (supposedly her “good” one) at me.

 

Exasperated, I answered that I didn’t have any idea at all. My mother frowned at me, but Grandma yelled to her mother “A writer! He wants to be a writer, Ellen!” At this, Nana wrinkled her nose, as if she smelled rotten fish. Her brow furrowed, but she said to everyone, “Well, I suppose if that’s what he wants…”

 

I sighed… my mother had given the same reaction. They didn’t think I could support myself as a writer. The bad thing was, I didn’t either. Although I liked it and would like nothing more but to do it for a living, I had hordes of self doubt—that I wouldn’t be good enough, that I would get tired of it, or that I wouldn’t meet my deadlines.

 

An awkward silence ensued for a few minutes before my mother stood and said, “Well, we’d best be going, Mother. We still have a few shops to hit, don’t we Chris? Shoes to find, still.”

 

“Well, come back soon,” said my grandmother. “It was nice for you to have visited me, Chris,” she said, giving me a brief hug. I turned to go, but my mother glared at me and jerked her head towards Nana obviously, and I leaned down to hug her. She smelled of boiled cabbages, and insisted on planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek before releasing me.

 

“Goodbye,” I said, and strode outside the house and into the car, my mom right behind me.

 

The next week I went back to school. I was only fifteen—I had my learner’s permit, but not my driver’s license yet, which meant that I was still riding the bus to school. I clambered up the steep steps and took a seat right behind the bus driver, Norma, a stout woman who always seemed to have a frown.

 

“Get in, sit down, shut up, and hold on!” she yelled, and I did as I was told. As soon as my hindquarters had touched the green fabric of the bus seat, it lurched forward, and we were off. Smaller children (not that I was a child, of course) behind me were screaming and crawling around between the seats—I was surprised Norma never yelled at them, but looking back now I think she only put on a tough face in a feeble attempt to keep them in line, while she truly wouldn’t hurt a fly.

 

The next stop was Lillian’s house. Lillian was in my grade at school, and we were best friends ever since the first grade. I was glad that someone on this bus would be mature enough to talk to… the urchins in the back definitely weren’t, and the only other high-school student on the bus was a jackass. Excuse my French, but the truth is the truth. His name was Shane, and his nose always seemed to be in a wrinkle, along with his lips being painted with a permanent sneer… he was that kind of kid.

 

As the bus screeched to a halt, many of the passengers slid forward in their seats and slammed up against the seat in front of them at the sudden stop, Lillian walked up to the bus and climbed gracefully inside… to fall flat on her face.

 

Now, Shane burst out laughing, and the rest of the children on the bus followed suit. Quickly, I got out of my seat and helped her up. Her long blond hair fell around her face, which was a good thing—it hid her blush. One word to the wise about bullies: never let them see you bleed, or in most cases, blush.

 

Even Norma was chuckling behind the wheel, and said “Well, hun, that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen since… last year on the first day of school when you fell down!”

 

The result was hackling, heckling, howling, almost screeching laughter from everyone on the bus. I picked up her things, set them in the seat opposite mine for her, and glared at Norma. She caught my stare, and lowered her eyes.

 

“Quiet!” she bellowed, at the top of her lungs. The laughter then reduced to a few sniggers, mainly from Shane, and she then proceeded: “Get in, sit down, shut up, and hold on!”—She always said that.

 

“Are you alright?” I whispered to Lillian, who then glanced at Norma’s rear view mirror to make sure the bus lady wasn’t watching, and slipped over into my seat.

 

“Yeah… jeez… I’m such a klutz sometimes,” she said, sheepishly.

 

“Hah,” I laughed playfully, trying to lighten the mood, “It’s alright… everybody is… in fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that Shane is going to trip right as he’s getting off the bus…” I said with a smile, and she grinned back. We passed the rest of the ride talking about the subjects we were taking, the teachers we would have to face, and things like that. Oh, and in case you were wondering, the answer is no: we are not a couple… just friends, like I said before.

 

Upon our arrival to school, Shane did not fall… he tripped, by way of my foot, but he caught himself on the seat. He glared at me, and I knew that he would pay me back, but Lillian was feeling better at least. We walked together into the main gym, where the Student Council officers would hold a welcome assembly—they had been elected at the end of the previous school year.

 

The assembly was boring—all they had to perform were speeches, but Lillian and I agreed vehemently that it was far better than first-period P.E. that we were both taking; different classes, of course, but we both had it.

 

As soon as the assembly was finished, a girl with short black hair that fell down just bellow her ears, blue eyes, and ivory skin jogged up to the top of the bleachers where Lillian and I had been seated, and hugged Lillian with several comments like “Oh my gosh, you look so tan!” and, “You lost so much weight over the summer,” followed by, “Where did you get that blouse?”

 

I, of course, ignored most of these, sighting around for more of my friends and classmates, particularly, Ethan. Ethan was my best guy friend—he was the one I talked to about things like girls when I got sick of girl talk: we “hung out.” I didn’t see him anywhere—chances were he had skipped the first day, like he said he would. He had always been a troublemaker, and I had always been the “innocent angel,” to bail him out.

 

When I gave up, I returned to look at the two girls, who were eagerly looking around, pointing, and giggling periodically.

 

“Oh, isn’t that just adorable?” I said, “The Lil and Jill show!” as the black haired girl was Jill.

 

Both girls glared at me, but Jill’s frown couldn’t hold, and she started giggling after a moment. Quickly, she walked over, threw her arms around my neck, and hugged me.

