Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > .all.the.days.
I walked into my dark bedroom and tossed my bag on my bed.
Halen meowed.
“Sorry, kitty,” I said, flicking on the light switch.
I decided to close my door for privacy, kicked my shoes off, and went online.
No one was on, and I wasn’t in the mood for a House marathon right now.
Damn speech.
I wasn’t in the mood for homework, either, but it obviously had to be done.
Later.
I dug out one of the baggy t-shirts I sleep in and a pair of soft cotton shorts, put them on and curled up on my bed with Halen.
“Meow,” she said.
I groaned. “Did you come up here to hide from Gram, too?”
She purred.
“I’m telling you, Halen,” I said. “She’s going to drive me absolutely insane. One day, they’re going to have to come and put me in a straitjacket and lock me up in a padded room.”
She purred some more.
“You know, I don’t like the idea of you purring because I’m in a mental hospital,” I said. “The least you could do is hiss or something.”
“Meow?”
“Oh, shit,” I said, scratching under her chin. “You are just too cute for your own good, you know that?”
More purring.
“I’m probably not far from scratching the walls, kicking and screaming,” I said. “Isn’t talking to yourself a sign of insanity? I mean, I’m talking to a cat, so there’s really not much difference.”
No response. Halen just stretched.
I sighed and reached for my remote to turn my TV on. I thought of all the work I needed to do, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
And then a House rerun came on.
I figured this counted for something, after all.
Research.
Halfway into the episode, someone knocked on my door.
“I’m not hungry!” I shouted.
My mother walked in, laughing. “Not even for Grammy’s famous spaghetti and chicken?”
“Don’t speak of her to me.”
Mom sat down on my bed and rubbed Halen’s tummy. “Gram said you’re not feeling well.”
“I feel awful.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just have a headache and a stomachache.”
“And you’re mad at Gram.”
Way to state the obvious. “Why is she always talking about Dad? I mean, the only thing she calls him is ‘that scumbag father of yours’.” My nose scrunched up as I tried to imitate Gram’s deep, authoritative voice.
My voice is neither deep nor authoritative, by any means.
Mom laughed a little, tweaked my nose, and sighed. “It’s best not to speak ill of the dead,” she said.
“Come on,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “You’re not superstitious.”
I once broke a mirror as a kid, and was absolutely devastated to think I’d brought seven years of bad luck on myself. It took my mother two days to humor me out of it.
She smirked. “Of course not. It’s just . . . He’s dead. There’s no point in constantly dredging up the past.”
“Tell that to Gram,” I said.
“Well, Lucas was her son,” she said. “She can talk about him whenever she wants.”
“Well, yeah, but . . .” My voice trailed off. This was pointless. “Never mind. How was your dinner?”
“It was nice,” she said. “It went great.”
“Good.”
“How about I let you in on a little secret?”
I giggled a little. “Okay.”
“I told you about Cal, one of our VPs, dying recently, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, I’m in line for his position.” She beamed.
I squealed. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s down to me and this guy, Tom. Mark’s going to let us know his decision by Monday.”
I leaned over and hugged her. “I’m sure you’ll get it,” I said when we let go of each other.
“Aw, thanks, sweetie. I guess we’ll see.” She scratched under Halen’s chin. “So how was your day?”
“Fine.” I coughed. “Gerard and I went to that callback.”
“How did that go?”
“Pretty good. One of the directors picked Gerard and me to be the leads in this one play that a friend of his wrote.” I looked around for the script.
“What’s it about?”
“I haven’t read the script yet.”
Mom laughed. “That’s not the only show you’re in, is it?”
“No. I’m in a few more.”
“Well, good. Let me know if you’re going to need anything.”
“I will.”
“I brought you some garlic mashed potatoes home,” she said. “Since you love those.”
I giggled a little. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” she said, tugging at my wrist. “Grammy left.”
“Do we have any ice cream?”
“Triple fudge. Just bought some.”
