Outcast, chapter 6
"Ease up, would you, I kind of can't see straight at the moment."
"Well close your eyes then," Billie said simply.
I scoffed. "Close my eyes? I'm 10 feet off the fucking ground! I would like to at least see what killed me when I hit the ground."
"Shut up, Cel. You're such a drama queen." This earned Mike a shocked yet angry expression. He had never told me to shut up before.
"What the hell? I'm not a drama queen."
"Sorry, sweetheart. The truth hurts. Now get your gothic ass up that terrace!" Billie said exhaustedly.
My mom's car wasn't in the driveway, and I almost dropped to my knees at that moment and thanked God for his charity. This didn't mean I was totally off the hook yet though. Jerry might have taken the car and my mom might be home, or vice-versa. It's happened before, so that's the reason why I'm risking life and limb to climb through my bedroom window on the 2nd floor.
I scrambled through my window with extreme difficulty, and almost tripped over one of my sweaters. I mentally cursed myself for making such a racket, and slumped to the floor as if I were under enemy fire. Once I was certain my room was free of invaders, I stood up and tiptoed quietly to my door.
The door creaked open, and I stepped out into the hallway, once again checking for foreign movement. After checking almost every room of the house, I let out a long held sigh of relief. They were gone.
I walked to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped outside, where Mike and Billie were waiting behind the bushes.
"They're not here," both of them sighed.
"Yeah, those were my words exactly," I laughed.
"So what does that mean?" Billie said. "Where did they go?"
"Hell if I know. My mom has long since abandoned the courtesy of leaving notes for me as to her whereabouts. Probably in the city at a bar or something." I shrugged.
"So why did you have to climb in your window if you knew they weren't home? You like the adventure?" Mike asked, smirking.
I laughed. "Hardly. It was a precautionary measure. Also, I don't have a key." Both Mike and Billie looked confused.
"Yeah, my mom forgot to make a copy for me after she changed the locks when Jerry moved out for the 3rd or 4th time." I explained, though Mike and Billie still looked confused.
"Jerry?" Billie stammered.
"Never mind, long story. Well, I better get to bed, and remove all traces that I wasn't here the whole time. I'll see you guys tomorrow or something." They said okay and we all said our goodbyes. We shared some hugs and they left in Mike's truck back to their house.
I went back into the house and changed my clothes before I noticed the little light indicating we had some messages on our phone. Shit. I hope none of them are from my mom. I thought.
Lucky me, there was only 3 messages: one from someone too scared to leave a message (I wouldn't blame them); another was from some credit union asking my mom to call them back again (she never did). It was the last message, however, which was from my dad that caught my attention.
My dad hardly called my mom, as I may have said before, so hearing him say the words "Hi Alice, this is Dave" in a calm voice was a little unsettling for me.
The message went disturbingly normal enough, with my dad explaining some trivial problem he had to deal with that day, until he uttered the following:
"Yeah, about our conversation earlier this week (what?) concerning Celene (said, I might add, with slight disdain) and her spring break this coming week, since you and Jerry have travel plans that are unavoidable, (again, what?) I guess... .*big sigh* I guess I could take her. But don't even begin to consider this as a favor Alice, (some of the familiar hostility) because you still have to pay me back for my, ah, inconvenience. Just let me know when you feel like taking her back again, and I'll see what I can do. Alright, take care then. Bye.
My mind was racing with so many possible meanings and defenses for him. He couldn't have literally meant what he said, could he?
I knew all this time my parents didn't really have a soft spot for me, but hearing them say it out loud was a different story. It was all so harsh, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, it hurt. Then I remembered something about what Billie said earlier tonight; the truth hurts.
This time the truth was enough to put an unimaginable weight on my shoulders, along with so many conflicting emotions. I was mainly shocked because, after all this time, I figured that my feelings of being unloved and unwanted were just due to common teenage paranoia, as it usually was in most cases.
