Helen Caulfield and the taste of amphetamines., chapter 3
You can read new chapters of this story and post comments on Mibba.
We jumped onto the train and clamoured into some seats. I gave a quick glance of apology to some old ladies that were gathered at the front of the train carriage. They seemed like those debutantes. They looked like sheep. They really did. Their curly grey wigs and hard, marbled chatter, clattering across the carriage like rocks falling down stairs. All maaing and baaing about something or other.
"Hey, Helen! C'mon. Come over here," said Billie, pointing to the empty seat between the attractive blonde girl and the green-haired guy. I sat down gingerly, nervous as hell. I let my rucksack hit the ground with a loud thump. It was full of my university crap. I went to the University of California, Berkeley. I was a little Science nerd. I really was. I could breeze through the formulae and all the boring parts of the course so I could do the experimentation. I majored in Nuclear Physics. Hell, I was part of a team that tried to discover more elements. I love physics. It just fascinates me. I mean, I knew the guy who really put the new form of carbon on the map, C60. Donald Huffman. The phoney-assed bastard. He tried to get me to do him a 'favour'. So I did, and spray-painted 'FUCK REGAN!' on his car. I got a kick out of it but he wasn't too pleased as you could understand. The prank cost me about $10,000. For the spray job to his precious Porsche. It was worth every cent. No kidding.
"So, tell us about yourself, kid," said Billie. "I'm Billie. This is Tré Fucking Cool - the dude with the green hair. This is my girl, Adie. The chick with blonde hair is Sara and this blonde-ass is Mike," he said, pointing to the respective people. I ran my teeth across my bottom lip, savouring the slight hurt. I am a bit of a masochist, I'll admit.
"Well, my name's Helen. I'm twenty two..." I started. I hate talking about myself so I had this false monotone voice.
"You're HOW old?" started Tré. "Jesus Christ! You look about twelve. You're older than all of us. Fucking hell." He sat back in his chair and gave a large, fake smile. I noticed the little scars that were hidden behind his wristwatch. Like dirt hidden under a comedy carpet.
"Thanks. It comes in handy. On one hand, I got ID to buy alco-mah-hol and on the other, I can still buy kiddie fares on buses and crap. It's sweet," I said, suppressing any unorthodox questions that sometimes creep into my mind. Like, right then I felt like asking what they did, you know, for a living like. I didn't want to embarrass them or anything like that. Stuff like that always makes me nervous as hell. I mean, I would hate for anyone to ask where I was when I was 16. I hate talking about that time, I really do.
"Haha, nice. So, what do ya do? How do you waste the daylight time?" said Mike in a foundering, posh accent. I started thinking he was making fun of me and that bothered me. It really did.
"I go to University and I'm studying Nuclear Physics," I muttered, looking out the window, hoping they didn't hear me. I heard a cacophony of laughter ricocheting around the train. I continued to stare hard at the blackness of the outside. I usually love trains and buses at night. The blank, darkness just absorbs all the light from the train. It's sort of like a mirror. Not like a normal mirror, but a soul distortion mirror. It's hard to explain, but I like that anyway. And the streetlights, like little balls of sulphur, sit on the black soot of the dusk. It's pretty, but depressing.
"Awww, a little dork-ass. Cute," said Billie snottily. "Well, I just hang with my buds. See, I got a thing called a social life. You don't." The laughter started again and I was regretting thinking that I liked them.
"Heh, so do the bums on Christie Road. Great social life they have. They spend all their money on booze and speak to people all the time!" I said very sarcastically. I heard a suppressed snigger but that's all. There was something about that Billie guy.
"What's it with you and the hobos on Christie Fucking Road?" started Billie softly. I sure didn't like that. I'd rather have him shout at me. "Are they not good enough for you or something? Huh?"
"They depress me. Ya got a problem with that?" I said, narrowing my eyes.
"You don't come from these parts, do you? Because if you did, you wouldn't dare speak to me like that." He arched his back, like a big cat. I was so angry and defiant. Nothing would make me step down.
