jamin_law (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} jamin_law) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} alien_suicide,@ 2004-08-29 21:22:00 |
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CHAPTER 28: JUST ANOTHER SILLY CUNT PART 2
How do I ask these questions? I think I need to know in order to diffuse a potentially hostile situation. But what if I don’t need to know? What if she doesn’t want to tell me? What if there’s nothing to tell? Cricket really made me feel like the same thing that was happening in her home was happening here.
This is all running through my mind as the street lights strobed the sterile front seat of the car. We were freezing, spraying our breath into clouds, and on our way to Crystal’s house.
Spontaneity rescued me from the anxiety of not knowing what to ask. As if someone else told me what to say, I asked, “Is there anything you ant to tell me before we get there?”
She paused, and said, “I may need you if things get ugly.”
That scared me. And I didn’t want to know any more, although I had to bite my questions against my tongue to keep them from escaping. When we reached the house, there was no cloud of moisture coming from her mouth.
It was so cold that leaving the car brought a sense of disorientation and split-second fright that one might encounter if they were to wake up underwater at not know which direction the surface is. Of course, I’m used to this feeling. I feel it every time I wake up.
As we walked up to the house, we could feel how sharp and jagged the air was. It numbed my fingertips and then began to nibble my wrists and my neck with scraping stings, taking advantage of the chinks in my winter armor. The house seemed as inanimate as solid rock. It held its place with the rest of the houses in the row. It was a stone wall of peeling paint, overfilled gutters, and rotting screen porches.
I was scared, and as Crystal opened the screen door to the porch I realized how absolutely ridiculous fear was. I was paying attention to the cold and the looming presence of the houses, and not what I had to do in this situation. I was thinking about how I might panic if I were to run into one of Crystal’s parents, not how I might properly handle the situation. I was thinking about what I was thinking about, instead of keeping the porch door from screeching its rusted spring and slamming shut.
I winced. Crystal winced. And she turned around and looked at me like I was crazy. I felt bad because it might be true. I needed to focus on the task at hand.
Crystal put her key in the lock and it clicked as she turned it. She stopped. Again, the cloud of moisture stopped. She turned around and looked at me, and then released a thick cloud of carbon dioxide into my face. “Wait in the foyer,” she whispered.
“What’s a foyer?” I whispered back.
“It’s right inside the door. It’s the small area right before the hall and stairs,” she answered. She turned around and slowly opened the door to keep the noise to a minimum. I stepped in around her and she slowly pushed the door shut. “Stay right here,” she whispered.
And then I was alone. I started thinking about Crystal’s mom. She used to be a cool mom. She was always great to us. She’d sit and watch movies with us and want to carry on with girls. What happened? Was Crystal keeping things from us? Or did this madness come only recently? Was her mom innocent? I had never met her step-dad. Was he the only problem? Did he only come along recently?
A noise came from upstairs.
It sounded like it was a voice. What should I do? Should I go up there? I took a few steps out of the foyer to the bottom of the stairs. Then came a rustle and another voice. I put my hand on the railing. And then I heard Crystal say something unintelligible followed by the shuffling of Crystal flying down the stairs with a duffle bag that nearly eclipsed her.
“Let’s go,” she said in normal volume. And she slammed the doors on her way out.
I didn’t see the blood until halfway home. Two or three thin streaks fell down the side of her face. I couldn’t get a good look because I was trying to drive at the same time. She didn’t wipe it away. Maybe she was too numb to feel it. My instinct was to burst out, “What happened?” But I held my tongue again. After all, I knew what happened. She was hit. End of story. There’s nothing I could do to take the pain away. Well, nothing, except take her home with me. Instead I asked, “You okay?” It led an opening for her to talk about it if she wanted to, and still expressed my concern.
“I’ll be okay when we get home,” she said.
“Home…” I repeated, and it made her smile. It’s her home now- our home.
“The Stupid Cunt Sanctuary,” she said, and she started laughing.
“Where’d you get that?”
“I think Cricket said it.”
“Do you know you’re bleeding?”
