Helen Caulfield and the taste of amphetamines., chapter 1
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If; the that I first breathed the obnoxious, tainted air that spouted out of Billie Joe's arid mouth I had ran off, played it safe, nothing like this would have happened. The more I concentrate on the events that passed me by, like a little fish in a stream, by god I would have caught and gutted that fish while I had the strength. The tulips that Mike brought me seemed to glare sullenly at me, they were too red in anycase. Far far too red, like new blood. [b]My</b/> blood. Splattered on the ground. The place looked like it had temporarily housed the Gaza strip. I moved slightly, I could still feel the needle lodged in my arm. I could still feel the bruises that I now collected like badges of honor.
The sunshine bleached everything an unnatural white, an unnatural halo. If I knew, oh god, if I knew I would become that, I would have ran away that fateful day, not turning back for hellos or goodbyes and laughing. Yes, I would laugh at their idiotic unknowing of the hell they were dipping their feet into. Jacuzzi; they thought. Ha, how many jacuzzis have molten sulphur as a relaxant?
***
I was a young girl of twenty two then. If I had known myself, I would have had to beat seven shades of crap out of me. I was...quite frankly...obnoxious. But, subtle. One thing I pride about myself is whatever I do, it is subtle. I am a subtle person. About as offensive as lavender scented bathwater. At the time, I was, not to boast, but rather intelligent. I looked intelligent too. I wasn't pretty as such, I never wore hooker heels or lipstick like any of the other girls I used to...know at my school. The funny thing is, I was lazy. I was an incredibly lazy person. I never, ever bothered with such a silly thing as studying, because I knew it. Why on earth do I need to relearn information I know like the back of my hand? I had my hair cut short, not by choice. I used to do a rather stupid thing and hack parts of my hair off when I got stressed out. It made it grow in rather fluffy and peculiarly. It looked rather like a lion's mane, especially since I have sandy coloured hair. I was wearing a baggy checkered shirt. It actually belonged to a boy called Steven Fry who lived in my hostel at the time. He was a peculiar guy, always had a terrible cold and it certainly didn't help matters that he took speed most of the time. I liked him though, we thought on the same levels.
Most of the time anyway. When he wasn't high. I still remember the anticipating screech when he'd beg for money for his fix.
"C'mon Helen, give us five bucks, just 'til Tuesday, huh, will ya, huh?" He had a nasty, raspy as hell voice. It sounded as if he had just had a wire brush soaked in bleach rammed down his throat. No kidding.
Anyway, I was walking into Emeryville Station, just on Landregan Street. It was nice and dark so I didn't need to notice the stupid palm trees or anything that tried to make the place seem like a paradise. I hate that kind of crap. Like once when I was in Belgium backpacking, they had palm trees there. God. Why does everywhere want to look like Hawaii? Anyway, it was cold as hell and I couldn't wait to get on that train home. I had just spent a week at...
Poetry camp.
Now that, is rather pathetic, no? Anyway, I was cuddling into my khaki jacket, trying to make the condensation warm me up, which was a pathetically pointless exercise.
That's when I saw them.
The sunshine bleached everything an unnatural white, an unnatural halo. If I knew, oh god, if I knew I would become that, I would have ran away that fateful day, not turning back for hellos or goodbyes and laughing. Yes, I would laugh at their idiotic unknowing of the hell they were dipping their feet into. Jacuzzi; they thought. Ha, how many jacuzzis have molten sulphur as a relaxant?
***
I was a young girl of twenty two then. If I had known myself, I would have had to beat seven shades of crap out of me. I was...quite frankly...obnoxious. But, subtle. One thing I pride about myself is whatever I do, it is subtle. I am a subtle person. About as offensive as lavender scented bathwater. At the time, I was, not to boast, but rather intelligent. I looked intelligent too. I wasn't pretty as such, I never wore hooker heels or lipstick like any of the other girls I used to...know at my school. The funny thing is, I was lazy. I was an incredibly lazy person. I never, ever bothered with such a silly thing as studying, because I knew it. Why on earth do I need to relearn information I know like the back of my hand? I had my hair cut short, not by choice. I used to do a rather stupid thing and hack parts of my hair off when I got stressed out. It made it grow in rather fluffy and peculiarly. It looked rather like a lion's mane, especially since I have sandy coloured hair. I was wearing a baggy checkered shirt. It actually belonged to a boy called Steven Fry who lived in my hostel at the time. He was a peculiar guy, always had a terrible cold and it certainly didn't help matters that he took speed most of the time. I liked him though, we thought on the same levels.
Most of the time anyway. When he wasn't high. I still remember the anticipating screech when he'd beg for money for his fix.
"C'mon Helen, give us five bucks, just 'til Tuesday, huh, will ya, huh?" He had a nasty, raspy as hell voice. It sounded as if he had just had a wire brush soaked in bleach rammed down his throat. No kidding.
Anyway, I was walking into Emeryville Station, just on Landregan Street. It was nice and dark so I didn't need to notice the stupid palm trees or anything that tried to make the place seem like a paradise. I hate that kind of crap. Like once when I was in Belgium backpacking, they had palm trees there. God. Why does everywhere want to look like Hawaii? Anyway, it was cold as hell and I couldn't wait to get on that train home. I had just spent a week at...
Poetry camp.
Now that, is rather pathetic, no? Anyway, I was cuddling into my khaki jacket, trying to make the condensation warm me up, which was a pathetically pointless exercise.
That's when I saw them.
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