I woke in a panic. I wish people could feel how i felt. It was the day after my dad fell off the ladder. He was still in the hospital. They did some tests on him, but he wasnt responding. The following is what I remember:
I was just getting home when i saw an ambulance out front. I didnt know what to think. But in the absence of a fire truck, why else would an ambulance be parked in my tiny front lawn? Tim's parents were sitting in front of my house in obvious shock. They seemed to be waiting for someone and as I got closer, it was pretty obvious who they were waiting for. Tim's mother saw me approaching and told me to go inside. As i passed the ambulance and entered my house, i saw my dad strapped to the gurney. I stood there for a moment. He wasnt moving. Eyes closed. I walked into the living room and sat down. The knot in my stomach grew tighter. And for every passing word from Tim's mom, the knot got bigger. My blood began to buzz. I wanted to run, i wanted to vomit. I didnt know what to do, but i knew i wanted to do something. My head was in my hands and tears were dripping down my wrists. I couldnt help but feel guilty. Not because i did this or i could have prevented this, but to see my dad so helpless, strapped to a board. What if he doesnt walk again? All the time i could have spent with him. Immediately gone and never to be seen again. How does one cope with this? I tried grasping this question multiple times throughout the rest of the night, throughout 95 instances in my head on separate occasions , but i couldnt put a finger on how i truly felt. Maybe this is one of life's lessons when we learn about a new side of ourself. Maybe this is a time that i will never forget which will leave an indellible mark on my brain, soul. Maybe i will feel this moment for one second and then let it die. Ill feel the inspiration and act on that and act like ill never treat anyone else bad again. Put some use to a lesson. But we all know how that plays out. We are creatures of benign activity and shitty thoughts. I meant every word though. I will keep trying to mean those words, but all i know is that I will lead to dissapointment. Ill feel like I am in trouble. Like something i could have prevented, but was thrusted into my life no matter what. Now the burden perches atop my shoulders. Any chance to get out of this town evaporated. I was going to have to take care of my dad for the rest of my life. Get him the same groceries, from the same store, on the same days of every week. How am I supposed to do that? What do I have to say to the man who brings out the worst in me?
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Chapter 2- Without Direction
I walk the halls in anonymity which is the norm for a lot of high school kids. For some reason the first thing that pops up into our intermittently pornographic mind is depression. Finding out they arent good enough for varsity tennis, basketball, soccer or what have you makes them depressed. Not getting asked out to prom or being denied by your dream date just adds on top of that. Why the is that so bad? Walking around with nobody knowing who you are? Sounds perfect. No responsibility, well other than science projects and shit, but i dont exactly call that responsibility. I slept my way through the first couple of periods and found myself gazing out the window before the bell rang for lunch. Tim and I are the only two at our table. We are wedged in the southwest corner right by the Coke machine. Tuesdays are the worst. Most of our friends are out getting stoned at the deadend hangouts of the private neighborhoods that dot the outlying area of my school. We got a straggler at the end, but other than that, anonymity. My cousin Mary is in my class, but she only waves when she sees me. She is semi-popular with some hot friends, but she never goes out of her way to help me out. Our cafeteria is huge. A good 12-13 tables. You got your jocks, prom queens, hipsters, drama queens, geeks, hippy potheads and the rich kids who drive the same BMW to school. You know, that relatively new silver one that their rich, banker dad's just had to give them in order to make room for the newer model. And at my table it is always Tim and I. We grew up together and we always got along and so did our parents. He was never an athlete, so he is walking around the world of high school like a zombie like most kids our age. I try not to think I fall within that category, but its inevitable I guess. When you are a junior in high school what else do you know? You know your half way through the biggest pubescent growing period of your life. Then all of a sudden, you cheat your way through and they are handing you a diploma in the middle of a gigantic high school ice rink. Thats how they do it here anyway. Then its off to college. Where do you go? What are you going to study? Are you planning on going to law school? How am I supposed to know if I am going to go to law school five and a half years before I even make that decision? Then its what did you get on your ACT? What did you get on your SAT? Dont get me started. My is already on my ass about my ACT scores. Since when is 28 not good enough? Im going to a state school to save him thirty two grand a year so he should consider himself lucky im not letting an ivy league school enshroud them financially. Unlike most kids in my class anyway.