 

“I missed you,” she whispered, kissing my cheek before letting go and taking my hand.

 

“I missed you, too,” I replied, though I didn’t lean in to kiss her. Lillian kept looking out through the crowd absently, and I told her, “Nathan isn’t here, Lil. He got sick the last week.”

 

“I just bet,” she said, and frowned, her eyes briefly floating downward to the floor, and allowing her blond hair to fall forward over her shoulders. Jill and I glanced at each other… Nathan was the fifth boyfriend she’d had over the summer… and this wasn’t usual for Lillian. She wasn’t the type of girl who would go through guys like that. We were both worried, but we didn’t concentrate on it for too long.

 

“Well, how was it?” Asked Jill, trying to get the conversation onto more neutral territory.

 

“Absolutely fantastic, Madame Vice President,” I said sarcastically, and Jill slugged me playfully while trying not to grin.

 

“Superb performance, your Vice Presidentialness,” said Lillian, giving a slight bow, and attempting (without much success) to keep a straight face.

 

“Can’t wait for the next one, your officership,” I said, bowing likewise.

 

“You two quit ganging up on me, she said, and started pretend-crying onto my shoulder.

 

“Uh oh, Lillian! We’ve upset Her Majesty!” I said with a grin, though I wrapped my arms around Jill and said, “There there, honey, it will be just fine,” in soothing (sarcastic) tones.

 

Jill was involved in everything. She was the type of girl who was a massive over-achiever, and had a 4.0, officer in every organization, letterer in every sport, and did as much community service as possible. Everyone knew she would be Valedictorian of our class, and she was proud of it. Therefore, Lillian and I repeatedly teased her about being so perfect.

 

Glowering at me, she pulled her head up and said “Well, we’ll just see if you have a date to Homecoming this year, won’t we, Chris?”

 

“Of course I will, Jill, because if I don’t, then neither do you!” I said, laughing, and at this Lillian looked away, and ignored us, though we didn’t notice.

 

We were all interrupted in our visiting by the bell, which rung loudly, signaling that it was time for second period. For Lillian and I, this was art, and Jill had AP English. I kissed her forehead, said that I would see her in a bit, and walked off with Lillian.

 

“So, Lil… is there anything you want to talk about?”

 

“Like what?” she asked, not meeting my eye.

 

“Well… maybe like why you’ve had more boyfriends this summer than you had before that in your entire life?”

 

“Hey, I don’t need you telling me how to run my social life, ok? Just because you and Jill have the perfect relationship doesn’t mean that everyone does, ok?”

 

“Yeah, sorry… I guess it’s none of my business… I just thought you might want to talk about it, that’s all…” I said, a little confused and about her outburst… she had always told me about this stuff before… something serious must be going on.

 

“Well, I don’t,” she replied with force, and that ended the conversation.

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, as first days of school usually do for teachers to go over rules, guidelines, and grading scales. I went home that night, got out my journal, and described the day’s events, starting with Lillian’s fall, and ending with her sudden outburst in the hallway on the way to art. Eventually, I gave up wondering about it, deciding instead that if she decided she wanted me to know what was going on, she would tell me.

 

I then slipped into writing mode… whenever something bothers me especially, I forget about it by writing. Writing is a sort of… release for me. It works the way girls shop because they’re depressed, I think (although I must note it is far less expensive).

 

I pulled out the sliding writing surface on my computer desk, and put several blank pieces of paper on it. I collected my blue pens, and attempted to clear my mind. Then, I put the pen to the paper, and wrote whatever came to mind.

 

Eventually, after I had filled all the sides of paper, I read it all… then sighed, and put it on my desk… my writing was awful. Whatever I did, whether it was poetry or stories or whatever, I never could seem to get it… right. I guess it just didn’t flow the way it was supposed to, or something… but I knew that it always ended up not being what I had intended it to.

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Guest Carlyan the Wise]

I rarely showed anyone my writing, not even Lillian… and that got me thinking about the mystery of her many beau’s and her strange outburst in the hallway on the way to art. Carefully, I forced the incident out of my mind, reminding myself that she was a big girl and could take care of herself… not that I didn’t know that, of course, but reminding myself of it helped to fend off the intrusive memories.

 

By this time, my mother had dinner ready. Now, my mother is the best cook in the world… not literally, of course, but she could rank up there in the top ten, I’m sure. When my father were still alive (he’d died of cancer when I was 7, and I’d only just gotten over it a few years ago), he would joke about her cooking being the reason he’d married her. I hadn’t understood when I was little, but I sure do now. Sometimes I think that the reason she is so strict now is because he died, and she has to be both the loving mother and the stern father at the same time… and the latter always seems to win out.

 

Tonight we had lasagna, and it was delicious as usual. During dinner, the phone rang, and I got up to answer it, but mom clicked her tongue at me. I had forgotten… she never allowed anyone to answer the phone while we were eating… she hadn’t when I was younger, either, come to think of it. She was always getting after dad because he’d get up and let the phone interrupt dinner.

 

“Dinner is one of the only times that this family has alone to spend together, and it’s not going to be interrupted by some telemarketer,” she’d say, and dad would sit down again with a smile on his lips… I miss him a lot, but mom and I get by okay. The answering machine picked it up, and I heard our token greeting, and then a message:

 

“You’ve reached the Stevenson’s, and we’re unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you as soon as possible,” my mother’s voice said, and then there was a high-pitched beep.

