Saturday, April 30, 2011

Blossoming Madness III

The school day begins as it always has and probably always will. I walk into the library just as it opens, set my book bag down next to the usual cold, wooden table, and pull out The Penultimate Peril. I desperately hope it hides my face long enough for it to return for it to return to it’s usual complexion. It probably isn’t good for me to be such an emotional wreck before school but at least I’m not falling apart in class. I try to keep my mind from racing off again by taking some deep breaths. 


“Baby breath. . . Mama breath. . . Daddy breath. . .” I whisper to the empty library.


“Just out of curiosity, what comes after Daddy breath?” a voice asks right in my ear.


I whirl around and attempt some self defense by trying to hit the origin of the voice with one clean karate chop. The resulting act was my arms flailing about violently but harmlessly in the air.


The boy, who was laughing now and plopping down in a seat, rubs the top of my head (messing up my beautiful shampoo job) and says, “Such a violent little flower.”


“Andrew.” I say his name like a curse word.


“Oh come now, you know you love me.” He batts his eyelashes, clasps his hands, and smiles his most dazzling smile in futile hopes that I will forget my anger. 


It works.


“Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh” I exasperate pointedly in Andrew’s direction.


“Yeah, yeah. So how was your weekend?”


“You know, same as it always is.”


“Staring at the ceiling, reading four or five books, contemplating running away, and a last minute homework dash on Sunday night?” He chuckles but looks over at my as if expecting a breakdown right in front of him.


“I’d like to say that I ate in between those sessions of ceiling watching and book reading.” I reply while sticking out my tongue.


Andrew asks, “What did you eat this weekend, Fiala?”


“Oh you know, breakfast, lunch, dinner. Repeat.” I try to laugh nonchalantly while averting my eyes.
He just looks at me; not blinking. I stare back at him, unadmittedly becoming a little flustered by his unfaltering gaze. A minute passes while I wait for him to drop his eyes. 


“That’s really unnerving, you know.”


Silence.


“Blinking is good for your health!”


He stubbornly refuses to look away or blink.


“Oh fine, I had a butter sandwich and some chips on Saturday, a soda on Sunday, and a ton of water, naturally.” I say to my lap, not wanting to see Andrew’s expression.


“Fia-”


“Please don’t” I interject. “We already know where this conversation is going to go.”


“That doesn’t mean we don’t need to discuss it!” Andrew was becoming oddly worried and angry again. I have almost become used to it. Almost.


“Listen, Andrew-”


“And please don’t feed me some other lie about you being fine and you not needing help. Can you honestly think I believe that? How hard is it to have some self control and just eat?”


“That would be loosing self control!” I yell and then pop my hands over my mouth. Between tense fingers I murmur, “I didn’t mean that.”


“You think that-”


“No, no, I was just joking. You know, lightening up the mood!”


Andrew just gives me one of those looks again. The kind of look that makes me feel like he is looking right through me, reading my thoughts and plundering in my heart ruthlessly.


It’s scares me how well he knows me. We haven’t even been friends for long since we only met at the beginning of the year in English class but already he knew an astounding amount about me. Things I fear and love, what I like and don’t like; everything. Of course, I know a lot about him in return. I have a knack for getting people to open up to me. Andrew calls it magic, I call it trustworthiness, but whatever it was, it was really helpful. And, up until the beginning of Junior year, I had never met anyone who could get me to talk the way I do with others. Generally, things stayed bottled up inside me. Nothing ever broke except maybe my heart or soul or whatever. 


You see, when I met Andrew it was a big shock. First off, he could form a complete sentence without saying, “like” unless he was making a simile and that in it’s self is a huge accomplishment. Second, he made reference to The Series of Unfortunate Events, one of my upmost favoritest book series.  Then, he even smiled at my during class when I’d analyzed a chapter of Of Mice and Men correctly. I’d never admit it, but that dazzling smile might have been the reason I decided to befriend Andrew.


“Hey guys!” an excited voice bursts the silence. “Do you like my outfit today?”


