December 25, 2009

I am sitting on the couch, this book pressed against my thighs. I have never done anything like this before, this whole journaling thing, but my best friend Rebecca says that it will be good for me. She gave me this journal for Christmas and told me to write down everything.

“These are the years that you’re gonna want to remember,” She said with a little smile as she toyed with the bow on her own present that was sitting in her lap. Remembering was always a bit of an issue with me. There were times that she would tell me something and ask me about it that same day and I would not remember what she was talking about. It was frustrating.

I don’t have any disorder. It’s not that I can’t remember anything from my past or that I forgot things instantly like that fish did in that one movie. But if someone asked me to remember what I was doing last week on a certain day, I had to think about it. Ask me what I was doing a month ago, or a year ago and it would take me a while if I could remember it at all. I would have to ask for help.

“What were we doing that day?”

“Remember, that’s the day you fell in the hallway and knocked down the entire class like dominos?”

“Ohh, yeah. I remember that.”

See? If you give me a hint, I normally can get it. And that did actually happen to me, by the way. I was standing in the hallway and this jerky guy named Aaron Brightman came over and knocked my books out of my hand while I was standing at my locker. The books- these were those back breaking, hard back books- fell and hit my feet. I jerked back and lost my balance and fell into this girl, who fell into the guy beside her, who fell into another girl and so on until the majority of the seventh grade class was sprawled in the floor on top of one another.

But I digress. What was I talking about again? Right, the journal.

I ran my hand over the thick, hard bound journal and flipped the pages. That is one my favorite things about this journal: the pages. The pages’ lines are very thin and college ruled and the paper is a beige, yellowy color and speckled with flecks of various earthy colors so that it looks old. The paper was recycled according to the sticker on the back of the book. The journal is thick, too. It’s like a thousand pages or something. I had never seen anything like it before in any book store. It has a black ribbon attached to the binding that you could use as a book mark, and along with the journal, Becky gave me this thick fountain pen.

It was the nicest gift I had ever gotten.

“Wow, Becky… thanks,” I was in awe. She looked embarrassed, and she would not meet my eyes as she stood up from the couch and moved to sort through the remaining packages beneath our small Christmas tree.

She was right. I do want to remember what happened. I have reached one of the most important times in my life: my junior year of high school, and my first year of living on my own.

I moved out of my parents house after my freshman year. Now, I live mine and Becky’s mutual friend Jonathan in a small house at the end of a quiet street called Wilkin’s Hollow. All of the houses are small and old, and most of the residents are the same way. Jonathan’s grandmother used to live in this house, and after she died, she left it to him. Jonathan is a few years older than I am; he is in college doing some kind of pharmacy program. In a few years, he is going to be making some good money. The house has already been paid for, and he and I share the other expenses like internet for the desktop computer we share, electricity, water, etc. This year we got ourselves cable as a kind of joint Christmas present.

Did I mention that Jonathan’s grandmother was rich? She might have lived in this little rinky-dink house, but she had a lot of money. Jonathan got the house along with a big chunk of money which she had been saving up to help him pay for college classes. He was the only son of her only son, who had died of cancer when Jonathan was twelve. After that, Jonathan’s mother committed suicide, and his grandmother took over until she died last year. That money she saved coupled with Jonathan’s paycheck- he works on computers so he gets like ten bucks an hour- is how he pays for college and his half of the expenses.

I work at a library. I get minimum wage and work about fifteen hours a week. So how can I afford my half of the money? Well, at the end of my freshman year, my parents told me that they were getting a divorce. Now, I know that this has become common place in the world today, but it was kind of different with my parents. They were getting divorced not because they fought all the time and there was no abuse and no big, scandalous affair. No, they were getting divorced because Karen was bored.

Karen, my mother, wanted to travel and get a taste of some exotic cuisine, if you catch my drift. Christian, my dad, was a partner in a big law firm and could not travel for any extended period of time. Karen did not try to hide the fact that she wasn’t traveling just for the sake of traveling. She told Christian that she was tired of being at home all the time alone. Because even when Christian was there, he wasn’t, if that makes sense. Christian worked very, very late at the firm and when he finally did come home, he would go into his study and work until he was tired then go to bed. They never fought about it, and Karen was not angry with him, just bored of wandering around the house with nothing to do. She was a professional housewife and did not have a job herself. She was too lazy to hold a real job.