We laughed. I let her lead me downstairs.
Halen meowed.
“Sorry, kitty,” I said, flicking on the light switch.
I decided to close my door for privacy, kicked my shoes off, and went online.
No one was on, and I wasn’t in the mood for a House marathon right now.
Damn speech.
I wasn’t in the mood for homework, either, but it obviously had to be done.
Later.
I dug out one of the baggy t-shirts I sleep in and a pair of soft cotton shorts, put them on and curled up on my bed with Halen.
“Meow,” she said.
I groaned. “Did you come up here to hide from Gram, too?”
She purred.
“I’m telling you, Halen,” I said. “She’s going to drive me absolutely insane. One day, they’re going to have to come and put me in a straitjacket and lock me up in a padded room.”
She purred some more.
“You know, I don’t like the idea of you purring because I’m in a mental hospital,” I said. “The least you could do is hiss or something.”
“Meow?”
“Oh, shit,” I said, scratching under her chin. “You are just too cute for your own good, you know that?”
More purring.
“I’m probably not far from scratching the walls, kicking and screaming,” I said. “Isn’t talking to yourself a sign of insanity? I mean, I’m talking to a cat, so there’s really not much difference.”
No response. Halen just stretched.
I sighed and reached for my remote to turn my TV on. I thought of all the work I needed to do, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
And then a House rerun came on.
I figured this counted for something, after all.
Research.
Halfway into the episode, someone knocked on my door.
“I’m not hungry!” I shouted.
My mother walked in, laughing. “Not even for Grammy’s famous spaghetti and chicken?”
“Don’t speak of her to me.”
Mom sat down on my bed and rubbed Halen’s tummy. “Gram said you’re not feeling well.”
“I feel awful.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just have a headache and a stomachache.”
“And you’re mad at Gram.”
Way to state the obvious. “Why is she always talking about Dad? I mean, the only thing she calls him is ‘that scumbag father of yours’.” My nose scrunched up as I tried to imitate Gram’s deep, authoritative voice.
My voice is neither deep nor authoritative, by any means.
Mom laughed a little, tweaked my nose, and sighed. “It’s best not to speak ill of the dead,” she said.
“Come on,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “You’re not superstitious.”
I once broke a mirror as a kid, and was absolutely devastated to think I’d brought seven years of bad luck on myself. It took my mother two days to humor me out of it.
She smirked. “Of course not. It’s just . . . He’s dead. There’s no point in constantly dredging up the past.”
“Tell that to Gram,” I said.
“Well, Lucas was her son,” she said. “She can talk about him whenever she wants.”
“Well, yeah, but . . .” My voice trailed off. This was pointless. “Never mind. How was your dinner?”
“It was nice,” she said. “It went great.”
“Good.”
“How about I let you in on a little secret?”
I giggled a little. “Okay.”
“I told you about Cal, one of our VPs, dying recently, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, I’m in line for his position.” She beamed.
I squealed. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s down to me and this guy, Tom. Mark’s going to let us know his decision by Monday.”
I leaned over and hugged her. “I’m sure you’ll get it,” I said when we let go of each other.
“Aw, thanks, sweetie. I guess we’ll see.” She scratched under Halen’s chin. “So how was your day?”
“Fine.” I coughed. “Gerard and I went to that callback.”
“How did that go?”
“Pretty good. One of the directors picked Gerard and me to be the leads in this one play that a friend of his wrote.” I looked around for the script.
“What’s it about?”
“I haven’t read the script yet.”
Mom laughed. “That’s not the only show you’re in, is it?”
“No. I’m in a few more.”
“Well, good. Let me know if you’re going to need anything.”
“I will.”
“I brought you some garlic mashed potatoes home,” she said. “Since you love those.”
I giggled a little. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” she said, tugging at my wrist. “Grammy left.”
“Do we have any ice cream?”
“Triple fudge. Just bought some.”
We laughed. I let her lead me downstairs.
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