Biking
She hadn't started getting really bad then. But her appetite had started to fade. I was in the summer before starting freshman year of high school. We lived in a beautiful california contemporary on rainbow road. I think the house was haunted. Oh well. She was hungry for once. I went outside and put on my helmet and pulled my purple huffy out of the garage and biked the mile and a half to the grocery store and got her a three muskateer bar and lemon sorbet. I came back home and she laughed because I was covered in mosquito bites. But she ate the muskateer. I put the ice cream in the freezer. I don't think she ate very much of it.
Then we moved.
Out of the house, away from the kitchen where all the bad news was ever handed down. Away from that pillar in the kitchen that she leaned against when she told us papa had cancer and was dying. The one she leaned against after her first radiation treatment and cried.
And then we moved into that awful house on pheasant ridge drive where everything fell apart.
She stopped eating. The house wasn't bad. It was what happened.
The day she died I had my christmas lights on in my room and both my lamps. And she had been taken away. And I was folding the comforter she had gotten me when I had gotten my first bed.
I called Josh Polanko. He couldn't do anything about it. He was just another christian liar.
Who told me if I tried. hard. enough. to pray. hard. enough. She would get better. Thats a great thing to tell a fourteen year old kid.
Why didn't he say "Its your fault for not praying hard enough?"
Because I would have killed him.
Its not my fault.
It isn't HER fault.
But right now I want to blame someone for the anger and hurt I feel right now.
Maybe I'll get a new tattoo today.
Then we moved.
Out of the house, away from the kitchen where all the bad news was ever handed down. Away from that pillar in the kitchen that she leaned against when she told us papa had cancer and was dying. The one she leaned against after her first radiation treatment and cried.
And then we moved into that awful house on pheasant ridge drive where everything fell apart.
She stopped eating. The house wasn't bad. It was what happened.
The day she died I had my christmas lights on in my room and both my lamps. And she had been taken away. And I was folding the comforter she had gotten me when I had gotten my first bed.
I called Josh Polanko. He couldn't do anything about it. He was just another christian liar.
Who told me if I tried. hard. enough. to pray. hard. enough. She would get better. Thats a great thing to tell a fourteen year old kid.
Why didn't he say "Its your fault for not praying hard enough?"
Because I would have killed him.
Its not my fault.
It isn't HER fault.
But right now I want to blame someone for the anger and hurt I feel right now.
Maybe I'll get a new tattoo today.