 

“Hey, Chris, it’s Ethan. You need to call me, man, like soon. Soon as possible. Really, it’s important. Seeya,” he said, and hung up. I frowned, and my brow furrowed. My mother kept her eyes on her plate, but she knew that I was wondering what he meant.

 

“You can call him as soon as you’re finished. He didn’t say it was an emergency, so it can wait,” she commanded, and I dared not object.

 

Later that night, after I had finished my supper and done the dishes, I did call Ethan. He answered, and we exchanged the usual friendly greetings before me getting to the point and asking him what he had called about.

 

“Chris, you’re not going to believe this. I mean, you’re going to think I’m joking.”

 

“Why don’t you tell me and let me decide what I think, eh?”

 

“Ok. You know how my mom has this cousin who’s a talent agent?”

 

“Yeah,” I said… this did not have a good sound to it. Ethan always had all sorts of schemes, and not many of them ever worked.

 

“Well, you know how we put together that tape from the garage?”

 

“Yeah…” I said again… a year ago, during spring break, Ethan, two other girls (Rita and Elle) and I had gotten together a sort of garage band. We had a few songs—I had been the lead singer, because I (they said) had the best voice and I couldn’t play an instrument anyway, Ethan had been on the drums, Elle had played lead guitar, and Rita played the keyboard or piano.

 

“Mom sent it to the guy. He wants an audition!”

 

I was silent. Stunned. I had no idea what to say. “Umm… great.”

 

“Great? This is a chance of a lifetime, man! If he likes us, we could be the next N*SYNC!”

 

“Ugh…”

 

“Ok, so maybe not N*SYNC… but we could be huge!”

 

“I don’t think I want to do it, Ethan.”

 

“What? What do you mean you don’t want to do it? How can you say that?”

 

“I just don’t want to do it. I mean, I want you guys to do it, and if you make it, that’s great… but I don’t want to be part of a famous band. It was fine when it was just the four of us in your garage… it was fun, actually… but I don’t want all that recognition.”

 

“Ok, Chris, I think you need to go get your head checked out, buddy. I mean quick. We’re talking big money, lots of babes, and even more fans.”

 

“Ethan, I have a girlfriend, I don’t need the money, and I don’t want the fans. The answer is ‘No’,” I said firmly… I could tell that I was going to have to put my foot down on this, or he wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer.

 

“Dude, come on. You’re letting the band down here. I already talked to Rita and Elle and they’re psyched about it. You can’t do that to us. Who’s going to be our lead singer?”

 

“Rita always had the best voice anyways. Have her do it. Make Elle play the keyboard; you play the guitar or the drums, whichever you need for the song. If you need a guy to sing the lead for a particular song, then you do it… you have a great singing voice anyways,” I said, meaning it. Ethan did have a pretty whiney voice when he was just talking to you, but it made for a great song-voice, apparently. “It will work out. You don’t need me, and you know it,” I charged, only half believing it.

 

“Fine, whatever dude. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

 

“I guess.”

 

And he hung up. Jeez, I’m really batting a thousand today, I thought. First Lillian blew up at me in the hall, now this with Ethan. What am I doing? Of course I want to do this… I can’t let the band down, and having a record out on the market would be nice…

 

I picked up the phone to call Ethan… and then I thought about all the fans we would have if we succeeded. I thought about how the whole world would be watching us… how we would have no privacy… and I put the phone back down. I didn’t regret my decision… I regretted letting the band down, but not that I had turned him down.

 

I went to my room. By this time, it was 8:00. I considered sitting down to write again, but instead I decided to read. I read for two and a half hours, and then went to bed with school the next day, and dealing with how Lillian would act to me, I would need my rest.

 

The next day, as on a typical second day of school, I had lost the enthusiasm to go back. I dragged myself out of bed, took a quick shower, ate a small breakfast, and found that I was late all the same. The bus honked its horn outside, and I dashed out the door, grabbing a pile of my things that had been on my desk the night before.

 

I ran to the school bus… I mean I ran as fast as I could. It had closed the doors when I finally got to it, and then Norma opened them again, and gave a glare… I swear, every morning, if eyes could shoot daggers, I’d be dead.

 

As I climbed aboard the bus, the usual children were riding, along with Shane. I piled my stuff onto the half the bench seat I occupied, and sat on the other half. As Norma drove, I got lost in my thoughts, thinking about Ethan, Lillian, Jill, my Mother, my Father, and—

 

The bus lurched to a halt. Everything I had piled up on my seat slid off, scattering everywhere. I cursed under my breath, and got down on my hands and knees to pick it all up. As I gathered my things, Lillian got on the bus, and looked down at me in wonder, but began helping me pick things up. A few things had flown as far as the floor under her seat, and she picked one up, and read it.

 

“Did you write this?” she asked, with a frown on her face… not one of disdain, but of curiosity.

 

“What?” I asked, and strode over to see what she held. To my horror, one of the few pieces of my writing I had ever saved was there in her hand. I snatched it back, blushed, and began picking my things up again.

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” she said, looking at me strangely. “Why didn’t you tell me you wrote, Chris? It’s really good,” she continued.

 

I looked at her as if she were crazy, then answered, “One, it’s not any good, it’s awful, and two… I was a little embarrassed about it.”

 

“Why?” she asked, another frown appearing… “I write all the time, and I’m not embarrassed about it… I’ve shown you some of it, remember?” I had… the reason I hadn’t told Lillian was because her writing was much better than mine, and I told her so.