“I’m not bleeding anymore. It froze to my face. This is the way I want to go home anyway. I want a red badge of courage.”
Well you’ve got one, love.
How do I ask these questions? I think I need to know in order to diffuse a potentially hostile situation. But what if I don’t need to know? What if she doesn’t want to tell me? What if there’s nothing to tell? Cricket really made me feel like the same thing that was happening in her home was happening here.
This is all running through my mind as the street lights strobed the sterile front seat of the car. We were freezing, spraying our breath into clouds, and on our way to Crystal’s house.
Spontaneity rescued me from the anxiety of not knowing what to ask. As if someone else told me what to say, I asked, “Is there anything you ant to tell me before we get there?”
She paused, and said, “I may need you if things get ugly.”
That scared me. And I didn’t want to know any more, although I had to bite my questions against my tongue to keep them from escaping. When we reached the house, there was no cloud of moisture coming from her mouth.
It was so cold that leaving the car brought a sense of disorientation and split-second fright that one might encounter if they were to wake up underwater at not know which direction the surface is. Of course, I’m used to this feeling. I feel it every time I wake up.
As we walked up to the house, we could feel how sharp and jagged the air was. It numbed my fingertips and then began to nibble my wrists and my neck with scraping stings, taking advantage of the chinks in my winter armor. The house seemed as inanimate as solid rock. It held its place with the rest of the houses in the row. It was a stone wall of peeling paint, overfilled gutters, and rotting screen porches.
I was scared, and as Crystal opened the screen door to the porch I realized how absolutely ridiculous fear was. I was paying attention to the cold and the looming presence of the houses, and not what I had to do in this situation. I was thinking about how I might panic if I were to run into one of Crystal’s parents, not how I might properly handle the situation. I was thinking about what I was thinking about, instead of keeping the porch door from screeching its rusted spring and slamming shut.
I winced. Crystal winced. And she turned around and looked at me like I was crazy. I felt bad because it might be true. I needed to focus on the task at hand.
Crystal put her key in the lock and it clicked as she turned it. She stopped. Again, the cloud of moisture stopped. She turned around and looked at me, and then released a thick cloud of carbon dioxide into my face. “Wait in the foyer,” she whispered.
“What’s a foyer?” I whispered back.
“It’s right inside the door. It’s the small area right before the hall and stairs,” she answered. She turned around and slowly opened the door to keep the noise to a minimum. I stepped in around her and she slowly pushed the door shut. “Stay right here,” she whispered.
And then I was alone. I started thinking about Crystal’s mom. She used to be a cool mom. She was always great to us. She’d sit and watch movies with us and want to carry on with girls. What happened? Was Crystal keeping things from us? Or did this madness come only recently? Was her mom innocent? I had never met her step-dad. Was he the only problem? Did he only come along recently?
A noise came from upstairs.
It sounded like it was a voice. What should I do? Should I go up there? I took a few steps out of the foyer to the bottom of the stairs. Then came a rustle and another voice. I put my hand on the railing. And then I heard Crystal say something unintelligible followed by the shuffling of Crystal flying down the stairs with a duffle bag that nearly eclipsed her.
“Let’s go,” she said in normal volume. And she slammed the doors on her way out.
I didn’t see the blood until halfway home. Two or three thin streaks fell down the side of her face. I couldn’t get a good look because I was trying to drive at the same time. She didn’t wipe it away. Maybe she was too numb to feel it. My instinct was to burst out, “What happened?” But I held my tongue again. After all, I knew what happened. She was hit. End of story. There’s nothing I could do to take the pain away. Well, nothing, except take her home with me. Instead I asked, “You okay?” It led an opening for her to talk about it if she wanted to, and still expressed my concern.
“I’ll be okay when we get home,” she said.
“Home…” I repeated, and it made her smile. It’s her home now- our home.
“The Stupid Cunt Sanctuary,” she said, and she started laughing.
“Where’d you get that?”
“I think Cricket said it.”
“Do you know you’re bleeding?”
“I’m not bleeding anymore. It froze to my face. This is the way I want to go home anyway. I want a red badge of courage.”
Well you’ve got one, love.