I go to the local public school, Peabody High School. Even though there is a huge gathering of private high schools that surround this town, my school does its fair share of churning out ivy league calibur students. "Kids of the future" as they are referred to here. But a quick run down of the schools will give you a better idea of what kind of world I live in. All the inner city kids go to Cathedral College Prep, the escalade driving, rich snobby athletes go to Incarnate High, the hot rich girls go to Visitation Academy, the hot slutty girls go to Ignatius High, the wannabe rich kids that arent rich at all go to Pennington High, and the smart stoner athletes go to St. Andrews High. I didnt know where I fell in so thats why I settled for the lesser-but-good public school. Plus, I cant imagine going to school with all guys. My dad always asked me, "Dont you wanna go to so and so high school? So and so's son is going there". Whenever he tells me that I just want to respond and tell him how much of a douche bag So and so's son is. But I never do. To my dad, I always settled for mediocrity so it really doesnt matter what I say. I never practiced enough, studied enough, on and on. But most of the time, my dad doesnt really say anything at all to express his displeasure of my mediocre abilities. Thats the second worse thing a parent can do. Number one: "Son, I am DISAPPOINTED in you". And number two: nothing. That ridiculous silence where you feel like they are telling you something by biting on their salad fork in disgust at dinner. The heavy sighs as they walk by you as you watch tv. But that silence speaks. It speaks words that you cant hear, but feel. What happened to the unconditional love a parent is supposed to show you no matter the circumstance? I live in a middle to upper class home and neighborhood. I do good in school. I have friends. Some, but they are friends. This will be something that I will only figure out with the unwinding of time. But thats no way to live. The conditioned mind is a scary thing and that is what im surrounded by. Sometimes I just want to pick up and leave with no plans, not even a map just to escape these pseudo people. I want to break away from the chains that Im so accustomed to. In my town, people marry their high school (sometimes grade school) sweet hearts more than eighty percent of the time. Ok, maybe not eighty percent, but if you did the math and canvassed every neighborhood here, more times than not, the guy answering the door would have his high school sweetheart right behind him. Its not necessarily a bad thing, but it doesnt suit who I want to be. Becoming someone and being someone are two different things. I dont see myself changing just to fit to the social norm, so being me is the only answer I know. The only navigational tool I own. When life becomes fragmented, thats when they start getting caught up in the bullshit. I want to travel, I want to meet people from distant lands that know things that I dont know. That are from places only expert world travellers have seen. I want to tap into their minds and learn their ways, not handcuff myself to the boundaries of this town. Being out of your comfort zone is the best indicator that your doing something you thought you would never do. I think if I had a happy home things would be different, but you gotta take the good with the bad and thats exactly what I am doing. I know I am destined for better things, living in ways early nineteenth century vagabonds did. Thats what I want. Its like a drug I am feigning, yet never consumed.
I go to the local public school, Peabody High School. Even though there is a huge gathering of private high schools that surround this town, my school does its fair share of churning out ivy league calibur students. "Kids of the future" as they are referred to here. But a quick run down of the schools will give you a better idea of what kind of world I live in. All the inner city kids go to Cathedral College Prep, the escalade driving, rich snobby athletes go to Incarnate High, the hot rich girls go to Visitation Academy, the hot slutty girls go to Ignatius High, the wannabe rich kids that arent rich at all go to Pennington High, and the smart stoner athletes go to St. Andrews High. I didnt know where I fell in so thats why I settled for the lesser-but-good public school. Plus, I cant imagine going to school with all guys. My dad always asked me, "Dont you wanna go to so and so high school? So and so's son is going there". Whenever he tells me that I just want to respond and tell him how much of a douche bag So and so's son is. But I never do. To my dad, I always settled for mediocrity so it really doesnt matter what I say. I never practiced enough, studied enough, on and on. But most of the time, my dad doesnt really say anything at all to express his displeasure of my mediocre abilities. Thats the second worse thing a parent can do. Number one: "Son, I am DISAPPOINTED in you". And number two: nothing. That ridiculous silence where you feel like they are telling you something by biting on their salad fork in disgust at dinner. The heavy sighs as they walk by you as you watch tv. But that silence speaks. It speaks words that you cant hear, but feel. What happened to the unconditional love a parent is supposed to show you no matter the circumstance? I live in a middle to upper class home and neighborhood. I do good in school. I have friends. Some, but they are friends. This will be something that I will only figure out with the unwinding of time. But thats no way to live. The conditioned mind is a scary thing and that is what im surrounded by. Sometimes I just want to pick up and leave with no plans, not even a map just to escape these pseudo people. I want to break away from the chains that Im so accustomed to. In my town, people marry their high school (sometimes grade school) sweet hearts more than eighty percent of the time. Ok, maybe not eighty percent, but if you did the math and canvassed every neighborhood here, more times than not, the guy answering the door would have his