 

Then, Lillian did something that puzzled and pleased me at the same time: she laughed. It wasn’t a laugh of pity, or disdain, or anything negative at all… It was a sincere laugh, as if she thought that the opinion that she was a better writer than I was hilarious. “Chris, that piece that I just read is about ten times better than anything I’ve ever penned… my problem is I never can get my writing to say exactly what I want it to… it gets away from me somehow,” she replied, looking me in the eye with a smile now.

 

“Me too!” I exclaimed, smiling now too, “This was actually supposed to be about someone depressed, but the words came out so that they were joyful… that they were ecstatic about something… it wasn’t what I meant it to be at all,” I said, and by now Norma had taken off down the gravel goat-trail, and we were lurching to and fro along the “road” almost to school.

 

“Who have you shown some of your writing to?” she asked, almost suspicious, as if I was hiding something from her.

 

“Well, now you, even though I didn’t really mean to, and Mrs. Porter,” I replied cautiously… I wasn’t going to lie to her, but I knew she would be hurt that I had showed my work to a teacher and not her, my best friend.

 

“You showed this to your history teacher, but not to me?” she said, a frown appearing on her face.

 

“Well… not that,” I said truthfully, and then continued, “I didn’t even mean to bring it today. Besides, I already said that I was embarrassed about it… and Mrs. Porter is just a pretty cool teacher, you know? I figured I could trust her about not telling anyone,” I finished weakly.

 

“Oh,” she said, and smiled, “You know, Chris, that’s one of the first times I’ve ever heard you be really off base on something,” she finished… Lillian really did think that my writing was better than hers… and that gave me a pride that I couldn’t even explain.

 

Lillian and I passed the rest of the ride in silence, but I knew somehow that we were both thinking about our writing… and I knew somehow that everything was all right between Lillian and I again.

 

When we got to our small high school, we dragged through first period P.E., art, and then we went on to English. Mr. Tate taught English, and he was a pretty good guy. I had always wanted to show him my work, but it was similar to my ex-situation with Lillian—I was afraid that, since he taught English, he would tear it to shreds. I mean, not literally, but that he would have so many criticisms of my far from perfect writing that I couldn’t stand it, and I’d give it up. I couldn’t afford to lose one of my only outlets for frustration or other pent-up feelings. Writing was very important to me, and I needed it in my life.

 

However, it wasn’t as if Mr. Tate wasn’t cool, or anything… he was extremely cool. In fact, I’m very fortunate in the fact that I have several really great teachers—my Algebra teacher, Mr. Horus, my History teacher Mrs. Porter, and my English teacher, Mr. Tate, are all fantastic educators, but each in their own right. Mr. Horus is just… cool. He always has a story to tell us about his past, or someone’s past, or a life lesson that most of the class ignores… but not me.

 

Today, when Lillian and I walked into the Language Arts room, someone in the back yelled, “Hey Chris and Lil, sing The Song!” Immediately, we looked at each other, and shook our heads in a definite ‘No!’

 

But the person (a guy named Elliot, come to find out) would not be denied. Soon he had several of his friends egging us on, and we decided that we might as well. The bell hadn’t rung yet, so why not?

 

Eventually, after a bit of a show about warming up, we started. I sang the chorus and backup for the first verse, and it sounded like this:

 

“In the Jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight!” Lillian trilled, singing through a smile.

 

“A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way,”

 

“In the Jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight!”

 

“A-wheeeeeeem, a wee a weeeeeema weema way!” We chorused, trying to keep a straight face

 

“Hush my darling, No fear, my darling, the lion sleeps tonight!” I sang loudly in bass tones, and she followed from the other end of the spectrum, a high soprano.

 

“A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way,”

 

“Hush my darling, no fear, my darling, the lion sleeps tonight!”

 

“A-wheeeeeeem, a wee a weema weema way!”

 

Finally, for the final verse, we sang together with both the verse lines and the chorus:

 

“In the village, the peaceful village, the lion sleeps tonight!”

 

“A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way, A-weem-a-way,”

 

“In the village, the peaceful village, the lion sleeps tonight!”

 

“A-wheeeeeeem, a wee a weema weema way!”

 

When we finished, most people cheered, but some, of course, are fans of no one, and booed. I’m very much mistaken if Shane was one of the applauders, but you never do know. Lillian and I made a stage-worthy bow, laughed, and were interrupted by Mr. Tate walking in the room.

 

“Alright, that’s enough, Archie and Edith. Time to get to work,” he said, just as the bell rang shrilly and loudly from outside the classroom in the hall. We took our seats as he commanded, looked at each other once more, and laughed silently. Yes, I thought, Everything is fine between Lillian and me again.

 

Later that day, several of us (students) went bowling. I am an absolutely awful bowler, but it’s fun to go and be with friends, anyways. Besides, Jill was there, and I hadn’t seen her all day. Occasionally, Jill can be the nicest, sweetest, most caring person in the world, and it’s at those times that I think I love her… though I’m definitely not sure about that.

 

It was dark in the alley we had rented, and they had set up fog machines with colored lights running at the same time—the midnight bowl. Ours was one of the only lanes occupied this late at night, and all of us were getting obviously tired.

 

We sat together in the little scoop seats (Jill and I), waiting for our turns to come up again, with my arm around her, and her head rested on one of my shoulders. We were bowling with Lillian, Elliot, and Ethan. Jill was, not surprisingly, in first place, with me trailing the pack in last as usual. Ethan was second—he was actually pretty athletic as well as having a good singing voice.

