Entry #7
December 5, 2009.
Saturday.
7:12pm.
Dear Alfred,
I met someone today.
When I asked for a break, I didn’t mean like this, but I guess it’ll do. Your purpose, Alfred, is to document my relations with people. It came in late, 7th entry, wow, but at least something still came, right? I don’t like the number 7.
Anyway, her name’s Maika. Cute, huh? You should’ve seen her, she’s gorgeous. We met in the junkshop of all places. She was hanging around my car-well, what’s left of it, probably looking for things to savage. She was surprised to see me standing there looking at her. I must’ve looked creepy because she looked spooked. She apologized for being there and she started to walk off. Well, I can’t have that now, can I?
I asked her what she was doing there because she really looked lost. She looked all clean and fragile to be moving about some rusted junkshop. She stopped to talk to me. I got a bit nervous. Nobody stops to talk to me, Alfred. She stopped, walked towards me and then talked.
I think I heard her say something about an art project. I wanted to listen to her, because that’s how it goes, right? You listen to girls, and they like you instantly. But I was too busy trying to suppress my heartbeats. We were about five feet apart, but I’m pretty sure she could hear it. I was so nervous, Alfred. This was the first time I’m talking to a strange girl alone for the longest time since uh, that incident.
We’re going out for coffee tomorrow. Yes, that’s right. I asked her out and she agreed.
I’m really glad I met her. God knows I need this now more than ever.
Everything else is still so fucked up.
I’m still confused. I told the doctor about the accident. He asked if he could read you, Alfred. I agreed of course. Then he kept on asking me about the time I lost. He asked me questions about it, about what I remember after the crash. But I can’t remember much. I only remember the time: 8:43. I remember people talking. I remember people pulling me out of my seat. But that’s it. That’s all I remember. That didn’t stop the doctor from asking even more questions though. I got irritated. I have lots of questions of my own.
I told him that I probably can’t remember because I was unconscious. He said that unconscious people stay in the hospital, not the police station. I told him that they’re equipped to handle medical emergencies. He then asked why I was covered in white cloth inside a random office and not the clinic. I didn’t have an answer to that. He asked me why the people in the station did not recognize me. I had nothing.
I told him about that detective though. That detective remembers me. I should go and seek that guy out.
My dad cried in the car on our way back home.
It was weird. I don’t remember my dad showing any kind of emotion before, but there he was, crying.
I was just asking him how they found out about my accident. He didn’t say anything. I kept on asking him about that day. He didn’t say anything. I got angry, I shouted at him. I think I crossed a few lines when I said that I hated him and that he’s a bad father.
I was expecting to get hit by his fist or the back of his hand. But he didn’t do anything, he didn’t say anything, he just cried. He cried all the way back home. I apologized, but I don’t think he heard me.
When we got home, I saw my mom in the living room with my sisters, taking in hushed tones. My mom greeted my dad and I when we got home, but she was obviously crying. I went up to my room, I was tired and confused and angry and just really scared.
What’s happening, Alfred?
At least, Maika’s there, right? I mean, she’s not the answer to my questions, but she’s such a welcomed distraction.
I don’t know, I guess I ju
-
11:29pm
Saturday.
7:12pm.
Dear Alfred,
I met someone today.
When I asked for a break, I didn’t mean like this, but I guess it’ll do. Your purpose, Alfred, is to document my relations with people. It came in late, 7th entry, wow, but at least something still came, right? I don’t like the number 7.
Anyway, her name’s Maika. Cute, huh? You should’ve seen her, she’s gorgeous. We met in the junkshop of all places. She was hanging around my car-well, what’s left of it, probably looking for things to savage. She was surprised to see me standing there looking at her. I must’ve looked creepy because she looked spooked. She apologized for being there and she started to walk off. Well, I can’t have that now, can I?
I asked her what she was doing there because she really looked lost. She looked all clean and fragile to be moving about some rusted junkshop. She stopped to talk to me. I got a bit nervous. Nobody stops to talk to me, Alfred. She stopped, walked towards me and then talked.
I think I heard her say something about an art project. I wanted to listen to her, because that’s how it goes, right? You listen to girls, and they like you instantly. But I was too busy trying to suppress my heartbeats. We were about five feet apart, but I’m pretty sure she could hear it. I was so nervous, Alfred. This was the first time I’m talking to a strange girl alone for the longest time since uh, that incident.
We’re going out for coffee tomorrow. Yes, that’s right. I asked her out and she agreed.
I’m really glad I met her. God knows I need this now more than ever.
Everything else is still so fucked up.
I’m still confused. I told the doctor about the accident. He asked if he could read you, Alfred. I agreed of course. Then he kept on asking me about the time I lost. He asked me questions about it, about what I remember after the crash. But I can’t remember much. I only remember the time: 8:43. I remember people talking. I remember people pulling me out of my seat. But that’s it. That’s all I remember. That didn’t stop the doctor from asking even more questions though. I got irritated. I have lots of questions of my own.
I told him that I probably can’t remember because I was unconscious. He said that unconscious people stay in the hospital, not the police station. I told him that they’re equipped to handle medical emergencies. He then asked why I was covered in white cloth inside a random office and not the clinic. I didn’t have an answer to that. He asked me why the people in the station did not recognize me. I had nothing.
I told him about that detective though. That detective remembers me. I should go and seek that guy out.
My dad cried in the car on our way back home.
It was weird. I don’t remember my dad showing any kind of emotion before, but there he was, crying.
I was just asking him how they found out about my accident. He didn’t say anything. I kept on asking him about that day. He didn’t say anything. I got angry, I shouted at him. I think I crossed a few lines when I said that I hated him and that he’s a bad father.
I was expecting to get hit by his fist or the back of his hand. But he didn’t do anything, he didn’t say anything, he just cried. He cried all the way back home. I apologized, but I don’t think he heard me.
When we got home, I saw my mom in the living room with my sisters, taking in hushed tones. My mom greeted my dad and I when we got home, but she was obviously crying. I went up to my room, I was tired and confused and angry and just really scared.
What’s happening, Alfred?
At least, Maika’s there, right? I mean, she’s not the answer to my questions, but she’s such a welcomed distraction.
I don’t know, I guess I ju
-
11:29pm