part four

part three is "down by the river" (below)

... I lean against the railing, head hanging upside-down, and feel my face flush as the blood rushes to my head. Ahh, life...

I see a vision of my childhood, my parents fighting, my brothers making fun of me, my parents hugging, my brothers protecting me from bullies. I remember my oldest brother coming home from school, my mother and I sitting next to the pool at our apartment, and him running and jumping in in a cannonball. I remember the time at the barber shop when my mother accidentally hit me in the head with the lit end of her cigarette.

Smile.

And when my parents divorced, how my father just disappeared from my life. My brother did his best to fill those shoes, but he's only four years my elder...

I remember my mother's boyfriends throughout the years, and how I think she hoped one would fill in where my dad left off.

You really should smile.

Elementary school, middle school, high school, and the different houses. Moving from school to school, being asked if we were military brats because most people don't move that much. But never really moving that far away, just far enough to lose contact with the old. Establish new roots, make new friends, lather, rinse, and repeat. I watched as my brothers rebelled, then, inevitably and to a lesser extent, followed in their footsteps. The Cure helped me forge my identity, all those black clothes and the creepers. I remember being so determined to start smoking that when I got nauseous from the menthols, I decided it was the menthols that were bad and switched to non-menthols. Smoking mom's butts out of her ashtray and convincing my brothers to buy me smokes (they were reluctant, but I was a baby-faced 15-year-old who wasn't afraid to pull out the hypocrite card when the situation called for it--oh yeah, they smoked too).

That's more like it.

I remember that girl, the one who took my virginity. And the one who should have. And the one who, in hindsight probably not as maliciously as it felt, ripped my heart out and shattered any confidence I thought I had.

As the harshest Hendrix solo throbs in my head.

I remember the ones that got away. Because I felt unworthy, and I pushed; and when they tried to fight my fighting I only pushed harder, got mean, got angry, because they had to be faking their care. "What's wrong with you that you even give a shit? You can't care about me..."

I lift my head and tears fall down my cheeks.

Man, are you ok?

"Why do you even fucking care?! Just leave me alone, just go away... you can't help. I don't want your fucking pity! I don't want your help!"

And, invariably, they did leave. And there I was, left to dwell on what an unloveable ass I was, the prophecy self fulfilling because I wouldn't let it go any other way. "Why don't you care? What's so wrong with me that nobody cares?"

And I lived my life, went to college, got my degree. Here and there I'd have short relationships with exactly the wrong type of woman, because we all have needs, and there's always sex when you can't find love... I smoked a lot of weed and cigarettes, and drank, but not too much with the booze; dope didn't leave me physically ill the next day. Things were kind of hazy in those days. I partook in hallucinogens on rare occasions. Had some really good times, I think. But honestly don't remember many of them. "Are you sure that was me," I'd ask old friends as they recount something I said or did. And they'd say "sure," but how am I supposed to trust some pothead's recollection over my... own... Shit.

And so I moved a thousand miles from home, tried to put down roots in another town. How do you do that? I still don't know, but I couldn't stand being so comfortable and so miserable at the same time. If no one else is gonna put a fire under my ass, I'll do it myself.

So here I am, jobless, broke, a thousand miles from home without even a running car to go back.

I think he's crazy.

I don't think so.

I think we should go.

Well, I've lost the comfort part, but it seems the misery's followed.

You look like you could use a friend. Hello?

I find myself sitting in pigeon shit against the guardrail, hands covering my wet face, and I feel my shirt being tugged on for some reason. I swing with all my might at the air, miss that soft target, and connect with the metal railing. Startled, I jump to my feet and scream "Ah shitmotherfuckgoddamn! What the holymotherfuckinlordsweetjesusphilosophize! Ohmyfuckinggod, owowowowowow."

"Whoa, hey, easy there big fellow. Sorry to startle you. I'm Rebecca. What's your name?"