 

As it was her turn again, she smiled tiredly, kissed my cheek, and got up. She tossed her brown hair back behind her ears, and picked up her violet kid’s bowling ball. She held it in front of her, rested in both hands, and teetered to the left and right, before streaking towards the scratch line, barely letting go of the ball in time for her to stop. It flew a few feet in front of her before diving downward with a large crash, and spinning clockwise down the lane to create a perfect strike.

 

“Whoo!” yelled Elliot, cheering Jill on. She performed a little victory dance, before returning to her seat.

 

I rose wearily to my feet, picked up the ball I had been using (It was a pale blue one with the word “Wilbur,” written on it in serif characters. I did just as Jill had done, teetering back and forth, before throwing the ball forward with an equally large crash… only to have it roll sideways into the gutter.

 

There were several guffaws from the rest of the group, and even Lillian smiled a little, though she always stuck up for me. I hung my head in mock-depression, and returned to my seat, where Jill laughed and said, “Oh, it’s okay Chris, I still love you anyways,” and kissed the top of my head.

 

Eventually, since Ethan and Elliot were the only two old enough to drive, Elliot took Lillian home, and Ethan drove Jill and I to our respective houses. While we were in the car en route, Ethan asked me, “So, Chris… the band was wondering if you would still… like… write songs for us and stuff,” he said in his squeaky, annoying voice, and I replied that I would love to continue to at least write for the band, even though I didn’t want to participate in it.

 

“How did the audition go?” I asked, prompting him to become more comfortable about talking to me again.

 

“We haven’t had it yet… it’s on Saturday. We sure would like it if we had something new to perform for this guy, though…” he said, his voice trailing off on the end, leaving several very subtle hints through his tone and words.

 

“Oh?” I asked, pretending not to know what he was talking about… I frequently do that, so that people have to ask me straight out what they want.

 

“Well,” he said slowly, “We’d like for you to write something new for us to show him, if you would… I mean, if you wanted to… well, yeah…” he said dully.

 

“Ethan, I’d be happy to,” I said, and he smiled and gave a brief thanks, before we arrived at my house. Jill and I kissed goodbye, and I strode up the walk, and went to bed.

 

The next day, I got on the bus on time for once. As I was riding and scanning the countryside through the grimy windows of the bus, an inspiration hit me. Suddenly, I had to write… I just had to—there was no alternative. I pulled my notebook out of my book bag along with a pen and began scribbling furiously. As I wrote, occasionally I looked up and just penned words, without looking at the paper but around me, at my surroundings. I was so engrossed that, by the time the yellow limousine arrived at Lillian’s house, I was in my own little world; apparently, I was so spaced out that she said hello to me and it didn’t even register.

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Guest Carlyan the Wise]

In an instant, it was gone. The marvelous, lovely feeling of being able to just write without any stress was gone. I re-read what I had written, and was stunned—it was the best thing I had ever written. Finally, I came out of my daze, and Lillian said,

 

Eventually, it was time to get off the bus, and we went to class, with Lillian looking at me suspiciously. After first period, when we got to Art, she asked me, “What were you writing on the bus?”

 

“It was a song,” I said honestly… I planned to give it to Ethan for the band’s audition with his cousin, and I was about to show it to her when the teacher came by and rapped out, “Back to work! Those brushes don’t paint masterpieces by themselves!” and we did so. Surprisingly, she didn’t ask about it again.

 

As happens most times, the first week flew by, and Saturday finally came… I waited anxiously all day for the call from Ethan that would determine whether or not they would be “the next N*SYNC,” and finally it came.

 

I picked up the phone and literally had to cover my ears… it was deafening… there was this loud, high pitched tone that sounded something like a cat being strangled. I soon came to realize, however, that it was three people screaming. Elle, Ethan, and Rita were all screeching into the phone, and I had to yell to make them be quiet.

 

“We got it! Chris, we got it! He signed a record deal with us tonight! Can you believe it?!” Ethan bellowed, and I shook my head in disbelief.

 

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything? It was your song that got us here after all, man!” he said finally, and I replied something in mumbled tones.

 

“No, that’s awesome. Nice job, guys,” I replied quietly, and apparently they accepted this, because Ethan made another shout into the phone.

 

“I know! Listen, we gotta go, ok? We’re rigging up songs and stuff for the record, and we need to practice,”

 

“Talk to you later,” I said in the same hushed voice, and he hung up without replying.

 

Well… that’s great, I thought. I was truly happy for them, but I couldn’t help but feel a little… apprehension. Perhaps it was just me being jealous subconsciously, but I was afraid that the teens today might not like them, or their music, or something. I mean, if they had gotten a record, they were obviously good… but would they be good enough to satisfy the public? I didn’t know.

 

On Monday morning, I got up on time for once, got ready for school, and boarded the bus once more. As I rode, I almost expected the same sort of feeling to wash over me as a few days before… I waited, pen in hand, paper at the ready, for it to happen. Nervously, I scanned the countryside through the windows of the bus, waiting for it to happen, but it never did. Eventually, the bus arrived at the school, and I stepped down the stairs, out the folding doors, still clutching that pen and notebook… almost despairingly, I put them back in my book bag, and went to class.

 

We were only one week into school, and already the teachers were laying more homework on us than ever before. As sophomores, they said, we needed to prepare for our junior year with SAT’s, and the State Knowledge Test, which was administered as a requirement to graduate high school. As my workload increased, I realized that I would never have time for all this and writing too… I was furious. How dare they take away my precious writing time?! I remember thinking once. And then, Jill walked up to me and took my hand.