My insides twisted with anger and sadness. It pained me when I thought about my whole life, and how such a weak sense of security had been placed over me. The saying, "It's the thought that counts" couldn't be used as an excuse here; my life was just an immature distraction.
I was sad because in reality, I actually had no one to turn to. Kids with problems in school or with friends usually had their families to talk to as backup. All these years I was told that families were supposed to be there for one another no matter what, not drop their responsibilities when it was inconvenient. I felt unwanted. I felt alone.
I was so lost in my own mind, that I forgot I was still standing in the entry hall. Looking around to the living room, kitchen, and stairwell, I felt like I was looking at my home through a different and new pair of eyes. My surroundings were familiar, yet strange and filthy at the same time.
It was then that I decided that I needed to leave. Rationally, no person wants to stay in a place where they feel they aren't welcome, and I had no desire to remain here any longer than was necessary for me to gather my things and go. I swallowed up all my emotions once again, and set my mind solely on my new goal: get the hell out of there.
As I climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to my room, I kept from looking around me at the walls, because I was afraid I would spot something that would keep me from leaving. The house was unknowingly its own prison cell, dragging the naïve in and holding them there by obligation and guilt. It's funny how I now associated the word 'family' with words like 'obligation' and 'guilt.'
For the first time, my room was eerily silent, with only the rustling of my gathering belongings echoing off the walls. I packed only what I needed to survive for about a week, and I wasn't totally out of resources. My makeshift safe hidden in a hole in my wall underneath my bed was emptied of all contents. My old family pictures were still left up on the wall, for they no longer carried any real value. I looked around the room for anything else I could take with me, and then I spotted Chichi.
The small, worn stuffed dolphin had been a gift from one of the workers at Sea World when I was 4. I remember how scared I felt when I realized I had lost sight of my parents. One of the workers in the gift shop took pity on me, and bought me an ice cream while I waited for them to call my mom. The kind-faced man had sat with me for a while, and told me his name was Richard. Being phonetically challenged as all kids are, I could only say 'Chichi', and decided to give that name to the present he had given me.
To this day, I don't remember the exact details of Richard's appearance, except for his eyes. They were the warmest and most brilliant shade of blue I had ever seen, and for a while I had thought them to be purple. I found them especially fascinating because I had so far been met with cold brown and hazel-colored eyes. What was interesting, was that I had later noticed that Chichi was almost the exact same color as Richard's eyes. From then on, I always prayed for my dreams to be blessed with images of violet eyes the color of dawn-kissed ocean
I picked up Chichi and held her close to my chest, then quickly stowed her away in the deep recesses of my bag. Clothes? Check. Soap? Check. Food? I'll get that later. Memories? No thanks.
As I walked out of my house, I purposefully kept from looking behind me. The cool wind whipped my hair around, and seemed to knock my thoughts around my head. I had been holding in my emotions for a long time, and it felt as if my chest was going to burst. I wanted so badly to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare. Sometimes I would go to sleep at night, wishing I could wake up tomorrow morning in the company of a normal family who actually cared about me.
My mind was lost in space, not to mention trying to keep me from running screaming down the street, so I was paying no attention to where I was going. Again, my feet seemed to know what they were doing, so I simply followed. Thoughts like, Why don't they want me and Where am I going to stay further clouded my mind. I didn't even have the energy or focus to find shame in allowing a few hot tears to slide down my cheek.
The dark streets were frustratingly quiet, and I wished for some noise other than the mocking tapping of my shoes against the pavement. Even a dog barking would have sufficed, but no, the entire neighborhood, possibly the world, seemed hell-bent on making me feel unwelcome and inconvenienced. The faintest traces of light could be seen lining the east horizon, intensifying my frustration, as I mainly preferred to walk in the comforting darkness.
I didn't wake from my thoughts until I realized I had stopped walking, and my finger had just pressed the doorbell of a familiar house with peeling white paint. I looked as confused as the black-haired boy who answered the door a few moments later.