Now, before you jump down my throat about how being a housewife is a ‘real job,’ keep in mind that by this time I was 16 and we had a permanent house staff that kept the house clean and cooked all of the meals. So in her case, being a housewife consisted of her sitting around the house eating and watching various soaps.

Anyway, they had a very diplomatic discussion- without me, of course- and decided that divorce was the most logical thing to do. They told me about it when I got home after my last day of school. I can’t remember the exact way the conversation went, but it was something like this.

“We’re getting a divorce.”

“What?”

“Your mother is going to be traveling the world hooking up with foreign men, and I am going to be working all the time so neither of us really want a teenager around. Is there anywhere else you can go?”

“Well, Jonathan just inherited his grandmother’s house and he’s looking for a roommate…”

“Good stay with him.”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t exactly like that, but that is basically what happened. My mom did not want some sixteen year old slowing her down while she traveled, and my dad didn’t want the distraction, and I was furious at the both of them after they had explained everything. So I divorced them, and once I got emancipated, moved in with Jonathan.

Every month dad sends me a check to pay my half of the bills. Not because he has to, but because I think he feels a little guilty. He throws in a little extra on major holidays and my birthday.

So that’s my story. Or at least, all I can say for now.

It’s still early, only about ten AM. Jonathan, Becky and I are heading to get breakfast at IHOP, it’s a tradition. I wrote this down while waiting for Jonathan to get out of the shower. He’s done now and jingling the keys in my ear, telling me to wrap it up so we can go. Becky is standing behind him, wearing this big smile on her face; I think she’s happy to see me writing in here already.

Things I got for Christmas this year:

1 hard back journal, black with recycled paper, 800 pages

1 fountain pen, black ink
Cable for TV

Package from Karen including:
1 deck of Scopa cards
1 black Venetian Carnivale mask
1 dark brown wood bead rosary
1 historic Roman dagger with complimentary Gladius sword letter opener

$50.00

December 26, 2009

Well, another Christmas has come and gone.

Jonathan just left for work, and since the library is closed for Christmas still, that means I’m home by myself. Luckily, Becky is off work today, too. She is coming over soon, and we’re going to spend the morning rocking out on Guitar Hero.

I guess right now would be a good time to make some introductions.

My name is Leroy Dickens.

Did I mention that I thoroughly loathe my parents? I’m sure that you can imagine the endless ridicule I suffered because of this name, but that is not even the worst part. I might have been okay if I had gotten some of my dad’s looks or even my mom’s, but no. No, I got a mix of them like some kind of Frankenstein monster mash-up. I have my dad’s long, defined nose, which sits between my mom’s small grey eyes. I have my dad’s broad shoulders and mom’s skinny figure and long limbs and her height. I am a whopping 5’6” and about 130 lbs despite the fact that I am at all times eating and sitting in front of either a computer or television screen. I also have to wear glasses because I am half blind, and braces.

Despite my dashing good looks, I’m single, but I do have a girl in mind if I ever manage to grow a spine. Her name is Brooke Cartwright, and she is the most beautiful girl in the world. She is the class president and plays on the school tennis team. Her hair is like melted gold and her eyes are blue green like the ocean. She is slender and always wears those expensive, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination clothes from the mall. She always walks with a slight strut as if she’s constantly stepping down a runway instead of the hall of a high school. I’ve not seen her at the library before. I guess she isn’t much into reading, but that’s okay. She doesn’t necessarily need to be an intellectual. Though it would be a plus.

Let’s see, what else? I’m sixteen years old. I take the bus to school because even with dad’s support checks I can’t afford a car payment. I do have my license though, so I can drive Jonathan’s black Scion xB. You know, one of those cars that looks like a large refrigerator with wheels?

