"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"Prove it."

I wondered if I could have buried my head beneath the sand. Would anyone notice? My blonde hair could match with the sand right? Maybe if I dug deep enough I would get to China. I bet it's perfectly natural for younger girls to date older guys--I mean, their prostitution age is 14. No one would look at me funny and I wouldn't have to hear remarks from my boyfriend's younger brother. I swear I got so irritated about hearing his snickers and comments about how his brother was a dating a girl who was closer to his age then his brother. Not to mention the fact he persisted the entire night, even waddling off to whisper comments into another guests ear so she could blurt it out to be obvious about what it was. Add this onto the ridicule about my lack of athletic talent and suffocating myself under ten pounds of dirt didn't seem all that bad.

Once it was just him and I though the night seemed perfect. We laid out on the grass and I could feel some of it the fresh water seep into my clothes. I didn't care though. I wanted to be near him. I loved feeling his strong fingers run over the side of my bangs. It made me smile when he smiled or when he gave me that look that showed I was the only thing that was on his mind. When he wrapped his arm around me or ran his palm along my arm I felt so at peace--I didn't want to leave. I just wanted to stay there; to watch the clouds pass, to watch the night fade, to see the morning rise. Just him and I.

---

What could be more awkward then this? I pondered, nearly wanting to dig the my bitten nails into the pue. I hadn't been to church in five years and now here I stood, listening to the sermen of a christin-catholic clergy man...between my boyfriend and my dad. I swear I couldn't have been breathing and if I was, there was no way I knew I was doing it. I felt nervous and it was eating me away. How could I just stand there between the man who had raised me and him not knowing that I was dating the guy beside me? It was so unrealistic being in church there with my family and his. Not to mention that, but the fact of the conversation before the service where we figured out just how much our families had in common. Both dad's named David. Interesting.

Reality check please?

My mom didn't buy my wanting to go to church for the actual reason. I wanted to expirence what it was like again. I want to see if maybe there is a foundation that I can believe in. She won't listen. She ignores me. She blows me off, disowns me for the day. After service the car ride to lunch was silent--it ate away at me. Lunch itself was no different. My mom is very talented at acting as if she doesn't even want me in her presence more or less as a daughter and my dad is to oblivious to care or say anything. I don't recall how many times I had to choke back tears this morning, how many times I want to just crawl under the covers of my bed and scream.

The only good moment is when we all joined hands and for a brief moment I squeezed his and his mine--I felt like everything was going to be okay. But of course, it was only a moment.