Categories > Original > Drama > Awake(working title)
3. Solitude
My life was a joke. A horrible, poorly timed joke. JT and I managed to beat the cops (not before I lost a shoe in someone’s pool), and my arm had begun to swell by the time we made it home.
I didn’t dare touch the tender mass that once was my bicep. It throbbed with my pulse occasionally, then lying silent until I tried to use it. The sore pull on my nerves instantly made me swear under my breath, and I felt like an idiot that I had forgotten about it.
JT made a face at me as I bagged ice in the kitchen. I knew Mrs. T. would notice, but unlike JT, I was accustomed to thinking up stories before I was confronted by Phil or Jane.
As if on cue, Mrs. T. walked in to refill her iced tea, stopping to send me a puzzled look over the breakfast bar.
“What did you trip on this time?” She teased. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t known to be the mast graceful, but sometimes it bothered me that people assumed I was that gravitationally challenged.
“I didn’t trip.” I folded the cloth over the ice cubes gingerly. “I got knocked into someone at the show.”
JT snorted. If I had been closer to him, I would have punched him in the stomach.
“I don’t see why you kids enjoy being tossed around in a sea of overly SOMETHING people. What’s so fun about bodily injury?”
I smiled at her, not because it was required, but because I agreed with her whole heartedly.
“Mom, it’s not about getting tossed around. It’s an individual’s express—”
“Expression of how he or she feels about the world around them. Yeah, heard that before. Next time, wear body armor.” Mrs. T. rolled her eyes at us and left.
“She’d kill us if she knew what really happened.” JT whispered to me, barely audible.
“Yeah, so don’t get us caught now.” I retorted, making my way out of the kitchen and back to the futon I called my home away from home.
Returning to my house was something I hated doing. Even now as I neared eighteen, the taste of freedom seemed sill too far off to hope for. I did my best not to heave my despondent mood into the house as I entered. The last thing I needed was Jane and her chi talk.
I wasn’t surprised to find the house nearly empty except for Nadine and the gardener. Jane would be out until four with her lady’s brunch club or whatever, Nadine informed me in so many words. I had assumed Phil would be in Los Angeles making his gallery ready for the Tuesday night show of his latest works of “art”.
I was relieved that I could be alone for most of the afternoon. I left Nadine in the kitchen and headed upstairs to my room. Once inside, I locked the door behind me. I had never loathed my solitude, but instead I reveled in it. Having my own bathroom attached to my room only guaranteed more privacy and more freedom for me.
I started the shower and unpacked my backpack. The English homework I had taken to JT’s was untouched, and my clothes from Friday night were filthy. Nadine would no doubt be curious about their condition, but never ask m directly. I stared at my reflection, lined by prescription bottles at the bottom. It disappointed me how easy my shrink had made it to get such interesting capsules. Zoloft, Adderall, Valium, and Prolixin all sat diligently below my mirror, waiting for their individual times to be taken.
Jane had insisted I be given something to take after my “episode” a year ago. I hated how she referred to it so casually now, as if everything had disappeared and it was simply a black mark on her past record. Oh how little she knew.
I traced the scar on my left wrist with my fingertips. It had healed nicely, if only the mark left could be called anything close to nice looking. It stretched from my wrist to nearly the crease in my elbow. Its twin, residing on my right arm, was shorter by comparison, but looked equally destructive. I don’t suppose that either Jane or Phil were particularly fond of the evidence, and I felt obligated to cover them.
I rarely felt shame for anything in my life, but the way others looked at my arms now often made my heart sink and my stomach knot against the glares. So the choice to cover them during my days was a simply decision to make.
I thought of JT as I turned off the water and exited the oversized shower. The look on his face when I finally returned home was forever burned in my memory. I shuddered against it as I wrapped my wet hair in a towel.
I put off my English essay and the eighty-seven problems assigned for Calculus. Instead, I powered up my computer and checked my email.
As usual, there wasn’t much to find. A few random spam bots advertised how to enlarge my penis, but there was one worth note. I clicked on it, and left the screen up as I went downstairs to hunt for something to eat. I returned with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a turkey sandwich (compliments of Nadine) and sat to scan through the letter.
Kat,
Hey! How’s everything over on the west coast? New York is all right. Tanya and Diego are doing well. Diego just landed a big part on a soap opera here in the City, and Tanya is pretty psyched about it. I’m sorry I haven’t written you in so long, school is taking up every minute of my free time. Tanya has me in 7— that’s right, 7—god forsaken extracurricular activities. Diego convinced her to force me into the theatre troupe here, which has been really interesting to say the least. There’s this INCREDIBLY gorgeous boy named Felix that I have to tell you about. He’s 21 and a film major at NYU. But, that’s enough about my shit, how the hell are you? I miss you! Write me back as soon as you can.
xoxo
Lola
I hesitated before I responded. Lola and I had exchanged emails after our stint in a center for troubled teens. Lola had made my “recovery” much easier than my parents. I chuckled to myself as I realized that normal people go to college to make lifelong friends; I go to rehab.
I typed and retyped the same email eight times before I sent it.
Lola-Schmola,
God it’s good to hear form you. Unfortunately, life here is unchanged. Jane is still on her raw food kick, and Phil is working on his latest art gallery opening. They have me going to a shrink now. She’s got me on all kinds of behavioral meds and whatnot. You know how I feel about psychiatrists. Nothing new to report I’m afraid. When are you sneaking off to LA to visit me?
your chunky junky,
Kat
I finished pecking one handed and logged off my computer. Lola had been a real character at the center. I was sure we would have gotten tossed out if not for each other. My parents didn’t know about Lola, or about anything I had confided in her. She was, I concluded, pulling open my math book, only the second person I had ever trusted fully.