"Well close your eyes then," Billie said simply.
I scoffed. "Close my eyes? I'm 10 feet off the fucking ground! I would like to at least see what killed me when I hit the ground."
"Shut up, Cel. You're such a drama queen." This earned Mike a shocked yet angry expression. He had never told me to shut up before.
"What the hell? I'm not a drama queen."
"Sorry, sweetheart. The truth hurts. Now get your gothic ass up that terrace!" Billie said exhaustedly.
My mom's car wasn't in the driveway, and I almost dropped to my knees at that moment and thanked God for his charity. This didn't mean I was totally off the hook yet though. Jerry might have taken the car and my mom might be home, or vice-versa. It's happened before, so that's the reason why I'm risking life and limb to climb through my bedroom window on the 2nd floor.
I scrambled through my window with extreme difficulty, and almost tripped over one of my sweaters. I mentally cursed myself for making such a racket, and slumped to the floor as if I were under enemy fire. Once I was certain my room was free of invaders, I stood up and tiptoed quietly to my door.
The door creaked open, and I stepped out into the hallway, once again checking for foreign movement. After checking almost every room of the house, I let out a long held sigh of relief. They were gone.
I walked to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped outside, where Mike and Billie were waiting behind the bushes.
"They're not here," both of them sighed.
"Yeah, those were my words exactly," I laughed.
"So what does that mean?" Billie said. "Where did they go?"
"Hell if I know. My mom has long since abandoned the courtesy of leaving notes for me as to her whereabouts. Probably in the city at a bar or something." I shrugged.
"So why did you have to climb in your window if you knew they weren't home? You like the adventure?" Mike asked, smirking.
I laughed. "Hardly. It was a precautionary measure. Also, I don't have a key." Both Mike and Billie looked confused.
"Yeah, my mom forgot to make a copy for me after she changed the locks when Jerry moved out for the 3rd or 4th time." I explained, though Mike and Billie still looked confused.
"Jerry?" Billie stammered.
"Never mind, long story. Well, I better get to bed, and remove all traces that I wasn't here the whole time. I'll see you guys tomorrow or something." They said okay and we all said our goodbyes. We shared some hugs and they left in Mike's truck back to their house.
I went back into the house and changed my clothes before I noticed the little light indicating we had some messages on our phone. Shit. I hope none of them are from my mom. I thought.
Lucky me, there was only 3 messages: one from someone too scared to leave a message (I wouldn't blame them); another was from some credit union asking my mom to call them back again (she never did). It was the last message, however, which was from my dad that caught my attention.
My dad hardly called my mom, as I may have said before, so hearing him say the words "Hi Alice, this is Dave" in a calm voice was a little unsettling for me.
The message went disturbingly normal enough, with my dad explaining some trivial problem he had to deal with that day, until he uttered the following:
"Yeah, about our conversation earlier this week (what?) concerning Celene (said, I might add, with slight disdain) and her spring break this coming week, since you and Jerry have travel plans that are unavoidable, (again, what?) I guess... .*big sigh* I guess I could take her. But don't even begin to consider this as a favor Alice, (some of the familiar hostility) because you still have to pay me back for my, ah, inconvenience. Just let me know when you feel like taking her back again, and I'll see what I can do. Alright, take care then. Bye.
My mind was racing with so many possible meanings and defenses for him. He couldn't have literally meant what he said, could he?
I knew all this time my parents didn't really have a soft spot for me, but hearing them say it out loud was a different story. It was all so harsh, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, it hurt. Then I remembered something about what Billie said earlier tonight; the truth hurts.
This time the truth was enough to put an unimaginable weight on my shoulders, along with so many conflicting emotions. I was mainly shocked because, after all this time, I figured that my feelings of being unloved and unwanted were just due to common teenage paranoia, as it usually was in most cases.