 

I stopped thinking resentful thoughts that second. When I looked at her, I realized that she was involved in everything—sports, all the clubs the school had to offer, and she had a perfect grade-point-average. I almost felt guilty for thinking like that, when here she was with more work than I could possibly dream of, and taking it all in stride. Then, the guilt passed, and I felt depressed.

 

“How do you do it?” I asked her, exasperated.

 

“Do what?” she asked, smiling at me oddly.

 

“Everything,” I answered, grasping for words to explain my dilemma, “I mean, you’re involved in everything, you have practice after school, you have a perfect GPA, and you still make time for everything else you do. You’re just… perfect.”

 

Then, she leaned in and kissed me, smiling, and shook her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes. She gave me one of her dazzling smiles, and I just shook my head in despair. How could anyone live up to that? I wondered… And what do I look like next to her?

 

Later that night, Ethan called me again. He requested even more songs, as they needed seven more to complete their record. I sighed, agreed to make an effort to write them, and hung up… The thought of more work! Flashed across my mind, before I thought of Jill, and decided that I could handle it.

 

But I couldn’t. I was getting bogged down. Even the thought of writing these days was exasperating, and I didn’t even try for a whole week, until I got the call. Ethan asked me angrily where “his songs” were, and how I could be so selfish as to not write them for him… I knew that I had agreed to do it… and I knew that it was my responsibility, but I couldn’t hold back my anger.

 

“How dare you?!” I fairly bellowed into the phone, scarcely believing my own use of the archaic phrase, as well as what followed… it was as if my frustrations and tensions were exiting through my mouth into the receiver and down onto Ethan.

 

“Where are your songs? Your songs? They’re mine, you pompous jackass, and you should be thankful that I allow you to screech them out in what you call music! It’s always you, Ethan! There’s never any ‘Well how are you, Chris, I haven’t seen you for forever since I haven’t been at school and been having the stresses you have’, is there?! No, there isn’t! I need a friend, too, you conceited… jerk!” I said, grasping for a name that would suit his oppression of my rights as a friend and a writer… and finally coming up with that. Before he could make a retort, or an apology or… anything, I hung up the phone, and stared downward at the floor. I mentally noted all the cracks and the blemishes that had appeared over the years of use; I occupied my mind so as not to think of Ethan or the band or my outburst.

 

I didn’t hear from Ethan for a while after that… he really hadn’t been going to school lately, and apparently his mom was home-schooling him; at least, that’s what Lillian told me, who was always trying to get us to talk to each other again.

 

“Why do you hate him so?” she asked me once, a few weeks after we had decided (a “decision” had never really been made, but you know how these things go) not to speak to each other anymore.

 

“I don’t hate him—I just have no respect for him anymore. He treated me, and my work, for that matter, as if I was dirt, and I won’t put up with that. He doesn’t deserve my friendship,”… and I will never forget the look that she gave me then; it was as if she didn’t know me, as if she would never know me, and that didn’t bother her.

 

“You really care about your writing, don’t you?”

 

“It’s what I do, Lil. Ethan sings, you paint, Jill does… well, everything… but I write. It’s the one thing that I actually think I can… do. I know I’m just a beginner, and I’m often disappointed by my attempts, but I love it, and I will never, ever give it up.”

 

And the look was gone. There were hints of it behind her eyes, but she knew me again… or her face said she did, anyways.

 

That was when it happened: in the middle of everything. We were at the end of the first quarter of school, and things were quieting down a little bit. Things were almost back to normal, and then it just… happened.

 

* * *

 

The bells in the church rang out loudly in long tones… they sounded mournful to me… or maybe it was just my mood. This wasn’t supposed to happen—how could she? It wasn’t her choice alone…but then again, whenever my mother had set her mind to something, she had never backed down.

 

As they threw the rice that day, (I refused to) I felt more alone than I ever had in my entire life. Mom blew me a kiss before she stepped into the limousine, and I forced a smile in a pathetic attempt to show that I was happy for her. The bells continued to ring out above, signaling the wedding between my mother and James W. Richmond… Idiot, esquire.

 

As my grandmother put an arm around me and led me to the cab we had waiting, I looked down at my feet, attempting to hide the stupid tears that were welling. She patted my shoulder, and said nothing… I could almost feel her frown as she looked at the top of my head… she understood.

 

That night, I couldn’t stand to be alone… of course, my grandmother was there, but I couldn’t stand to stay there. When I started to explain this to my grandmother, she simply held up her hand as if to say “I understand,” and actually did say, “Be home by eleven. Go see your friends, Chris.”

 

As I walked outside, I looked down to the ground… I kicked rocks as I went, shuffling along the sidewalk, wandering and wondering at the same time what would happen when my mom returned home from her honeymoon with her new husband… I wouldn’t call him “Dad”… he refused. It was one small satisfaction that I would give my father as he looked down upon us… even if mom had forgotten him, I hadn’t.

 

I looked up suddenly, curious as to where my feet had roamed… surprisingly, it was someplace I knew—Jill’s house. As I walked up to the door, suddenly considered what she would think of me at her house this late. I checked my watch—8:45. I knocked on the door, partially not caring what she thought. I waited a few minutes, then went to knock again, only to have the door open and Jill’s nervous face appear.

 

“Chris! What are you doing here?”

