Helen Caulfield and the taste of amphetamines., chapter 2
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I watched them sullenly, through the corner of my eye. I didn't want them to notice me, to tell you the truth. There were five of them, three boys, and two girls.
"Hey, hey Blondie! Yoo hoo?" I heard a course, drunken voice call out, a wisp of purple coloured smoke swirling in the air from his mouth. I tried hard not to breathe it in but I did anyway. It made my eyes sting a violent, vivid scarlet. I could tell the traces of tobacco and cannabis in the fume. I nearly shit myself when the someone who called out to me touched my shoulder. By instant reaction, I raised my leg sharply - like I was taught in ballet - and drove my size 8 and 1/2 shoe into his groin. He cursed loudly. I turned around to see a young guy, only seventeen I would say, writhing on the dusty train station floor. He had a shock of short, dread locked hair. I stood back and looked blankly at this man on the ground. I made no attempt to laugh or scorn or even attempt to pick him up. I don't remember too hot what exactly happened next but a tall, skinny guy tackled me to the ground.
"Get offa me ya lousy bastard!" I yelled, his vicious blue eyes seemed to scream at me in anger. "I said get OFFA ME!" I was fed up with this so I ended up grabbing hard at the first thing I could grasp which was his shaggy, blonde hair. I started to pull has hard as I could before kicking him off of me. I still remember looking closely at the stands of gold I had ripped out of his hair.
"Jesus, what the fuck? All we do is come and say hi and you try and kill us! Are you on your fucking period or something?" said the guy with dreadlocks, his also dread locked companion dusting off him and glaring at me. She seemed slightly older than the man in question. Although, at that moment in time she looked like she wanted to kill me.
"You touched me. I don't like being fucking touched. Deal with it ya goddamn dirty moron," I said, pulling out my cassette player I had in my rucksack. I so happened to have a crappy recording of a local band's music. I had swapped some stuff with this girl at my hostel called Katie Price. She wanted money for a push-up bra and insteada just giving her the goddamn money; I bought her cassette player, tapes and a really nice scarf for $10. You should she her now, chest the size of Nantucket. No kidding.
"What the fuck did you just call me?" I heard that dread locked guy yell at me. I turned around and faced all five of them.
"I called you a goddamn dirty moron. You'll just end up one of those old bums that hang out on Christie Road. I can just imagine ya. A filthy goddamn overcoat, all snot and crap and puke. You'd be drinkin' cheap ass cider with the money you make from beggin' in the street. You'll..." I started rambling on. I do this often. It like my mind is a leaky tap, sometimes no matter how hard you try and stop the drip, it still drips.
"Yeah, Billie. You out giving dudes hand jobs in return for crack!" teased the other boy. He was shorter than the others with a shock of green hair. The others burst out laughing. I didn't though, I wasn't too sure whether it was a joke or not.
"This kid is certainly feisty. I like this kid," said the dread locked guy, Billie. His girl looked at him strangely, as did the others but I could sense that they had to do as he said.
"You talk weird. Don't you think she talk's weird? Like in that book, the Catcher in the Rye," said the blonde, sitting on a nearby bench. It was soaked with the rain earlier too, but he sat down anyway.
"Yeah!" agreed Billie, lighting up another cigarette. "What's your name kid?" The guy was starting to get on my nerves. His girl was drooling all over him. The other girl, she had dyed blonde hair and she was incredibly good looking was sitting on the guy with what was now probably one heck of a wet ass's knee.
"Quit calling me kid, and it's Helen. Helen Caulfield," I said snottily. Billie burst out laughing, like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. I cocked my head slightly and watched him. He seemed like a little wind-up doll. He really did. After a while, we shot the bull until the 10:14pm train to Berkeley arrived. By then, I sorta liked this group but I could tell that there was a lotta stuff unsaid.
"Hey, hey Blondie! Yoo hoo?" I heard a course, drunken voice call out, a wisp of purple coloured smoke swirling in the air from his mouth. I tried hard not to breathe it in but I did anyway. It made my eyes sting a violent, vivid scarlet. I could tell the traces of tobacco and cannabis in the fume. I nearly shit myself when the someone who called out to me touched my shoulder. By instant reaction, I raised my leg sharply - like I was taught in ballet - and drove my size 8 and 1/2 shoe into his groin. He cursed loudly. I turned around to see a young guy, only seventeen I would say, writhing on the dusty train station floor. He had a shock of short, dread locked hair. I stood back and looked blankly at this man on the ground. I made no attempt to laugh or scorn or even attempt to pick him up. I don't remember too hot what exactly happened next but a tall, skinny guy tackled me to the ground.
"Get offa me ya lousy bastard!" I yelled, his vicious blue eyes seemed to scream at me in anger. "I said get OFFA ME!" I was fed up with this so I ended up grabbing hard at the first thing I could grasp which was his shaggy, blonde hair. I started to pull has hard as I could before kicking him off of me. I still remember looking closely at the stands of gold I had ripped out of his hair.
"Jesus, what the fuck? All we do is come and say hi and you try and kill us! Are you on your fucking period or something?" said the guy with dreadlocks, his also dread locked companion dusting off him and glaring at me. She seemed slightly older than the man in question. Although, at that moment in time she looked like she wanted to kill me.
"You touched me. I don't like being fucking touched. Deal with it ya goddamn dirty moron," I said, pulling out my cassette player I had in my rucksack. I so happened to have a crappy recording of a local band's music. I had swapped some stuff with this girl at my hostel called Katie Price. She wanted money for a push-up bra and insteada just giving her the goddamn money; I bought her cassette player, tapes and a really nice scarf for $10. You should she her now, chest the size of Nantucket. No kidding.
"What the fuck did you just call me?" I heard that dread locked guy yell at me. I turned around and faced all five of them.
"I called you a goddamn dirty moron. You'll just end up one of those old bums that hang out on Christie Road. I can just imagine ya. A filthy goddamn overcoat, all snot and crap and puke. You'd be drinkin' cheap ass cider with the money you make from beggin' in the street. You'll..." I started rambling on. I do this often. It like my mind is a leaky tap, sometimes no matter how hard you try and stop the drip, it still drips.
"Yeah, Billie. You out giving dudes hand jobs in return for crack!" teased the other boy. He was shorter than the others with a shock of green hair. The others burst out laughing. I didn't though, I wasn't too sure whether it was a joke or not.
"This kid is certainly feisty. I like this kid," said the dread locked guy, Billie. His girl looked at him strangely, as did the others but I could sense that they had to do as he said.
"You talk weird. Don't you think she talk's weird? Like in that book, the Catcher in the Rye," said the blonde, sitting on a nearby bench. It was soaked with the rain earlier too, but he sat down anyway.
"Yeah!" agreed Billie, lighting up another cigarette. "What's your name kid?" The guy was starting to get on my nerves. His girl was drooling all over him. The other girl, she had dyed blonde hair and she was incredibly good looking was sitting on the guy with what was now probably one heck of a wet ass's knee.
"Quit calling me kid, and it's Helen. Helen Caulfield," I said snottily. Billie burst out laughing, like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. I cocked my head slightly and watched him. He seemed like a little wind-up doll. He really did. After a while, we shot the bull until the 10:14pm train to Berkeley arrived. By then, I sorta liked this group but I could tell that there was a lotta stuff unsaid.