My life was a joke. A horrible, poorly timed joke. JT and I managed to beat the cops (not before I lost a shoe in someone’s pool), and my arm had begun to swell by the time we made it home.
I didn’t dare touch the tender mass that once was my bicep. It throbbed with my pulse occasionally, then lying silent until I tried to use it. The sore pull on my nerves instantly made me swear under my breath, and I felt like an idiot that I had forgotten about it.
JT made a face at me as I bagged ice in the kitchen. I knew Mrs. T. would notice, but unlike JT, I was accustomed to thinking up stories before I was confronted by Phil or Jane.
As if on cue, Mrs. T. walked in to refill her iced tea, stopping to send me a puzzled look over the breakfast bar.
“What did you trip on this time?” She teased. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t known to be the mast graceful, but sometimes it bothered me that people assumed I was that gravitationally challenged.
“I didn’t trip.” I folded the cloth over the ice cubes gingerly. “I got knocked into someone at the show.”
JT snorted. If I had been closer to him, I would have punched him in the stomach.
“I don’t see why you kids enjoy being tossed around in a sea of overly SOMETHING people. What’s so fun about bodily injury?”
I smiled at her, not because it was required, but because I agreed with her whole heartedly.
“Mom, it’s not about getting tossed around. It’s an individual’s express—”
“Expression of how he or she feels about the world around them. Yeah, heard that before. Next time, wear body armor.” Mrs. T. rolled her eyes at us and left.
“She’d kill us if she knew what really happened.” JT whispered to me, barely audible.
“Yeah, so don’t get us caught now.” I retorted, making my way out of the kitchen and back to the futon I called my home away from home.
Returning to my house was something I hated doing. Even now as I neared eighteen, the taste of freedom seemed sill too far off to hope for. I did my best not to heave my despondent mood into the house as I entered. The last thing I needed was Jane and her chi talk.
I wasn’t surprised to find the house nearly empty except for Nadine and the gardener. Jane would be out until four with her lady’s brunch club or whatever, Nadine informed me in so many words. I had assumed Phil would be in Los Angeles making his gallery ready for the Tuesday night show of his latest works of “art”.
I was relieved that I could be alone for most of the afternoon. I left Nadine in the kitchen and headed upstairs to my room. Once inside, I locked the door behind me. I had never loathed my solitude, but instead I reveled in it. Having my own bathroom attached to my room only guaranteed more privacy and more freedom for me.
I started the shower and unpacked my backpack. The English homework I had taken to JT’s was untouched, and my clothes from Friday night were filthy. Nadine would no doubt be curious about their condition, but never ask m directly. I stared at my reflection, lined by prescription bottles at the bottom. It disappointed me how easy my shrink had made it to get such interesting capsules. Zoloft, Adderall, Valium, and Prolixin all sat diligently below my mirror, waiting for their individual times to be taken.
Jane had insisted I be given something to take after my “episode” a year ago. I hated how she referred to it so casually now, as if everything had disappeared and it was simply a black mark on her past record. Oh how little she knew.
I traced the scar on my left wrist with my fingertips. It had healed nicely, if only the mark left could be called anything close to nice looking. It stretched from my wrist to nearly the crease in my elbow. Its twin, residing on my right arm, was shorter by comparison, but looked equally destructive. I don’t suppose that either Jane or Phil were particularly fond of the evidence, and I felt obligated to cover them.
I rarely felt shame for anything in my life, but the way others looked at my arms now often made my heart sink and my stomach knot against the glares. So the choice to cover them during my days was a simply decision to make.
I thought of JT as I turned off the water and exited the oversized shower. The look on his face when I finally returned home was forever burned in my memory. I shuddered against it as I wrapped my wet hair in a towel.
I put off my English essay and the eighty-seven problems assigned for Calculus. Instead, I powered up my computer and checked my email.
As usual, there wasn’t much to find. A few random spam bots advertised how to enlarge my penis, but there was one worth note. I clicked on it, and left the screen up as I went downstairs to hunt for something to eat. I returned with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a turkey sandwich (compliments of Nadine) and sat to scan through the letter.
Kat,
Hey! How’s everything over on the west coast? New York is all right. Tanya and Diego are doing well. Diego just landed a big part on a soap opera here in the City, and Tanya is pretty psyched about it. I’m sorry I haven’t written you in so long, school is taking up every minute of my free time. Tanya has me in 7— that’s right, 7—god forsaken extracurricular activities. Diego convinced her to force me into the theatre troupe here, which has been really interesting to say the least. There’s this INCREDIBLY gorgeous boy named Felix that I have to tell you about. He’s 21 and a film major at NYU. But, that’s enough about my shit, how the hell are you? I miss you! Write me back as soon as you can.
xoxo
Lola
I hesitated before I responded. Lola and I had exchanged emails after our stint in a center for troubled teens. Lola had made my “recovery” much easier than my parents. I chuckled to myself as I realized that normal people go to college to make lifelong friends; I go to rehab.
I typed and retyped the same email eight times before I sent it.
Lola-Schmola,
God it’s good to hear form you. Unfortunately, life here is unchanged. Jane is still on her raw food kick, and Phil is working on his latest art gallery opening. They have me going to a shrink now. She’s got me on all kinds of behavioral meds and whatnot. You know how I feel about psychiatrists. Nothing new to report I’m afraid. When are you sneaking off to LA to visit me?
your chunky junky,
Kat
I finished pecking one handed and logged off my computer. Lola had been a real character at the center. I was sure we would have gotten tossed out if not for each other. My parents didn’t know about Lola, or about anything I had confided in her. She was, I concluded, pulling open my math book, only the second person I had ever trusted fully.
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