Recollections of a deranged mind...
Upper primary school, I am about 10 years old and critically unhappy. I go to school everyday without Nike or Reebok, Stussy or 26 Red. I have short and straight blonde hair which I see as a sign of weakness. My short shorts are not cool. I complain to my mother, desperate and alone. I want to have friends. I want boys and girls who like me; who want me; to taste and learn and play with. I want them to be mine. It’s so easy to impress the other kids with clothes and accessories and technology. We both know this, and so my mums pity is routine, she’s tired and sad, she’s getting dressed for night shift at the home for spastic kids. Nike don’t matter so much to the mentally handicapped. I know this, I go there with mum and watch Batman with Jack Nicholson. Batman don’t matter to the mentally handicapped. I’m trying to drag my mum into my world. She’s resisting. She tells me “Dare to be different.” A week later my teacher, Mrs Degomois, is speaking to me in the classroom. All the other students are silent. She berates me for my restlessness and accusing, demands reassurance that I’ve taken my medication today. I want to tear out her fucking throat and scream injustice. I hate the fucking bitch for it and vow never to forgive her. Everybody is looking at me.
When my dad is out of the house I sit at his desk in the garage. For as long as I can avoid the attention of everyone else in the house I rummage through my fathers possessions. I examine his cigarettes, one by one. The tips of my fingers are covered in ash. I pick up papers and books, correspondence, a cassette recorder, a packet of matches, an auto-mechanics tools, a pornographic magazine. I sniff at the empty beer bottles and cigarette packets; fascinated. I promise myself that I’ll never drink beer because my mother has long had her fill and my father and his friends stink of it. My mum says that he’s an alcoholic and his mum says my mum is a bitch. I promise to start smoking cigarettes as soon as I can. All the cool people smoke.
I’m 15 years old and my best friend is sucking my cock in a dark room at a party. I only last for about 30 sec wishing it would last forever. We laugh at each other and walk back into the kitchen to get a drink. Alcohol and sex is everywhere. A guy I know but don’t like is sitting in the kitchen, an ex-girlfriend of mine on his lap. His fingers are buried in her cunt, she wriggles and squirms. I address them but neither hears me, they both stare into space, empty glasses of red wine in one hand. In the back yard a girl sits on a childhood swing. She looks up at me, a tear sliding down her cheek. Her lips are small and soft light pink and through them passes a shaky breath, heavy with a scent of melancholic desire. My heart aches. I stumble inside, make for the lounge. I am kissing a young man that I go to school with, his hair is soft and blonde and he has a small tongue. I am thinking that he is too skinny and he is thinking that I am too queer, too drunk, too geek, too punk, too cheap, not near cool enough. He runs away from me puts his hands down my best friends pants. I walk out the front door. Skinny girl with freckles sits in the gutter. A young man with blue hair a Korn t-shirt sleeps on the front lawn. A tanned boy with pierced nipples punches a corrugated iron fence. An empty bottle of ouzo rests atop the letterbox. I light a cigarette, the last in my packet, and start walking home. Mum and dad are gonna kill me.
When my dad is out of the house I sit at his desk in the garage. For as long as I can avoid the attention of everyone else in the house I rummage through my fathers possessions. I examine his cigarettes, one by one. The tips of my fingers are covered in ash. I pick up papers and books, correspondence, a cassette recorder, a packet of matches, an auto-mechanics tools, a pornographic magazine. I sniff at the empty beer bottles and cigarette packets; fascinated. I promise myself that I’ll never drink beer because my mother has long had her fill and my father and his friends stink of it. My mum says that he’s an alcoholic and his mum says my mum is a bitch. I promise to start smoking cigarettes as soon as I can. All the cool people smoke.
I’m 15 years old and my best friend is sucking my cock in a dark room at a party. I only last for about 30 sec wishing it would last forever. We laugh at each other and walk back into the kitchen to get a drink. Alcohol and sex is everywhere. A guy I know but don’t like is sitting in the kitchen, an ex-girlfriend of mine on his lap. His fingers are buried in her cunt, she wriggles and squirms. I address them but neither hears me, they both stare into space, empty glasses of red wine in one hand. In the back yard a girl sits on a childhood swing. She looks up at me, a tear sliding down her cheek. Her lips are small and soft light pink and through them passes a shaky breath, heavy with a scent of melancholic desire. My heart aches. I stumble inside, make for the lounge. I am kissing a young man that I go to school with, his hair is soft and blonde and he has a small tongue. I am thinking that he is too skinny and he is thinking that I am too queer, too drunk, too geek, too punk, too cheap, not near cool enough. He runs away from me puts his hands down my best friends pants. I walk out the front door. Skinny girl with freckles sits in the gutter. A young man with blue hair a Korn t-shirt sleeps on the front lawn. A tanned boy with pierced nipples punches a corrugated iron fence. An empty bottle of ouzo rests atop the letterbox. I light a cigarette, the last in my packet, and start walking home. Mum and dad are gonna kill me.
posted by Audrey Autonomy at 16:07
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