"people are strange / when you're a stranger / faces seem ugly when you're alone / women seem wicked / when you're unwanted / streets are uneven when you're down"
-The Doors: People Are Strange
Ive been inspired by Kris7 and his latest journal entry. He has written a magnificent entry about a wholly personal subject, and I will try to follow suit. Im not sure how good this will be, so forgive me if it comes out sounding less than what I envisioned it would.
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It was my freshman year of high school. I was a scrawny puissant of a boy, full of anger and rage. I knew from a young age that no one was going to help me through life and that the only one I could count on was myself, and this had become a badge that I wore daily. In essence: I was a teenager.
I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be the loner in this school that I was in my last school; something I didnt really like, but that I could not change. I had jut finished checking in to the school (since I started 2 months later than everyone else) when I decided it was time to check back out (read: ditched). There was a little gas station across the street, so I decided I would stop in to buy a soda before I went back home. Yes, back home. I was that much of a loser.
I walked into the store, made my way to the back to grab a soda, and turned to walk back to the counter when I saw her. She had just walked in with her friends and was looking to get some water. She was a small Filipino girl of 52 with beautiful legs, short silken black hair, the sweetest voice, and the most beautiful almond shaped eyes I had ever seen. I was instantly smitten. But I knew she would never give me the time of day. After all she was a cheerleader and I was nothing.
Days went by and I could not get her out of my head. I would close my eyes and see her running down the hallways, smiling and laughing, while I chased after her. I could hear her sweet voice as it escaped her lips, whispering sweet words to me while I held her in my arms tightly. I could even smell the intoxicating scent of her hair and perfume (which I later found out was only her she never wore perfume). And I hated myself for looking the way I do, and for being who I was. I wished that I could have been better looking, smarter, funnier, or (at the very least) richer, so that I might have something to entice her with.
But I had nothing.
Days went by again, and I decided it was time to actually show up for all of my classes. I walked into my second period class (Biology) and noticed that I had never been there before. The teacher asked me where I had been, and I mumbled something about chronic illness. He brushed it off and told me to take a seat in the back. I turned to look at where I would be sitting, and saw her again occupying the seat next t mine.
I sat down nervously and introduced myself. She introduced herself as well, and we shook hands. I had never felt smoother skin in my entire life, and even to this day wonder if I ever will. We talked about the class, school, her cheerleading, and books (BOOKS!!!). It seemed that we both had a penchant for the macabre erotica, and that just deepened my infatuation for her.
Fast forward a few months and we are now the best of friends. We hangout all day long, and are nigh inseparable come evening. The problem however, is she is dating a scrawnier little boy than even me. Someone she could easily subjugate and completely hold dominion over. I wanted her more than anything else, but she was just out of my grasp. And the worst part? He would ask me for advice since I was her best friend. I had become Cyrano.
Hell, I even lent him $50 to take her to the movies once. Gods, I had never wanted to hurt myself more than when I handed him that money. I knew full well that he would be kissing her later, and that said kisses would be the reward for a wonderful evening that I had sponsored financially.
I went home that night and had a nervous breakdown. That was the first night I started to beat myself up. Or more specifically, that was the night I broke my own finger. Not because of the girl, or because of the fact that I wanted her, but because I was weak. I was too weak to bring myself to tell her how I felt. I knew she felt the same, as I had caught stolen moments of her looking at me longingly, but I was too scared of her rejecting me. It was safer in my mind, and I could not bear the thought of reality being any different. So I chose to inflict physical pain on myself to divert the attention from the pain in my heart.
*sigh*
Couple of weeks later they broke up. We went to see a movie (that I cannot for the life of me remember) and she was horribly sick. It was she, her bf, my good friend El Patron, his girl Sunshine, our mutual friend Donna, my friend Gerry, and myself. She had the flu, but didnt want to go home. So we piled into El Patrons van and drove around for a while.
She sat in the back row with her bf, and was whispering something in his ear when I turned around to ask what CD we all wanted to listen to. I had assumed she was telling him that she loved him, but she was merely asking if he could tell us to stop the van so she could vomit. He looked at her disgusted and said, rather rudely, shes gotta hurl pull over. She looked at me mortified that he had been so crude about it when we pulled over. And to top it off, he didnt even offer any words of compassion to her.
Well, we sat around while she took care of things when I overheard him talking to his friend on a payphone. I only caught bits and pieces, but he was informing his nameless friend that she wasnt giving it up and that he was going to find some on the side. No sooner had those words left his mouth than I lunged at him full force.
Everyone looked at me like I was possessed, but I knew better. I knew what he had said. I felt his check burst under my fist, and relished every millisecond of it. He reeled back and hit me square on the jaw, but I was too enraged to feel it. I pulled back and punched him flat on his nose, sending him onto the floor. One would think I would stop there, watching his blood flow freely from him nostrils, but I didnt.
I jumped onto his back, since he spun while falling and was facing the ground, and began to pound his face into the pavement. I was told later that I was screaming obscenities in both English and Spanish while spit flew out of my mouth. I was even compared to a bulldog later by my friend Gerry.
So he lay there, beaten and bleeding when she came out of the bathroom, wondering what all the commotion was. And when she saw him on the floor, and my friends holding me back, she came to the obvious conclusion: I was a jealous fucker. Which I dont deny, but that was not the reason this all happened. But all my reasons didnt stop her from looking at me with sheer disgust in her eyes while she bent down to see if he was ok. She was disgusted with me, while she loved him.
My heart broke that day
"words... you're married to your pain / although you hit me hard, I come back / the earth's cries ease the pain... on the inside / run behind.... which one will I face?"
Sunny Day Real Estate: Song About An Angel
***************************
More to come later. This is going to be a multi-day post.