We throw each other a glance that means, “Oh god not her” before we turn to see Stella Evans bouncing in a green and purple floral dress that didn’t quite fit her peculiarly shaped body. A giant soccer bag is slung over her ity-bity shoulder colored a fire hydrant red that matches her paper thin lips. 


“Hey Stella. Yeah, your dress is cute.” I say rolling my eyes.


“Ha ha, really? What about my lipstick?”


“Yeah that’s really cute too.”


Stella begins gabbing about how much time it took to pick out her outfit this morning and just how different she is to have chosen such an outfit while I smile and nod, attempting to tune her out. Then, something nudges my elbow. I look up to see a piece of notebook paper resting between Andrew’s hand and mine. I open it up and see,


          Yes, because I’m just so different and [hair flip]             awesome that I can dress like a deranged toddler               hehehe!
          Does she not notice that she literally begs for               compliments everyday?


I stifle a laugh and quickly fold the paper back over because Stella is wandering over to our side of the table, trying to see what was written on the paper.


I snort, Nosy little witch.


Andrew sighs and knocks my knee with his in agreement. 


“You know, guys? I think another thing that makes me different is-”


“Oh my goodness, look at the time, Fia!” Andrew suddenly bursts out while grabbing my wrist, jerking his head towards the clock, and rising from his chair.


“My oh my, you are right! We’ll be late!” I agree in fake alarm while grabbing our bags and standing up along side him.


“Oh, where are you guys going?” Stella asks, reaching for her bag too but no worries, we are prepared.


“We have a kind of rehearsal down in the commons today for a skit we’re doing in Drama class, I say with false sympathy in my voice. “Love to take you along but Samantha will be down there and she’ll want to be working the whole time. No distractions, sorry.” 


“Ah, well I guess that’s ok. . . I’ll just wait for Aaron and Maria to get here.” She dramatically sighs, plopping down in her seat once again.



“Yepp. Have fun waiting!” Andrew says. He then grabs my hand and we rush, giggling from the library while ignoring the snotty librarian who’s reprimanding us for exiting through the wrong door.


After we run to the end of the hallway, out of sight from Stella, Andrew takes his book bag from my hands and slings it over his shoulder. Grinning, he takes off down the stairs towards the drama room for first period. Just as I begin my chase after him I think,


“That was the cutest moment ever!”


That peculiar thought stops me in my tracks. 


What? No. Any moment with Andrew can’t be cute. We’re not going through that again Fiala.”


I shake the odd thought out of my head and sprint after him, a grin growing on my face anticipating the undoubtedly eventful class we were about to walk into.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Blossoming Madness II

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beeeeeep. Beeeeeep. Beee-


“God, get a life! I get it, time to “wake up.” As if I haven’t been cursing your existence for the past two hours, honestly! ”


I run a hand through my greasy hair and contemplate the necessity of a shower. I decide that a shower would add more time until I have to greet my father so I grab the only free towel (makeup stained) and walk down the hallway to the bathroom. Closing the door, I begin to turn on the light and then think better of it. Lights off, I shuffle quickly as I can over to the tub and turn the shower on while grumbling about human’s obsession with vision (it is honestly ridiculous) just as I trip over a bundled up shirt. 


“God freaking damlglrrrmmish” I wordlessly complain as I sit on the cold floor.


Ten minutes pass and I figures it has been enough time to I pull the curtain away from the side of the tub, stick my head under the steaming water, and pour the pale pink shampoo into my hands. As I’m massaging it into my hair, I realize that my hands are shaking.


Breathe, Fiala. You can do this, you’re just washing your hair. 


I avoid the truths my body is trying to tell my and spend the rest of my morning shower with my eyes closed.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Blossoming Madness I

“The bunnies, the bunnies!” he sang to me.

“Can I eat them?” I questioned, my face merely inches, no millimeters, from his. 

“No, Fia” he whispered while brushing my hair from my eyes. “Time does not allow it.”

“Then, will you kiss me?” I said nervously, biting my lip.

“Time does not allow...” he trailed off while his eyes fixed on something behind me. 

“Go! Run! Now!” he screamed as he vanished.