I like video and computer games. I like to read and to research…

Oh, I have a pet rat. I named him Socrates. Cool points to you if you get the reference. If not, you apparently do not have good taste in movies or books. He has white fur and large dark eyes just like his namesake. I bought him earlier this year with my birthday money from Christian… dad. He is a very good pet. He likes to sit on my shoulder or the top of my head. Right now, he’s sitting on my shoulder, cleaning his fur. He is very neat and tidy. He also adores Becky. She is one of the few girls I know that actually likes rats. I don’t think Brooke would like Socrates, but that’s okay. If we ever start dating and she wants to come to the house, I’ll just move Socrates to Jonathan’s room until she leaves.

My birthday, by the way, is February 13.

I guess it wouldn’t really be fair to describe Brooke and not Jonathan or Becky.

Rebecca Emory Chambers is very short and a little plump. She has short black hair and really dark eyes. She likes to wear t-shirts and jeans and Converse high top shoes. Sometimes she fixes her hair really curly, other times its straight and pulled back. It depends on her mood and how late she stayed up the previous night.

Becky and I have known each other our whole lives. Literally. Her mother and my mother were high school friends. Both of them married guys with high end, high maintenance jobs so when they got pregnant around the same time, they decided to be each other’s personal pregnancy coach. They went to those crazy Lamaze classes together and when it was time to give birth, they were present at each other’s bedside. I was born first and a month later Becky came into the world.

We went to the same schools and rode the same bus all the way up to fifth grade.

Jonathan Landon Walsh is a tall African American guy who looks skinny, but is really ripped. He wears glasses, too, but his are thin rimmed and look very sophisticated. He has black dread locks that he keeps tied back, and he wears very nice clothes. He always likes to wear blazers with his jeans, which makes him look like a young teacher. He’s got this really warm smile that makes everyone around him feel at ease. And his voice is deep and slightly accented. I think he’s going to make a great pharmacist. He’ll do really well working with people.

Becky and I both met Jonathan one day walking home from school. It was during fifth grade. We had decided at the beginning of the year to meet at the Dairy Queen that was a kind of halfway mark between our two schools once school was over so we could walk home together everyday. It was a great system. The first few weeks went without incident, but after a while people started to take notice of us. It was the end of August and it was still very hot. Becky and I had gotten ice cream from the Dairy Queen. We did not get away from the building before this group of guys from my school came over and started harassing us. One of them was, you guessed it, Aaron Brightman. The same guy who caused the domino incident in the hallway (see previous entry).

Aaron and his buddies started pushing us around and stole our ice cream cones. They all dramatically licked the ice cream and gushed about how good and refreshing it was. It was terrible. One of Aaron’s friends, Marcus, took Becky’s ice cream cone and smeared it across the front of her dress, which was new. I tried to stand up to them, but all that happened was I was forced to the ground after Aaron’s fist connected with my nose. Suddenly, there was another person. I looked up and saw this tall, African American guy wearing a white button down beneath a black sweater-vest. I thought he was just another of their group, but when I looked to Aaron and the other jerks, they seemed just as surprised as I was.

“What do you want nerd?” Aaron scowled up at Jonathan, his nose wrinkling as he saw Jon’s clothes. Back then, nerd was more of an insult than the label of pride it is today. Even then, Jonathan stood taller than Aaron and his band of Neanderthals, though with his thin glasses and neat appearance, he did not give off the be-afraid-very-afraid vibe that Aaron and his posse did.

“Leave them alone.” Short, simple, to the point.

“Puh, why should I listen to you?”

“Let’s settle this like gentlemen.”

They laughed and Aaron arched a brow, looking thoroughly amused. “And how are we gonna do that? Talk it out?”

Jonathan hesitated a moment then nodded, “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have assumed that you were intelligent enough to carry on a civil conversation. My mistake.”

It took a moment for Aaron to digest the big words, but once he realized that he had been insulted, he pushed Becky and me aside roughly. “What did you say?” He growled and stamped his feet as he moved to Jonathan and grabbed him by the sleeves of his vest.

