Gender: Female
Status: Married
Age: 30
Sign: Aquarius
City: Devil's Lake
State: Wisconsin
Country: US
Signup Date: 5/21/2007
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Wednesday, July 29, 2009
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Category: MySpace
It was so easy to escape reality when imagination was the law, and consequence was merely a setback. Joey was my next door neighbor in Northlake, and whenever he stole things from his mother to impress me, it felt like I mattered to someone. Every moment I was with him was another moment that my existence in either fiction or reality was influential and important. Five years old, it fucking mattered and structured me to lust that sensation- the feeling of ultimate relevance.
Naturally time and turbulence will strip you of your armor without hesitation. In time, everything loses its luster, even metal. I left Northlake when I was six, and six year olds don't stay in contact. In my lonely fucking childhood, I'd think back to my time with Joey and never find a mate that would make me laugh the way he would, a younger boy without the ability to be embarassed. I loved him so much that it only struck me when I was apart from him. On the other side of my longing, my friend Chris- the smart boy that understood what it was like to be different. Without Northlake, my heart seemed to break more with every passing year.
Wisconsin wasn't special, just another environment filled with people that thought I was strange. Once or twice a year, though, I'd escape and head to Northlake to visit my aunt, and now and then, I'd see them! Joey never changed, just grew more and more into a teenager, Chris was always busy.
Time finally caught up with me, after more and more failed friendships rendered me a skeleton of how I once mattered to Joey. A social retard, Joey would call me on the phone and my heart would flutter again- as if I was the five year old girl of his dreams again. I loved it, I craved it and the feeling kept me from the edge of surrender more than once. His voice was so comforting, his words were so entertaining. When time would pass without our calls, I'd feel alone and sad, but never understood why.
It went on for a little while, and we'd discussed nearly everything that friends discuss. In a male-female friendship, sexual innuendo is not only healthy, but necessary. Often we'd jest about where and how we'd fuck each other, but in my visits, it would never happen.
Of course, when he was sixteen and I was seventeen, it was a craving I often considered seriously. When it came time to visit, he was so caring, so fun and easy to talk to. I spent every moment with him that I could, and he let me take Chris with us. We did everything we could together before Chris had to leave. Alone with Joey with ripped pants from a fence jumping expedition, he led me to Andy's house....and Andy was a hot long haired guy. One chick, a room of guys, it was comfort. In my reality, women were my internal dung beetles, they not only bit, but couldn't stay out of my shit. Men were just real- relaxed, non-judgemental, and if they were serious, it was just serious. The group was small....just me, Joey, Andy, some other dude and...Mike.
Mike was truly into drugs, and we all smoked weed that day, but he told me about drugs I'd never even heard of! The three of us headed back to Joey's, and he crashed before his mom could find out he was stoned. I loved that boy, thought of him almost like a brother. Next to me, though, was the opposite. Mike was Chris's neighbor, a boy that only picked on me when I discovered Chris and Joey. He smoked Marlboros though, and when you're a horny young girl, that's just enough.
We hung out, we talked about music and drugs, shit and terrible deformations. Although the bond of siblinghood would never be there, there was something hot about hanging out with him, and sometimes we'd kiss. Eventually, though, the lust controlled me, and we went to a church that was across the street from my aunt's and Joey's house, whereupon we did fuck. At completion, my first thought was about how I'd tell Joey...since it should have been someone I trusted instead of some junkie that wouldn't remember my name despite our history. I did walk him home, to find my mother talking with his mother. Fuck!
She talked to his mother like I was a little trouble child, but really, she had no clue.
"Where have you been?" she'd humorlessly ask me. I rolled my eyes, blatant disrespect for her lame attempts to appear dogmatic. "It's three in the morning."
"I've just been out walking," I'd tell her. She said some stupid shit to his mother as he crawled onto his porch. His mother screamed at him about how grounded he was and I lost my color remembering my youth. Looking behind his door, a house lived unorganized and poor- lonely and disconnected. It struck me as so new and so familiar, the porch was aged badly with time, but alas the memory arose....I walked further to the home of my best friend, a kindergarten genius
named Christopher. He would be sleeping, but his neighbor was awake.
A man sat smoking a cigarette on the porch of his blue house. "What do
you know about killing?" I asked him. I'd never met him
before, but he looked at me, a five year old girl in the middle of the
night unaccompanied by an adult, and smiled cruelly. "I know about
killing. It's harder not to kill than it is to kill. You take a knife
and cut someone's neck and they're killed. That's easy." I walked up
on his porch fearlessly, he didn't object. "Do you have a
knife?" I said. He smiled like the redneck jackass he was and dug in
his pocket. He hit a switch and a shiny silver erection popped out
from a black handle. He handed it to me to see what I would do.
"Where do I strike?" He pointed to his adam's apple. I followed my
instructions, but he seemed so surprised as he died. I kept the knife, I still have it.
It's kind of funny, but I never heard anything at all about that guy
until ten years later when his fucked-up kid and I.....well.....let's
just say it's funny how kids are sheltered from the very horrors of
their own neighborhoods in a stupid effort to give them the blackened
illusion that the world is safe, logical and tidy. "You have nothing to say for yourself?" My mother just wanted to embarass me like she normally did when she entered my school building. However, I just looked ahead at the scene of my first murder and it smacked my ass harder than a drunken pedophile. "I'm so sorry about this," she told his mother.
She shouldn't have. As I recalled, his father would have done it if Mike didn't, so either way, this bitch would be upset with me for keeping the man of the house for the night. I just started walking away, only wanting Mike to go on with the few things he felt passion about. I wanted him, sadly, to stay into drugs because talking with him was better when he wasn't sober. Sobriety rendered him a guy that no one would ever like, and thus he kept himself away. Whether or not it was my fault for killing his father, I could see in his eyes that the escape from reality was the only world he could truly find comfort in.
I didn't sleep well. I had to sleep on the carpet in the dining room on a cushion, and all I could think about was what Mike would have been like if he actually had a father. It just sewed my brain shut in colors and strands of foreign matter...it made no sense and I couldn't explain what led me to kill a man in the first place. Of all the stupid Northlake coincidences- evading the fornication of two great male friends just to fuck an old enemy...I was drowning in too much stuff, just like that old L7 song, "One More Thing." Holy fucking girl scouts, I was in awe of my compulsive disorders. In fact, I still didn't know that it actually was a disorder. It really seemed like a puzzle of random pieces until more of the parts connected.It was summer, though, and even in the cute little blue dress that I wore for the ride back to Wisconsin, it was fucking hot. Joey was sad to hear my goodbyes, but we had a fun visit and talking with him meant the world to me. My heart broke when I touched him, wondering what made me choose the wrong person so obviously. My mind triggered, and I hugged him suddenly. My hair was wet from dipping it in the pool and I rested it on his arm affectionately. I wished he really was my brother, but alas reality hates my fucking guts and my murders would be a journal he would never read. The threads weaved in and out of my gray matter, and lights flickered off in my sanity. It was in his arms that I started having a seizure.
He called every day after I got back to Wisconsin, but there was no recovery from feeling like I'd let down a brother. "Mike says that you raped him," he said to me.
Fucking hell, it never ends. Even in the quest for balance, you slide in your own shit now and then.
1:31 AM
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