My insides twisted with anger and sadness. It pained me when I thought about my whole life, and how such a weak sense of security had been placed over me. The saying, "It's the thought that counts" couldn't be used as an excuse here; my life was just an immature distraction.
I was sad because in reality, I actually had no one to turn to. Kids with problems in school or with friends usually had their families to talk to as backup. All these years I was told that families were supposed to be there for one another no matter what, not drop their responsibilities when it was inconvenient. I felt unwanted. I felt alone.
I was so lost in my own mind, that I forgot I was still standing in the entry hall. Looking around to the living room, kitchen, and stairwell, I felt like I was looking at my home through a different and new pair of eyes. My surroundings were familiar, yet strange and filthy at the same time.
It was then that I decided that I needed to leave. Rationally, no person wants to stay in a place where they feel they aren't welcome, and I had no desire to remain here any longer than was necessary for me to gather my things and go. I swallowed up all my emotions once again, and set my mind solely on my new goal: get the hell out of there.
As I climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to my room, I kept from looking around me at the walls, because I was afraid I would spot something that would keep me from leaving. The house was unknowingly its own prison cell, dragging the naïve in and holding them there by obligation and guilt. It's funny how I now associated the word 'family' with words like 'obligation' and 'guilt.'
For the first time, my room was eerily silent, with only the rustling of my gathering belongings echoing off the walls. I packed only what I needed to survive for about a week, and I wasn't totally out of resources. My makeshift safe hidden in a hole in my wall underneath my bed was emptied of all contents. My old family pictures were still left up on the wall, for they no longer carried any real value. I looked around the room for anything else I could take with me, and then I spotted Chichi.
The small, worn stuffed dolphin had been a gift from one of the workers at Sea World when I was 4. I remember how scared I felt when I realized I had lost sight of my parents. One of the workers in the gift shop took pity on me, and bought me an ice cream while I waited for them to call my mom. The kind-faced man had sat with me for a while, and told me his name was Richard. Being phonetically challenged as all kids are, I could only say 'Chichi', and decided to give that name to the present he had given me.
To this day, I don't remember the exact details of Richard's appearance, except for his eyes. They were the warmest and most brilliant shade of blue I had ever seen, and for a while I had thought them to be purple. I found them especially fascinating because I had so far been met with cold brown and hazel-colored eyes. What was interesting, was that I had later noticed that Chichi was almost the exact same color as Richard's eyes. From then on, I always prayed for my dreams to be blessed with images of violet eyes the color of dawn-kissed ocean
I picked up Chichi and held her close to my chest, then quickly stowed her away in the deep recesses of my bag. Clothes? Check. Soap? Check. Food? I'll get that later. Memories? No thanks.
As I walked out of my house, I purposefully kept from looking behind me. The cool wind whipped my hair around, and seemed to knock my thoughts around my head. I had been holding in my emotions for a long time, and it felt as if my chest was going to burst. I wanted so badly to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare. Sometimes I would go to sleep at night, wishing I could wake up tomorrow morning in the company of a normal family who actually cared about me.
My mind was lost in space, not to mention trying to keep me from running screaming down the street, so I was paying no attention to where I was going. Again, my feet seemed to know what they were doing, so I simply followed. Thoughts like, Why don't they want me and Where am I going to stay further clouded my mind. I didn't even have the energy or focus to find shame in allowing a few hot tears to slide down my cheek.
The dark streets were frustratingly quiet, and I wished for some noise other than the mocking tapping of my shoes against the pavement. Even a dog barking would have sufficed, but no, the entire neighborhood, possibly the world, seemed hell-bent on making me feel unwelcome and inconvenienced. The faintest traces of light could be seen lining the east horizon, intensifying my frustration, as I mainly preferred to walk in the comforting darkness.
I didn't wake from my thoughts until I realized I had stopped walking, and my finger had just pressed the doorbell of a familiar house with peeling white paint. I looked as confused as the black-haired boy who answered the door a few moments later.