high school sweetheart right behind him. Its not necessarily a bad thing, but it doesnt suit who I want to be. Becoming someone and being someone are two different things. I dont see myself changing just to fit to the social norm, so being me is the only answer I know. The only navigational tool I own. When life becomes fragmented, thats when they start getting caught up in the bullshit. I want to travel, I want to meet people from distant lands that know things that I dont know. That are from places only expert world travellers have seen. I want to tap into their minds and learn their ways, not handcuff myself to the boundaries of this town. Being out of your comfort zone is the best indicator that your doing something you thought you would never do. I think if I had a happy home things would be different, but you gotta take the good with the bad and thats exactly what I am doing. I know I am destined for better things, living in ways early nineteenth century vagabonds did. Thats what I want. Its like a drug I am feigning, yet never consumed.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
My Heart, My Town - Based on true events
Chapter 1
I wasnt sure whether I was between dreams or if this was IT. Panic and paranoia tried to find their voice in my head. I felt at any given time I was going to drop to the floor. I was waiting for that one moment when you look deep into the forseeable future, but find nothing. Leaving you crippled to the thoughts that slay your basic instinct. Life looked really different and I felt like something could happen, but I couldnt figure out what that something was. I couldnt stop searching. I cant stop searching. I will never find it. THAT, I knew. The view from behind this lense was something I never experienced before. Maybe I have, but not this profound. Looking outside of this very moment scared the shit out of me. Why was I experiencing this at such a young age? My heart rate sky rocketed. I took one deep breath, but nothing. Therapists. How do they know know what is good for me when I dont even know what is good for me? Or, if what they think is good for me doesnt even work? I tried to relax. Slowly feeling like I was wallowing in the oxygen that I grew to know my whole life. Betraying me for seconds at a time. One foot in front of the other. I could do that. But a breath? I was having trouble with that one. Whats that joke about wrestlers? Cant chew gum and walk at the same time? Or was that about blondes? Here I am. Another existential crisis. Embattling myself about breathing, wrestlers and blondes.
Somehow I was able to gather myself and figured out what to do next. I dressed myself in the dark of my room. The sun was perfectly up, peaking through my window. My dad didnt even try to say bye or hand me a sac lunch. I was happy because I didnt have to stop and talk. I left my house in a scurry acting like I knew what I was doing. The bus stopped on the corner and I could hear my name being smattered on the interior of the windows. I didnt look. I didnt care to look. The bus driver opened the doors, but I didnt answer his attempt to luring me in. I was a block down when the bus zoomed by me. An apple flew over my head followed by a, "DOUCHE!" I continued on. I didnt care. I walked by a wall painted with figures and a graffitied face with window eyes. I stopped and admired the artists creative thinking that led him to this endpoint. The windows looked like windows to me, but to someone else, eyes that matched a yellow freckle faced teenager. I wish I could think of things like that. But i settled for sports. Expensive trips to play in tournaments, to listen and watch as parents fought the other teams parents because Billy was on-side, to play against guys two times my size, to play until i shattered my fibula and tibia for a fifty-fifty ball in front of the top college coaches in the country. I still have a limp. And that "accident" (what i call it rather than me getting bitched over by a future number 1 pick) was 3 yrs ago.
I walked into homeroom late that morning. My body was finally coming to ease after assessing what my day consisted of. Class, class and more mind numbing class. I was happy because the teachers words were morphine to my mind that was more inclined to madness than to what was really going on. Finding things that kept me occupied was the best thing for me. Unless you know my fried Tim. Tim is the King of Buzz Kills, Assassin of Daydreaming. He is what people talk about when they talk about unconsciousness. See, me, I suffer from being too aware of myself and overanalyzing what colored socks I should wear to Sunday Mass. Tim, well, he talks because the filter in his head doesnt exist. He is the master of keeping you in the moment to listen to his rambling on of nonsense. Tim wanted to know where I was, why it took me so long to get to school and how I missed a good breakfast at the school cafeteria with "the badgers". That is what my group of friends call themselves. Dont ask me why. They are a bunch of white, overweight stoners. Not even a black kid was in the group. But what i told him and what I wanted to tell him were two different things. I told him the easiest answer because well, he was too stoned to understand the real one. He kept going on and on about a phish song while I sat there and acted like I cared. "Run Like An Antelope is one of the greatest songs ever due to its endless melodic storytelling", said Tim. The stoner was fuming out its emotional desire to be heard. I couldnt stop thinking about that graffiti. Tim continued on. Now, I was looking just over tim's right ear to Jenny. Not because I was bored or what could I do next to stop myself from punching Tim in the face, but because Jenny sat right behind him. I have had a crush on Jenny for as long as I can remember. Dirty blonde hair, in decent shape. Perfect smile. Totally underrated. All of a sudden, her boyfriend, who I acted like I forgot existed, came and wrapped his arms around her. Kissed her. Then the bell rang. Jenny rubbed my head as she walked by and said, "Hey".
