Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > It's Hard To Say I Do When I Don't
Before This All Happened...
0 reviewsA throwback and a bit of history on our young character, Tara. (How cheesy does that sound?!)
0Unrated
Note: This is a filler chapter, I figured I'd let you know a little more about Tara before we return to...Well, if you've been reading (like all of you should be), you know what's going on. Short, I know, but I don't really have time to write long chapters anymore. Enjoy anyways! ~Kiki~
Tara's POV
As a kid, I never really was popular. I grew up in the dirty West Side of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where I was the only white girl in a ten-block radius. When I was in primary school, I only had a few friends, and as I made my way towards the cliques and dramas of junior high, I wasn't exactly social. Plenty of people thought I was pretty, and that I had the image of a cheerleading captain, I just never had the pep.
Everyone always said I looked just like my mom. My dark hair and deep skin and eyes came straight from my mother, that was for sure, but nobody had ever really been able to compare me to my dad. His curly brown hair had been handed off to me, along with his Italian facial structure. Other than that, I was full-blown Indian, my mother coming from a small tribe north of Milwaukee, near Green Bay. My father was 29 when he walked out on my mother, who was eight years his elder, and my ten-year-old self. When I'd asked my mom later about why he left, all I got was, "He can't be a good father to you."
It wasn't until I was fifteen that I found out that my mother had kicked him out. He was having an affair with a sixteen-year-old, and she didn't want me to be a part of it when the law got involved. I also discovered that he was an addict, staying sane by the support of twice-a-day shoot-ups of heroin.
Alone with my mother, who was trying support me through her work as a waitress down the street, I quickly learned how easily my mother flew off the chain. First it was my boyfriend, who was a senior just as I was coming out of my freshman year, that she didn't approve of, because, as she put it, "Honey, but, he's not Indian."
Later, it was my sudden turn from PacSun tees and American Eagle jeans to exclusively Hot Topic, my wardrobe mow ranging from black, black, and some more black.
The final button was pushed late in my senior year when my mom found out about my best friend Lila (who shared my same interests in colors) suggesting late one night we "try some green." I didn't get what she meant at first, but found it was druggie-speak for smoking weed. After trying it, I got hooked, got high, and got homeless.
I hitchhiked my way to Chicago, where under the bright lights and breathing the smoggy air I finally turned my life around. I got a job tutoring kids at a local community center, and paid the rent on my brand new apartment by becoming an editor for a Chicago underground music magazine.
It wasn't until I was picking up lunch for my co-workers one day at a local Pick-'N-Save when my life was flipped by a certain red-faced lead singer recklessly steering a cart past me and the box of Twinkies I just picked up off the shelf.
Tara's POV
As a kid, I never really was popular. I grew up in the dirty West Side of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where I was the only white girl in a ten-block radius. When I was in primary school, I only had a few friends, and as I made my way towards the cliques and dramas of junior high, I wasn't exactly social. Plenty of people thought I was pretty, and that I had the image of a cheerleading captain, I just never had the pep.
Everyone always said I looked just like my mom. My dark hair and deep skin and eyes came straight from my mother, that was for sure, but nobody had ever really been able to compare me to my dad. His curly brown hair had been handed off to me, along with his Italian facial structure. Other than that, I was full-blown Indian, my mother coming from a small tribe north of Milwaukee, near Green Bay. My father was 29 when he walked out on my mother, who was eight years his elder, and my ten-year-old self. When I'd asked my mom later about why he left, all I got was, "He can't be a good father to you."
It wasn't until I was fifteen that I found out that my mother had kicked him out. He was having an affair with a sixteen-year-old, and she didn't want me to be a part of it when the law got involved. I also discovered that he was an addict, staying sane by the support of twice-a-day shoot-ups of heroin.
Alone with my mother, who was trying support me through her work as a waitress down the street, I quickly learned how easily my mother flew off the chain. First it was my boyfriend, who was a senior just as I was coming out of my freshman year, that she didn't approve of, because, as she put it, "Honey, but, he's not Indian."
Later, it was my sudden turn from PacSun tees and American Eagle jeans to exclusively Hot Topic, my wardrobe mow ranging from black, black, and some more black.
The final button was pushed late in my senior year when my mom found out about my best friend Lila (who shared my same interests in colors) suggesting late one night we "try some green." I didn't get what she meant at first, but found it was druggie-speak for smoking weed. After trying it, I got hooked, got high, and got homeless.
I hitchhiked my way to Chicago, where under the bright lights and breathing the smoggy air I finally turned my life around. I got a job tutoring kids at a local community center, and paid the rent on my brand new apartment by becoming an editor for a Chicago underground music magazine.
It wasn't until I was picking up lunch for my co-workers one day at a local Pick-'N-Save when my life was flipped by a certain red-faced lead singer recklessly steering a cart past me and the box of Twinkies I just picked up off the shelf.
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