The thunder rolls across the sky, carrying heavy rains that break in through my window, waking me to the torturous night, Startled by the banging window, I sit up in bed. My breath comes out harsh and shallow.

“The window” I breathe. 

Shakily, I climb out of bed and stumble over to my now soaked carpet just below the broken window. 

“Great. Now the stinkbugs will have a nice, damp environment.” I sigh.

I reach to close the window but then stop. There’s...something out in the thick rain. Barley noticeable, I quints to be sure, is a teenage boy with hair matted and tangles against his scalp. 

“Andrew?” My voice wavers, I clear it and shake my head.

I squinch my eyebrows in confusion just as the boy walks three more paces and then vanishes. Jerking backwards in shock, I slam the window down, loose my balance, spin around quickly, my ginger hair flying out of its loose ponytail and promptly fall to the floor.

Well, that was graceful.

My hand suddenly flies to my mouth while the other goes to my churning stomach. Am I nauseous from the sudden spin? Or perhaps the apparition outside my window... I’m not given much time to think it over as I begin to retch silently. All the while, I know that I won’t vomit. I never do.

“Oh god, I’m becoming delusional.” I whisper as the retching ceases. 

I glance up at the clock that reads three twenty-seven. My suddenly aching body slouches against my looming dresser and I sigh.

I let my eyes wander around my room. My mother had recently cleaned and I can barley recognize any part of it anymore. The mirror was clean of any sticky notes, the bookshelf colored coded and cleared of any loose papers, and the floor was actually visible. Unfortunately, this new found floor had also produced three dead stinkbugs from the previous hell- I mean- summer. The closest one to where I was sitting had been affectionately named Name.  

“This wouldn’t be so bad if this had been the first time, you know?” I began the nightly ritual of conversing with Name.

“I mean, I could understand a once a month sort of thing. Maybe even once every few months but seriously every night? Can’t I just sleep for one night?”

It didn’t respond.

Every night around two or three I will wake up for no apparent reason, and simply lay there waiting for sleep to reclaim my body. At the most, I will be able to sleep for an hour before it was time to begin the day. Sometimes I will pick up a book (an overdue library book, no doubt) or if it happened to be too late to go back to sleep I will get dressed and sit cross legged on my floor and stare at my alarm clock while I wait for it to go off. This has been going on for a few months now. You’d think that I would sleep more often, considering, but no. No such luck. I think the fates are punishing me simply because I’m a ginger. Even on Saturdays, in desperate attempts to amuse myself, I try and personify the sun in my mind as cliché as possible despite the early hour. The last attempts had been . . . well . . .  

The sun peers over the edge of the curtain, creeping in on tip toes.

The blooming, yellow sun grew out of the window, screaming at my eyelids, alerting me of the blasphemous early hour.

Hey sunshine! Oh wait, that’s me! Ah, I’m such a jokester, aren’t I?

The glorious yellow orb rose over the horizon like a...like a...well like a really good simile.

The sun becomes more annoying with every morning as I grow more irritated by the lack of sleep. That and the fact that the sun is just inherently annoying.

Unfortunately, it is a Tuesday morning. Not one that a teenage girl should generally have sleep issues on. Really, teenage girls should have no sleep issues whatsoever unless it’s because of a guy. I think day dreaming would be an acceptable reason to be away. So, in true form of my teenage girl-ness, I turn to face the slashing rain outside my sealed window again before closing my eyes, trying to find that beautiful dream boy again...

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Dreaming in a rainbow jungle

Hours, hours, hours
Such a change
from the past few weeks
endless nights
of restless sleep.
lions clawing at her legs
so much meat
luscious nutrition for
their hungry stomaches
no food for days
leeches in her hair
slimy, sucking her confidence
into their black hole bodies
monkeys screech in her ears
"not worth it"
"you're smelly"
"banana orange face"
nonsense words

Open your eyes
lions, leeches, and monkeys (oh my)
are gone.
tiptoed out on cat feet
to hide in a shadowy corner
were they ever even here?
No, but open your eyes
does she need help
or just someone to talk to?
...the monkeys are back
with their nonsense words.