I wasnt sure whether I was between dreams or if this was IT. Panic and paranoia tried to find their voice in my head. I felt at any given time I was going to drop to the floor. I was waiting for that one moment when you look deep into the forseeable future, but find nothing. Leaving you crippled to the thoughts that slay your basic instinct. Life looked really different and I felt like something could happen, but I couldnt figure out what that something was. I couldnt stop searching. I cant stop searching. I will never find it. THAT, I knew. The view from behind this lense was something I never experienced before. Maybe I have, but not this profound. Looking outside of this very moment scared the shit out of me. Why was I experiencing this at such a young age? My heart rate sky rocketed. I took one deep breath, but nothing. Therapists. How do they know know what is good for me when I dont even know what is good for me? Or, if what they think is good for me doesnt even work? I tried to relax. Slowly feeling like I was wallowing in the oxygen that I grew to know my whole life. Betraying me for seconds at a time. One foot in front of the other. I could do that. But a breath? I was having trouble with that one. Whats that joke about wrestlers? Cant chew gum and walk at the same time? Or was that about blondes? Here I am. Another existential crisis. Embattling myself about breathing, wrestlers and blondes.
Somehow I was able to gather myself and figured out what to do next. I dressed myself in the dark of my room. The sun was perfectly up, peaking through my window. My dad didnt even try to say bye or hand me a sac lunch. I was happy because I didnt have to stop and talk. I left my house in a scurry acting like I knew what I was doing. The bus stopped on the corner and I could hear my name being smattered on the interior of the windows. I didnt look. I didnt care to look. The bus driver opened the doors, but I didnt answer his attempt to luring me in. I was a block down when the bus zoomed by me. An apple flew over my head followed by a, "DOUCHE!" I continued on. I didnt care. I walked by a wall painted with figures and a graffitied face with window eyes. I stopped and admired the artists creative thinking that led him to this endpoint. The windows looked like windows to me, but to someone else, eyes that matched a yellow freckle faced teenager. I wish I could think of things like that. But i settled for sports. Expensive trips to play in tournaments, to listen and watch as parents fought the other teams parents because Billy was on-side, to play against guys two times my size, to play until i shattered my fibula and tibia for a fifty-fifty ball in front of the top college coaches in the country. I still have a limp. And that "accident" (what i call it rather than me getting bitched over by a future number 1 pick) was 3 yrs ago.
I walked into homeroom late that morning. My body was finally coming to ease after assessing what my day consisted of. Class, class and more mind numbing class. I was happy because the teachers words were morphine to my mind that was more inclined to madness than to what was really going on. Finding things that kept me occupied was the best thing for me. Unless you know my fried Tim. Tim is the King of Buzz Kills, Assassin of Daydreaming. He is what people talk about when they talk about unconsciousness. See, me, I suffer from being too aware of myself and overanalyzing what colored socks I should wear to Sunday Mass. Tim, well, he talks because the filter in his head doesnt exist. He is the master of keeping you in the moment to listen to his rambling on of nonsense. Tim wanted to know where I was, why it took me so long to get to school and how I missed a good breakfast at the school cafeteria with "the badgers". That is what my group of friends call themselves. Dont ask me why. They are a bunch of white, overweight stoners. Not even a black kid was in the group. But what i told him and what I wanted to tell him were two different things. I told him the easiest answer because well, he was too stoned to understand the real one. He kept going on and on about a phish song while I sat there and acted like I cared. "Run Like An Antelope is one of the greatest songs ever due to its endless melodic storytelling", said Tim. The stoner was fuming out its emotional desire to be heard. I couldnt stop thinking about that graffiti. Tim continued on. Now, I was looking just over tim's right ear to Jenny. Not because I was bored or what could I do next to stop myself from punching Tim in the face, but because Jenny sat right behind him. I have had a crush on Jenny for as long as I can remember. Dirty blonde hair, in decent shape. Perfect smile. Totally underrated. All of a sudden, her boyfriend, who I acted like I forgot existed, came and wrapped his arms around her. Kissed her. Then the bell rang. Jenny rubbed my head as she walked by and said, "Hey".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)