It was then that a police car pulled up to the curb and a tall, handsome African American guy stepped out and walked around the front of the car. “Hello, son. Is there a problem?” He said, looking from the very calm Jonathan to Aaron, who was quickly backpedaling.

Jonathan smoothed his vest and arched a brow, smiling a little as he watched Aaron. “No, dad, I don’t think there’s any problem… and I don’t think there ever will be, right, Aaron?”

Aaron stammered something then fled as quickly as dignity would allow with his friends. Jonathan stepped back toward the Dairy Queen, “Hold on, dad.” He disappeared into the shop and a few minutes later he returned with his own cup of ice cream that he had bought just before coming out to defend us. “Here you go.” He handed it to Becky and ruffled her hair a little before climbing into the police car with his dad.

Becky shared that ice cream with me on the way home, and Aaron and his buddies didn’t show their faces once.

And so our duo became a trio.

I have to stop for now, Becky’s here.

Guitar Hero Scores:

Me

Smoke on the Water 98% Medium
Iron Man 100% Medium
Sharp Dressed Man 97% Medium
Even Rats 95% Medium
Story of My Love 100% Medium
Crossroads 92% Medium

Becky

Paint it Black 100% Medium
Miss Murder 100% Medium
Cult of Personality 98% Medium
My Name is Jonas 100% Medium
Smoke on the Water 99% Medium
Iron Man 97% Medium

So yeah, Becky kicked my butt on Guitar Hero. After we’d played a few songs, we went into the kitchen and pulled out some left over Japanese food that I’d brought home for me and Jonathan the other day. While we were eating, we started to talk. Every Friday night, Becky, Jonathan and I go to the Family Video and get a stack of movies, swing by Wal-Mart to get some cheap candy and popcorn, make a quick stop at CVS to buy a case of Izze (our favorite decaffeinated drinks), and go back to the house for a movie night. Becky and I were trying to decide what movies we wanted to get.

“What about that Twilight movie?” Becky said, sipping at a pomegranate flavored Izze.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Well I don’t know,” She shrugged. “It seems to be getting a lot of hype. I’m just a little curious about it.”

“The whole tortured vampire thing, it’s just so cliché,” I grumbled, prodding one of my pieces of teriyaki chicken with the tongs of my fork. Becky shook her head and brushed some of her dark hair behind her ear, looking down at her food.

“Well, it was just a suggestion.”

“I’d rather watch a test pattern for two hours.”

A wad of rice hit me between the eyes. I guess I might have deserved that.

“Well, what movies do you want to watch?”

“Actually, Becky… I was thinking.” I stirred my rice. “You’re a girl, and I was wondering. Do you think you could help me figure out something nice I could get for Brook for Valentine’s Day?”

“Valentine’s Day is months away, Leroy.”

“I know, but I only get paid every two weeks, so I want to have time to save up.”

She gave a soft sigh, the same sigh she always gives me whenever I start talking about Brooke. I don’t know what it is, but Becky has never liked Brooke. She says all manner of evil against her, and says that she loathes her with a fiery passion.

“I loathe her with a fiery passion.”

“Please?”

“If it were me that you were buying for… I would want something simple. Something meaningful. A classic novel or a stuffed animal. Something I could always keep that would make me think of you every time I lo-”

“Stop, stop… I’m not asking what to get you. I’m asking what Brooke would like,” I said with exasperation.

Becky gave me this funny look then violently tore into a piece of chicken. “Get her something super expensive like diamonds or a purse or something meaningless like that. Or just save yourself the trouble and give her a wad of cash, I’m sure that would please her. She still wouldn’t go out with you though.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well you’re not exactly her type, genius.” She said, shooting a glare at me. “She prefers more brawn than brain.”

That hurt.

“I don’t see boys begging for you to date them. Maybe they prefer more bone and less meat.”

She looked up at me and gave me another funny look. It was a mixture of shock, hurt, and fury. I instantly felt guilty, but I was too proud to take it back. She stood up and walked out, leaving her half finished food. I ate the rest of mine then the little bit that she had left.

I just don’t understand what her deal is. Brooke has never done anything to her. Why does she hate her so much?