LJ Idol: Week 20, Open Topic
You’re smiling. That crooked smirk that makes the girls swoon. What made you choose me? Why are you still around? You are motioning toward my feet, so I follow the gesture and look down.
“Pink chucks,” you say. I stare into you. My vision just a smear of color. You used to say, “Those converses grow on me…I guess,” with your face all scrunched up.You'd take my hand or play with my hair, to let me know you were kidding. Now you have a smile plastered on and it’s our own private joke. I sink my teeth into the sides of my cheeks and blood oozes into my mouth. My face is on fire.
So many things I want to say to you, like, I haven’t forgotten. God, why can’t I say it?! I cry out silently and helplessly extend my hand. The tips of my fingers brush your face when you take a step closer to me. That’s all I can take. I cringe back a few inches. Your eyes close down and you shake your head slightly. I know that sign. You are hopeless, it yells. Hopeless.
You slowly walk backwards, then turn and trot off. Leaving me here with gems in my throat, blood on my tongue, and glass in my eyes. My arm outstretched. I’ll never reach you from here. Please, please, don’t give up on me. I want to scream it at you. I want to run after you and say, You’ve reached me! I’m still here! Please. Just don’t leave.
Instead, I turn away, too, and walk in the other direction. Too much to handle. I pull my sweater around me tightly and squeeze myself together while fighting to keep a leisurely pace. This will teach me to dare to dream of being normal. Nothing will ever be normal again.
I wipe furiously at my face, at the saltiness that should be there but isn’t. I take deep breaths and walk faster to will my house to zoom forward. God, to be safely by myself, tucked away… I bolt into the house and free my body of shoes, socks and sweater. I go to the kitchen and rummage through a cabinet. I finally find the small bottle of rum. I turn to the fridge to grab a soda.
Amari,
I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.
There’s some pizza in the oven for you.
-- Mom
I tear the offending piece of paper from behind the stupid flower magnet and rip it into tiny pieces. I toss them into the air and watch them flutter. Torn promises, floating. A sad collection of confetti left on the floor for someone else to walk on. They’re only enjoyed when riding the air. It’s only then that they hold magic. No one stares in wonder when you’ve fallen. I hug the bottles to my chest and charge up the stairs, my eyes stinging. I hate pizza.
I turn on the TV in my room and put on cartoons. The coyote sprints off a cliff after the roadrunner. Shana loved this one. A tear, finally, slips down my chin as I watch the flickering color and light and drink. I’m so tired now. I grope my way to the bathroom and raid the medicine drawer. Sweet, sweet, sleeping pills to black out the dreams.
I grab one and wash it down with my spiked coke. Our cartoon is still on, Shana, Are you laughing now? I can hardly remember your voice anymore-just the screams.
But I can recall your doll-like face. Small little seven year old grown up. Your voice is gone though. Just like my own. Lost in the echoes.
BAM, BAM, BAM.
Beads of red light form on his skin. Shuddering breaths. Whitenoise.
BAM, BAM, BAM.
Taste of dirt in my mouth. A shard of glass slides deeper, hiding in my hand.
BAM.
“Amari! Are you all right?”
I look around stupidly and nod. All right. Okay. I’m fine. In my bed. Sweaty. In my bed. That night was long ago. I am nodding. I am all right. Swallowing hard, I glimpse myself in the mirror on my wall. The bruises under my eyes give me away. No, mother, I am not all right.
I ignore her, knowing she’ll soon give up and busy herself with work or chores. Maybe if she’s had a particularly bad day she’ll escape to her bathroom and cry.I envy her ability to cry unabashedly. I glare at my reflection. After that night, I slowly and steadily lost the ability to cry like her. I resent that she has that release. I hate her. But that isn't quite right. I hate myself, we just have the same eyes.
***
If you liked this story and would like to read the other entries and vote, you can go here: http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/1021912.html
2 contestants will be eliminated. The poll closes Saturday, June 10th at 9pm EDT.
“Pink chucks,” you say. I stare into you. My vision just a smear of color. You used to say, “Those converses grow on me…I guess,” with your face all scrunched up.You'd take my hand or play with my hair, to let me know you were kidding. Now you have a smile plastered on and it’s our own private joke. I sink my teeth into the sides of my cheeks and blood oozes into my mouth. My face is on fire.
So many things I want to say to you, like, I haven’t forgotten. God, why can’t I say it?! I cry out silently and helplessly extend my hand. The tips of my fingers brush your face when you take a step closer to me. That’s all I can take. I cringe back a few inches. Your eyes close down and you shake your head slightly. I know that sign. You are hopeless, it yells. Hopeless.
You slowly walk backwards, then turn and trot off. Leaving me here with gems in my throat, blood on my tongue, and glass in my eyes. My arm outstretched. I’ll never reach you from here. Please, please, don’t give up on me. I want to scream it at you. I want to run after you and say, You’ve reached me! I’m still here! Please. Just don’t leave.
Instead, I turn away, too, and walk in the other direction. Too much to handle. I pull my sweater around me tightly and squeeze myself together while fighting to keep a leisurely pace. This will teach me to dare to dream of being normal. Nothing will ever be normal again.
I wipe furiously at my face, at the saltiness that should be there but isn’t. I take deep breaths and walk faster to will my house to zoom forward. God, to be safely by myself, tucked away… I bolt into the house and free my body of shoes, socks and sweater. I go to the kitchen and rummage through a cabinet. I finally find the small bottle of rum. I turn to the fridge to grab a soda.
Amari,
I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.
There’s some pizza in the oven for you.
-- Mom
I tear the offending piece of paper from behind the stupid flower magnet and rip it into tiny pieces. I toss them into the air and watch them flutter. Torn promises, floating. A sad collection of confetti left on the floor for someone else to walk on. They’re only enjoyed when riding the air. It’s only then that they hold magic. No one stares in wonder when you’ve fallen. I hug the bottles to my chest and charge up the stairs, my eyes stinging. I hate pizza.
I turn on the TV in my room and put on cartoons. The coyote sprints off a cliff after the roadrunner. Shana loved this one. A tear, finally, slips down my chin as I watch the flickering color and light and drink. I’m so tired now. I grope my way to the bathroom and raid the medicine drawer. Sweet, sweet, sleeping pills to black out the dreams.
I grab one and wash it down with my spiked coke. Our cartoon is still on, Shana, Are you laughing now? I can hardly remember your voice anymore-just the screams.
But I can recall your doll-like face. Small little seven year old grown up. Your voice is gone though. Just like my own. Lost in the echoes.
BAM, BAM, BAM.
Beads of red light form on his skin. Shuddering breaths. Whitenoise.
BAM, BAM, BAM.
Taste of dirt in my mouth. A shard of glass slides deeper, hiding in my hand.
BAM.
“Amari! Are you all right?”
I look around stupidly and nod. All right. Okay. I’m fine. In my bed. Sweaty. In my bed. That night was long ago. I am nodding. I am all right. Swallowing hard, I glimpse myself in the mirror on my wall. The bruises under my eyes give me away. No, mother, I am not all right.
I ignore her, knowing she’ll soon give up and busy herself with work or chores. Maybe if she’s had a particularly bad day she’ll escape to her bathroom and cry.I envy her ability to cry unabashedly. I glare at my reflection. After that night, I slowly and steadily lost the ability to cry like her. I resent that she has that release. I hate her. But that isn't quite right. I hate myself, we just have the same eyes.
***
If you liked this story and would like to read the other entries and vote, you can go here: http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/1021912.html
2 contestants will be eliminated. The poll closes Saturday, June 10th at 9pm EDT.