 

“I—I just… I need to not be by myself right now, Jill… I’m not even making sense when I talk… I just need-”

 

“Now? Chris, I’m meeting with Senator McAlistor, can it wait?” she whispered urgently… I think it was at this point that I looked up at her eyes, which kept glancing back behind her, and realized that I had taken a back seat in her life.

 

“No, it’s fine… I just thought I would come see you,” I said, wiping my eyes.

 

“Chris, are you ok?” She asked suddenly, as if suspicious…

 

“I’m fine… it was silly of me, really.”

 

“You sure?” she asked once more, her eyes now concentrating on me, and even looking a little worried.

 

“Positive. Bye,” I said… and why I didn’t run screaming and crying into her arms right there, why I didn’t collapse at her feat and beg her to help me through this road block in my life, why I didn’t object to her being my girlfriend and being too busy for me… I still don’t know to this day.

 

At that point, I don’t know what possessed me. I walked slowly around the corner past where she could see me… then I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me to her house… I didn’t know if she would be able to see and comfort me, I didn’t know if she would want to, but I ran anyways. As I ran, my eyes leaked tears that the wind rushing past my face smeared into wet lines… and by the time I reached Lillian’s house, I don’t know what I looked like.

 

I pounded on the door… pounded as if I had to get in to save my life from something chasing me… and presently she opened it looking worried.

 

“Oh my God, Chris, come in here—you’re freezing!” she said, and for the first time I realized the truth to her words. She took me by the hand and led me over to the couch. She produced a blanked from somewhere, and wrapped it over my shoulders. My teeth chattering, and me crying softly at the same time, I laid myself down and closed my eyes, embarrassed for what I had become—a slobbering, moaning, freezing fool.

 

“I’m sorry Chris… I’m so sorry,” she said, and she put a hand on my shoulder. She had known about the wedding as soon as I had, and had even volunteered to go to support me… but I refused. I hadn’t wanted her to see me at the wedding, as I would be a mess.

 

Now, though, it didn’t seem to matter. I sat up, and put my head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around me and held me, as if she were my mother who were gone, and I cried to her… as if she could understand me as well as if I were speaking. Why was I so upset by this? Why? Being upset enough to cry like a girl to a girl?

 

Later, when I had stopped, she had told me to go to sleep, and I obeyed. She promised to wake me up in time to go home, and that she would walk me home if I wished. Then I fell asleep—a deep, restless, dreamless sleep.

 

When I awoke, I heard voices from the kitchen—two female voices that I recognized as Lillian and Jill. I could hear their conversation clearly, from the way they were nearly shouting at each other.

 

“And so you just left him outside on your doorstep, hmm? You just decided that what you were doing was more important, eh Jill?” Lil practically yelled.

 

“He said he was ok!”

 

“Because you were obviously too busy to comfort your crying boyfriend! You said to him ‘Now?’”

 

“I didn’t realize-”

 

“Oh bullshit, Jill! Bullshit! He was a crying mess when he got here! He cried on my shoulder for fifteen minutes, for God’s sake! And after that, he fell asleep like a baby! How could you not realize?!”

 

“Well…”

 

“Well what? You didn’t notice the tears streaming down his face? You didn’t stop to look at him?”

 

“Oh stop it, Lillian! I made a mistake!”

 

“A big damn mistake, if you ask me! Some girlfriend you are, just not even-”

 

“Oh, and I suppose you’d like to be his girlfriend instead, wouldn’t you? I know what’s going on with you you’re all-”

 

“How dare you?! How dare you accuse me of being jealous? I am his friend, Jill, not that you’d know anything about it!”

 

“Ok, fine then. If I’m doing such a bad job, I’d better go break up with him right now, hadn’t I?”

 

Then there was a sound that could only have been a slap across Jill’s face, from what came next. “Don’t you dare; I swear to you, Jillian Montague, if you break that boy’s heart further, I’ll rip out whatever cold excuse for a heart of stone you have in your chest to replace it.” And with that, Lillian marched out into the living room, and saw that I was awake. She smiled weakly at me, unaware that I had overheard their argument, and sat down beside me.

 

“How are you?” she asked, looking at me with concern written on her face.

 

“I’m fine, actually… thanks for taking care of me. I think I’d better head home, though…” I said, dropping off my sentence at the end.

 

“Do you want me to walk you?”

 

“No, I’ll be fine, really… thanks again,” I said, and left before I could notice that Jill was in the kitchen and have to explain to her why I’d said that I was fine at her house. Over the long walk home, I thought about life, it’s cruel twists and turns, and some particularly good friends.

 

The next few weeks at school were… tough, to say the least. No one noticed what I was going through, at least… none of the students, anyways. Mr. Horus obviously would have, and he gave me this look every time I talked to him about something—when I asked him a question, or even for permission to go to the bathroom, his brow wrinkled and his eyes said, “Yes, you poor boy, you.” I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. On top of that, Lillian and Jill were still at each other’s throats. Neither one of them would be with me at the same time I was with the other, and if they bumped into one another, they would storm off, not speaking or apologizing. Trust me, I got tired of it.

 

And, eventually, I got over my mom’s new husband. I still don’t call him ‘Dad,’ of course, but he and I can stand to be in the same room. He’s not mean to me or anything, and so I can deal. I think he understand that he can never replace my Dad, or take Mom away from me, so I’m pretty much over the initial shock and panic.

 

Then everything made a full circle. It was prom, of the same year. I was there with Jill, and Lillian was there with another one of her boyfriends... she was still going through them like a chronic diarrhea patient goes through toilet paper, but I couldn't find out what was wrong with her... it was useless asking, because that just made her angry at me and not want to talk about it even more.

