hey, this one's a RANT
I am in preparation for Lisa’s funeral. Of course it is not Lisa who has died, but I am going for her. I am deadly afraid of her seeing me there, and her whispering to me in a hush, “You never should have come!” And I will look her earnestly in her reddened eyes, and say, “I came for you, Dr. McKernan.” And she will say, “Come for me at school, Alie! Come for me and Dr. Kulkosky and Dr. Rudolph…”
I hadn’t anticipated staying here, so I had only brought about two and a half junky outfits with me, the clothing of healing, nothing restrictive or dark. So of course I heard my parents tell my sisters, probably trying to keep it from me, that they were going to a funeral tomorrow morning. And I exploded, I knew who it was for, I had to be there, I must be there for Lisa! She had always been there for me, never turned me away after class or lab, let me just be with her when I couldn’t actually “be” with anyone else. She admitted to not being able to understand, but being totally able to listen. And that was more than most anyone could do.
I had to go through the bins of old clothing slightly too small, throwing stuff in a raging dance to find black that could wrap itself all the way around me. I found pants easily enough, but all my black tops were either too glamorous for a funeral, too small, or… back in Chestnut Hill. So I found a crushingly plain dark teal top that will have to do, and if more black is required I have found an ugly, scratchy black sweater to go over it that will all but do away with my looking presentable. So really I should be heading in now, but I am morbidly enjoying sitting here with the window wide open and letting the storm pour in. It actually created such a force in my tiny room, that my door slammed open (can doors slam open?). And nobody was there, and now I am wondering if by the door or by the window Raymond came in here to tell me to leave his daughter alone. She’s fine off without me. I just noticed that my legs are disgusting and hopefully I can wear a pair of my mom’s knee socks. I am hoping that Lisa liked to spend time with me too, at least as someone to listen to her rave about her bacteria augers, or to help wash the beakers and the flasks.
Actually, my dad yelled at me to go to bed but I am awake as ever. Did I mention that I glanced out the door today and saw a package waiting there addressed to ME? It was my high school yearbook; or yearbooks, rather, because there are four of them, one for each season. Summer, predictably, contains the endlessly fascinating rows of faces from all four grades, as well as some end-of-the-year stuff. I found out in the total conscious part of my mind that Alex Lebow was ranked among the 21 firsts, even though I really already knew it. In what I thought was odd, they featured certain students who were combinations of amazing students/athletes/contributors to the community in little boxes throughout. And I read enough of them to feel like enough shit to even proclaim it to my parents sitting there, to whom I rarely bother to verbally degrade myself anymore. And it was perfect, how Homecoming just decided to be tomorrow, but because of the funeral, I probably won’t go. Lots of Pennsbury grads return for Homecoming; it is a chance to catch up with everybody before too much has happened, and to check up on the ones still imprisoned there. But paging through the books, I just cried and cried and cried. I want to go back. More than anything. I know that it wouldn’t change a thing. But I felt so hopeful at graduation, with the sun showers and the big rainbow and the sorta peace treaty between me and Lebox…
It means nothing now, and certain faces look up at me in a totally alien context- wow, Brendan Quann sat in front of me somewhere in my English class for how long and I never realized he was that cute- so I have stolen his last name for Blair in Thunderheart. That is the one thing that is keeping me, I don’t know, whatever I am now. I have a feeling I am going to lose the semester and my scholarship, too, and as Ira says, it’s just a bunch of self-fulfilling prophecies. He never called me back today, and as I am pretty sure that he will never see this journal, I can safely say that I was incredibly hurt, although I am sure he had a good reason. I am actually going crazy, because my dad neglected to take me to my sister’s game, like he was supposed to, and I’ve been stuck home for two days. At least @ CHC I could up and wander the lonely streets of Paris... I can tell I am medicated, because I am inside the window and not outside the window, in nothing but a little frock, though I must say it sounds awfully appealing right now. So the quadrillion dollar question is: did I get any better by