"I come from New York. What the fuck's your problem?" I said childishly. If I knew I was dipping my feet into a crack in thin ice, maybe, just maybe I would have just went and sat with the sheepish little grandmothers on the other end of the train. But no, I stood my ground, like I was always taught.
"Hey, Helen! C'mon. Come over here," said Billie, pointing to the empty seat between the attractive blonde girl and the green-haired guy. I sat down gingerly, nervous as hell. I let my rucksack hit the ground with a loud thump. It was full of my university crap. I went to the University of California, Berkeley. I was a little Science nerd. I really was. I could breeze through the formulae and all the boring parts of the course so I could do the experimentation. I majored in Nuclear Physics. Hell, I was part of a team that tried to discover more elements. I love physics. It just fascinates me. I mean, I knew the guy who really put the new form of carbon on the map, C60. Donald Huffman. The phoney-assed bastard. He tried to get me to do him a 'favour'. So I did, and spray-painted 'FUCK REGAN!' on his car. I got a kick out of it but he wasn't too pleased as you could understand. The prank cost me about $10,000. For the spray job to his precious Porsche. It was worth every cent. No kidding.
"So, tell us about yourself, kid," said Billie. "I'm Billie. This is Tré Fucking Cool - the dude with the green hair. This is my girl, Adie. The chick with blonde hair is Sara and this blonde-ass is Mike," he said, pointing to the respective people. I ran my teeth across my bottom lip, savouring the slight hurt. I am a bit of a masochist, I'll admit.
"Well, my name's Helen. I'm twenty two..." I started. I hate talking about myself so I had this false monotone voice.
"You're HOW old?" started Tré. "Jesus Christ! You look about twelve. You're older than all of us. Fucking hell." He sat back in his chair and gave a large, fake smile. I noticed the little scars that were hidden behind his wristwatch. Like dirt hidden under a comedy carpet.
"Thanks. It comes in handy. On one hand, I got ID to buy alco-mah-hol and on the other, I can still buy kiddie fares on buses and crap. It's sweet," I said, suppressing any unorthodox questions that sometimes creep into my mind. Like, right then I felt like asking what they did, you know, for a living like. I didn't want to embarrass them or anything like that. Stuff like that always makes me nervous as hell. I mean, I would hate for anyone to ask where I was when I was 16. I hate talking about that time, I really do.
"Haha, nice. So, what do ya do? How do you waste the daylight time?" said Mike in a foundering, posh accent. I started thinking he was making fun of me and that bothered me. It really did.
"I go to University and I'm studying Nuclear Physics," I muttered, looking out the window, hoping they didn't hear me. I heard a cacophony of laughter ricocheting around the train. I continued to stare hard at the blackness of the outside. I usually love trains and buses at night. The blank, darkness just absorbs all the light from the train. It's sort of like a mirror. Not like a normal mirror, but a soul distortion mirror. It's hard to explain, but I like that anyway. And the streetlights, like little balls of sulphur, sit on the black soot of the dusk. It's pretty, but depressing.
"Awww, a little dork-ass. Cute," said Billie snottily. "Well, I just hang with my buds. See, I got a thing called a social life. You don't." The laughter started again and I was regretting thinking that I liked them.
"Heh, so do the bums on Christie Road. Great social life they have. They spend all their money on booze and speak to people all the time!" I said very sarcastically. I heard a suppressed snigger but that's all. There was something about that Billie guy.
"What's it with you and the hobos on Christie Fucking Road?" started Billie softly. I sure didn't like that. I'd rather have him shout at me. "Are they not good enough for you or something? Huh?"
"They depress me. Ya got a problem with that?" I said, narrowing my eyes.
"You don't come from these parts, do you? Because if you did, you wouldn't dare speak to me like that." He arched his back, like a big cat. I was so angry and defiant. Nothing would make me step down.
"I come from New York. What the fuck's your problem?" I said childishly. If I knew I was dipping my feet into a crack in thin ice, maybe, just maybe I would have just went and sat with the sheepish little grandmothers on the other end of the train. But no, I stood my ground, like I was always taught.