 

"The Dance," by Garth Brooks, came on, and Jill dragged me out onto the dance floor. She had to dance with me to this one... she said it was "Our song"... apparently, she had designated a song to be ours without my knowledge, because we had never danced to it before. And, as we were spinning endless circles out there on the gym floor, we met up with Lillian and her date... Jill didn't notice, because her head was buried in my shoulder, but I did.

 

Lillian's head stuck up above her dance partner's by about six inches... she was with the shortest guy in the school, and it was pretty funny to see them attempt to dance together, but I wasn't laughing-- Lillian was beautiful. She was wearing a floor-length blue dress, that matched her eyes perfectly, somehow. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she smiled weakly as the short guy said something to her-- a joke, probably-- and then our eyes met. It was odd... I thought of Lillian like I'd never thought of her before, and she looked at me strangely, asking "Is everything ok?" with her eyes, and when I motioned that I was fine, she looked at me again... with what I could've sworn was longing.

 

I was terrified. What was going on? Lillian was my friend, I couldn't like her like that... It just wouldn't work out... would it?

 

As Jill and I walked off the dance floor, I whispered that I was going to get something to drink, and she told me to bring something back for her. I nodded, and headed over to the punch-bowl. When I saw Lillian there, on the other side of the table, I stopped, and so did she, in mid-pour.

 

Composing myself, I trudged on towards the table where the "too-cool-to-dance" crowd always hang out, and grabbed two glasses and filled them. I took hold of them, and turned to head back to Jill...

 

"Chris?" It was Lil, behind me.

 

I stopped, blinked, picked my guts up off the floor where I'd apparently lost them, and turned back towards her. "Yeah?" I said.

 

"Come over here... I need to talk to you."

 

"Ok, sure Lil." I said, setting down the drinks. We headed off into a dark corner of the dance where, not surprisingly, several couples were making out and paid little heed to us.

 

"I just... You want to know why I've had so many boyfriends this year, Chris?"

 

"Um... Ok," I said, wondering where she was going with this.

 

"I've been watching you... you and Jill. And I thought that's what I wanted-- a relationship with a guy who I could trust and count on, and... well... it wasn't. This whole time I've been wanting-- I've always wanted-- you. I just... can't we try it? We're friends, I know, and there's always the anti-guy-girl-friend nervousness about how it will affect the friendship, but I know I'll regret this for the rest of my life if I don't. I love you, Chris... as more than a friend... I need to know how you feel, even if you say no... at least I won't stay awake wondering anymore."

 

...

 

I was stunned. I'd never seen so much emotion coming from Lillian before, ever... and now she was telling me that she loved me.

 

"Lillian, I--"

 

"Oh God... I don't know how I'm going to deal with this..." she said, and turned away from me.

 

"I haven't even answered yet-- How--"

 

"You called me Lillian... you only address me as Lil, unless you're delivering some bad news or if you're teasing me... and this hardly seems like the time for making fun."

 

I stopped... we knew eachother so well... we knew what eachother's passions were, how we would respond to everything imagineable... Lil even knew about my writing now... and I didn't share that with anyone. It was as if... as if we were already together, but only in a friendly sense.

 

"You're right. I didn't understand until now, but you're right... I think... I think we're meant for eachother, Lil... I feel closer to you than anyone else I know... even Jill, and she's my grilfriend, for Pete's sake... you're right."

 

And you can guess what happened next. I broke up with Jill, went out with Lil, and we're making it. Jill was upset, at first, but she found a new boyfriend within a week, so I'm sure she wasn't too broken up about it. She still won't talk to me this day, though, so I guess she was angry about me dumping her for my best friend, though.

 

Mom and I are still ok... and the newest addition to our family and I are getting along even better now. I'm still writing, and Lillian and I are getting on, taking things pretty slow, but that's probably for the best...

 

So what's the moral of this whole story? Why did I waste your time with this? I guess it's because... life throws you curves, and you gotta deal with them somehow... if you roll with the punches, everything goes by a lot easier... but you end up missing out on things that are worth getting a few strikes to experience in the long run. Life's like a carousel; it goes round and round, has its ups and downs, and if you ride it for too long you get sick of it. We are never, however, too old or mature to ride. Don't get off the carousel... stick it out.

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Guest lumpenproletariat]

I read it all, and I liked it very much

 

if ypuve got anymore stories floating around, please post them, the real life setting is fresh mixture, something I was thinking of trying myself

Well I try my best

 

To be just like I am

But everybody wants you

To be just like them

They sing while they slave and just get bored

I ain't gonna work on, nah

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Gyrfalcon]

*Gyrfalcon applauds* Wow. An interesting story told compellingly.

 

On a side note, some people actually have interesting lives. That doesn't mean they're better or worse then mine, just interesting.

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Guest Brute3]

Well done. I started reading and I found I couldn't stop. I think 'refreshing' has already been used to describe it, but if so, I second that. It's an odd and sometimes hard lesson to learn: how to deal with life, but we each cope in our own ways. Adaptation is the key, which is tempered with our individual characteristics and sense of morals. Life moves on, and the best that we can do is move with it and make the best of what is given to us. A prayer now and then doesn't hurt, either.

 

Brute

 

O Drunken One

Edited April 29, 2004 by Alaeha

[Guest Carlyan the Wise]

Thanks to everyone for their comments.