flat out dropping out of school for a few days, completely under the radar until I see Lisa tomorrow? The situation tentatively changed for the better; I am not out causing trouble in the wee hours of the night, I am maintaining some semblance of sanity, I AM WRITING, but I have a feeling that once I get back it will be even worse than it was before. So here’s my secret plan, guys, don’t tell anyone, but I am going to ensure that I don’t go back to school on Monday, because nothing has been fixed and I want results. I am struck by the overwhelming vision of me, crouched in a corner, absolutely draining because I just couldn’t handle it, and hey, at least we got a good year plus some out of it. Hey, Ben Folds Five’s Evaporated just came on, how cute. On the other side, I am realizing just how much of this depends on me and how much I want this. Think about it. When I was engrossed in the middle of Satellite Eyes, nothing could keep me from shining brighter than I ever had, because I wanted Ryan, I wanted Ben, I wanted Sam, and Spike and Shrill, too, with all my meager might…
Alarms keep going off here. There must be accidents or other problems with the storm. Jeez. It’s not even thundering or lightning-ing. I wonder what Lisa’s doing right now. Is she sitting by some window, too, staring out into the dark and just wondering? She’s probably sleeping, like she should be, or preparing for the funeral. I wonder what her daughters are like. They lost their grandfather. Wow, I feel so weird thinking about all this. Lisa has daughters very close to my own age. Can I still be her friend? Well, Ira has children older than me. But Ira didn’t call me back. Shit. SHIT.
I’m going to get a drink…
You know, Alex’s face still looked attractive to me in that damned yearbook. That makes me angry as shit.
I am thinking that maybe Lisa will be glad to see me there tomorrow, secretly relieved at my presence, although I will see her all crying and fallen apart. But I remember that time we hugged each other, and I know I didn’t hold back. I hope she didn’t, either. I think I should sit and spend some time to dwell on our friendship, where it will, where it can go after this- this, being the death of her father, and my desertion of the school. Is it really that enduring, or were we just there for each other when we needed to be? Tomorrow, will she accept my attempts at consolation? I can also see her just pretending I am not there, or even actually not noticing that I am there, because she is so stricken with grief. The best I can do is try, get up early tomorrow, or rather, this morning; I took a shower and blow-dried my hair today, so I won’t have to then; put on some makeup so I am not hideous. Crap! One thing I didn’t think about- shoes. I only have my trusty white Crocs which of course are dirty as shit. And I’m a size or two bigger than the other females in my family. I’ll have to be creative. I’ll have to control every urge to run up and hug her. I will probably meet her daughters. Are they beautiful, too?
The prospects for my sanity look dark. And as before, I have fallen into a determination of setting things as far right as they go, which often means starting with a clean slate. Incredibly irony was avoided by the fact that I missed my sister’s soccer game; that is probably a good thing, because I don’t think I could deal with any hallucinations tonight. Somewhat alarmingly, I have developed a hatred of certain aspects of college life, just like I felt about Pennsbury High School two years ago. If in several years I am begging to go back to Chestnut Hill, remind of this moment, just for kicks. Regarding that Stupid Emotion, you all know what it is (suicidal-ness), I’m gonna have to be honest with you all- in my conscious mind, I am totally aware of the stupidity of it and how it mostly accomplishes nothing and usually just results in harm. But my conscious mind is far from, what do you call it, Animal Mind but I’ll call it… Satellite Mind. Yeah, whatever. And the one thing being suicidal accomplished for me is that it got me help when I most needed it, and I may just be needing a lot of help over the next two days. And if any of you want to call me out on being manipulative, what would you do in my situation? I am just trying to work out something for myself that I currently don’t have much of, oh, what’s it called, a FUTURE and no I’m not pissed, I am just weary. But I am asking God to renew my strength so I can be there for the Nurmi family tomorrow. And maybe He will strengthen all of us, so that we can all get through these tough times, each in our own way. Now, I have a funeral to be at @ 8 a.m., and I am fucking exhausted from doing nothing all day. So, goodnight all, and God Bless.