-The Doors: People Are Strange
Ive been inspired by Kris7 and his latest journal entry. He has written a magnificent entry about a wholly personal subject, and I will try to follow suit. Im not sure how good this will be, so forgive me if it comes out sounding less than what I envisioned it would.
***************************
It was my freshman year of high school. I was a scrawny puissant of a boy, full of anger and rage. I knew from a young age that no one was going to help me through life and that the only one I could count on was myself, and this had become a badge that I wore daily. In essence: I was a teenager.
I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be the loner in this school that I was in my last school; something I didnt really like, but that I could not change. I had jut finished checking in to the school (since I started 2 months later than everyone else) when I decided it was time to check back out (read: ditched). There was a little gas station across the street, so I decided I would stop in to buy a soda before I went back home. Yes, back home. I was that much of a loser.
I walked into the store, made my way to the back to grab a soda, and turned to walk back to the counter when I saw her. She had just walked in with her friends and was looking to get some water. She was a small Filipino girl of 52 with beautiful legs, short silken black hair, the sweetest voice, and the most beautiful almond shaped eyes I had ever seen. I was instantly smitten. But I knew she would never give me the time of day. After all she was a cheerleader and I was nothing.
Days went by and I could not get her out of my head. I would close my eyes and see her running down the hallways, smiling and laughing, while I chased after her. I could hear her sweet voice as it escaped her lips, whispering sweet words to me while I held her in my arms tightly. I could even smell the intoxicating scent of her hair and perfume (which I later found out was only her she never wore perfume). And I hated myself for looking the way I do, and for being who I was. I wished that I could have been better looking, smarter, funnier, or (at the very least) richer, so that I might have something to entice her with.
But I had nothing.
Days went by again, and I decided it was time to actually show up for all of my classes. I walked into my second period class (Biology) and noticed that I had never been there before. The teacher asked me where I had been, and I mumbled something about chronic illness. He brushed it off and told me to take a seat in the back. I turned to look at where I would be sitting, and saw her again occupying the seat next t mine.
I sat down nervously and introduced myself. She introduced herself as well, and we shook hands. I had never felt smoother skin in my entire life, and even to this day wonder if I ever will. We talked about the class, school, her cheerleading, and books (BOOKS!!!). It seemed that we both had a penchant for the macabre erotica, and that just deepened my infatuation for her.
Fast forward a few months and we are now the best of friends. We hangout all day long, and are nigh inseparable come evening. The problem however, is she is dating a scrawnier little boy than even me. Someone she could easily subjugate and completely hold dominion over. I wanted her more than anything else, but she was just out of my grasp. And the worst part? He would ask me for advice since I was her best friend. I had become Cyrano.
Hell, I even lent him $50 to take her to the movies once. Gods, I had never wanted to hurt myself more than when I handed him that money. I knew full well that he would be kissing her later, and that said kisses would be the reward for a wonderful evening that I had sponsored financially.
I went home that night and had a nervous breakdown. That was the first night I started to beat myself up. Or more specifically, that was the night I broke my own finger. Not because of the girl, or because of the fact that I wanted her, but because I was weak. I was too weak to bring myself to tell her how I felt. I knew she felt the same, as I had caught stolen moments of her looking at me longingly, but I was too scared of her rejecting me. It was safer in my mind, and I could not bear the thought of reality being any different. So I chose to inflict physical pain on myself to divert the attention from the pain in my heart.
*sigh*
Couple of weeks later they broke up. We went to see a movie (that I cannot for the life of me remember) and she was horribly sick. It was she, her bf, my good friend El Patron, his girl Sunshine, our mutual friend Donna, my friend Gerry, and myself. She had the flu, but didnt want to go home. So we piled into El Patrons van and drove around for a while.
She sat in the back row with her bf, and was whispering something in his ear when I turned around to ask what CD we all wanted to listen to. I had assumed she was telling him that she loved him, but she was merely asking if he could tell us to stop the van so she could vomit. He looked at her disgusted and said, rather rudely, shes gotta hurl pull over. She looked at me mortified that he had been so crude about it when we pulled over. And to top it off, he didnt even offer any words of compassion to her.
Well, we sat around while she took care of things when I overheard him talking to his friend on a payphone. I only caught bits and pieces, but he was informing his nameless friend that she wasnt giving it up and that he was going to find some on the side. No sooner had those words left his mouth than I lunged at him full force.
Everyone looked at me like I was possessed, but I knew better. I knew what he had said. I felt his check burst under my fist, and relished every millisecond of it. He reeled back and hit me square on the jaw, but I was too enraged to feel it. I pulled back and punched him flat on his nose, sending him onto the floor. One would think I would stop there, watching his blood flow freely from him nostrils, but I didnt.
I jumped onto his back, since he spun while falling and was facing the ground, and began to pound his face into the pavement. I was told later that I was screaming obscenities in both English and Spanish while spit flew out of my mouth. I was even compared to a bulldog later by my friend Gerry.
So he lay there, beaten and bleeding when she came out of the bathroom, wondering what all the commotion was. And when she saw him on the floor, and my friends holding me back, she came to the obvious conclusion: I was a jealous fucker. Which I dont deny, but that was not the reason this all happened. But all my reasons didnt stop her from looking at me with sheer disgust in her eyes while she bent down to see if he was ok. She was disgusted with me, while she loved him.
My heart broke that day
"words... you're married to your pain / although you hit me hard, I come back / the earth's cries ease the pain... on the inside / run behind.... which one will I face?"
Sunny Day Real Estate: Song About An Angel
***************************
More to come later. This is going to be a multi-day post.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
I'll be waiting to read the rest.
How are you doing?? done with the xmas shopping yet?