| Good, Bad; Lana | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 19 2008, 10:19 PM (152 Views) | |
| Nobodies Hippie | Mar 19 2008, 10:19 PM Post #1 |
|
Administrator
|
This story is dedicated to K.C Keeler. A girl in foster care, who has to deal with a lot of bs she doesn’t deserve. Also one of my biggest heroes. And one of my Best friends. I sat on the bed the comforter was white. White, and soft, really soft. I made a mental note that I would steal the comforter when I was kicked out. Notice the ‘when’, not ‘if’. It’s pretty much a sealed deal. I haven’t stayed in a home for longer than a month. Ever. Well, once, in the beginning. But look what happened then, never mind. I wont get into that. The foster mom called me. I ignored her; in the distance I could hear the truck, the truck that had transported me here, to my latest rendition of hell. Brandy. The taste was on my lips. It reminded me, of a night long ago. My real father took advantage of me; I was so young. He was so drunk. His voice rung clear as a bell throughout my ears. “Baby.” He would say, his voice repulsed me. I wiped my lips; the buzz from the alcohol was wearing off. I pulled out a roach from a joint I shared with a homeless man earlier, Purple Kush, the finest shit that man had ever seen. Throughout my life in foster care I’d seen it all. Smoked it all. Sniffed it all. Inhaled, exhaled. Though the only drug that I stayed loyal to was the Ganja, Mary Jane, bud, Mary Go Round, Budha, Wacky Tabaccy, my best friend, and the door opener, the gateway, to the world of drugs if you will. Booze suited me; I mean I knew a lot of people. People who would love to supply drugs and alcohol to a young, natural beauty like me. No I'm not conceited. But I know the truth. Why else would old men touch me, like I was their property? Sick, but it was the truth. I didn’t care. I got what I wanted one way or another. I pulled out her Zippo lighter; the red Anarchy symbol was peeling. Time to head to Spencer’s and snatch another one. Mental note number two. I sighed. Light, light, light. Suck, suck, suck. Swallow, swallow, swallow. Hold it. Now exhale. “Smoke? Do I smell smoke?” No shit Sherlock I thought, what a moron. Then I put out the roach and hid it in the drawer beside the bed. “Laney?” Lana, you idiot. “Yea?” I answered, sweetly. Almost angelically. “Where’s that smoke coming from?” My Marijuana cigarette was burning, wanna hit it? I smiled to myself. I wouldn’t ever waste Purple on the wrinkly witch, really. “I'm not sure, you smell it too?” The foster witch nodded slowly, “I’ll be downstairs, dinners ready whenever you get hungry.” I smiled, I was actually hungry, and the munchies were getting the best of me. “Thank you, Carolyn.” Good Lana said, graciously. What was with the act, I wondered. “Meredith, you mean.” And this is where the fun begins. “No, I mean Carolyn. I call every old hag I live with Carolyn.” Foster Mom/Witch/Carolyn/Meredith looked shocked. Bad Lana smirked. Walking down the shitty stairs in the shitty house I caught a whiff of the food. It smelled good. Really good. I rubbed my neck. If she wanted to me say grace Bad Lana was gonna slap a hoe. I giggled. Not believing I just thought that. Funny girl. Click, flip, click, flip, click, flip. I fingered her lighter in her jacket pocket. It felt cold, smooth, safe. One of my few possessions I treasured most, though I replaced it often when the sticker began to peel. Good Lana picked up a plate. It was warmed, covered with various unknowns. The good shit, the home cooked shit. Something that was rare to me. Bad Lana could live off Twinkies if she had to. Now that I thought about it... Good Lana could too. I slapped down my plate. Bits of the unknown food splattered on the table. Splat, wipe, scrub, wipe. Control freak, Foster Mom/Witch/Carolyn/Meredith sure was. Yuck. Yum. Good food. I ate all of it. Then got some more. Foster Mom/Witch/Carolyn/Meredith placed a plate of what looked like apple pie in front of me. Damn. I could get used to this. “I didn’t make any of this.” She admitted, ashamed. I laughed. “No shit?” She smiled, “no shit.” I rolled my eyes and pushed around the a-pie. “This was some pretty good grub, but a total heartbreaker knowing you didn’t produce it.” I said standing by my chair. “Grub?” she repeated dumbly, I laughed and walked away from the table. Window. Climb out. Sit. Call. Don’t forget to call. Directions from Ron. Old, fat, Ron. Dial. “Yo, Ronny.” How much do I miss him? Tons, I'm almost dead without my dear, old fat man. Not really. But hey, he gets my shit, so I owe him some false lovin’. “Yea, I miss you baby.” Gag me with a fucking spoon. “Love you too. Oh yea. Loving every minute of it.” He asked me how it was here, how the fuck did he think it was? “Yea, I understand, I have to go too.” He told me he had some Salvia with my name on it. Gotta love a guy with the goods. Ha. “Yea, rad. Later.’” Click. How heartwarming. Climb in. Shut window. Put hair up. Sigh melodramatically. Sit on really soft white comforter feel insecure for once. Vulnerability. One of the many things I hate. Almost as much as I hate CPS, I'm almost 18, come on! Oh yea, and Narcs. Damn. Get a life, yea? I hate the whole institutional feeling, the feeling of containment. I like my fair share of freedom. Obviously. I hate sob stories. I hate having a boyfriend under eighteen; I hate having a ’boyfriend’ period. I hate father figures. And mother figures. That’s why I call them all Carolyn. I hate that name. Clearly. I hate this country. The government, the president. The president’s daughter. I hate a whole lot more. But hey, hate is a passionate emotion. At least I'm passionate about something! I love few things. Sex. Not having sex. Teasing guys, you know, it’s interesting. I love Mary Jane. Actually I love being a lesbian. For her, duh! Come on, that was funny. Take my hair down. Walk to the bathroom. Undress and stand under icy cold water for twenty minutes. Sigh. Ganja, that’s what I need. Luckily, I have about 5 grams of Dro, gotta love my drug-dealing sweetheart. Haha. Come on! Again, funny. I'm demented. Along with a demented sense of humor. Shruggity shrug. Sleep, I should do that, I thought. Past tense. Present tense. Love it. I guess I should add that to the list. I finally fall asleep. I dreamt about my mom. Her face. Never mind, forget it. Mother figures suck. I walk downstairs to see Carolyn sitting at the table with a newspaper under her nose. “Lana, the social worker called, you’re leaving in an hour.” Joy coursing through my veins. How poetic. “Aww, what a shame.” Good Lana means it to an extent, Bad Lana is just being a sarcastic bitch. Carolyn what’s Her Name nods solemnly. My bag is packed, my hair is brushed, and so are my teeth. My mouth tastes like weed. I have cottonmouth like a bitch. Kotton Mouth King. Scratch that, queen. Queen, damn it. I'm happy now, and I giggle a lot. Sheryl Stone (er) my social worker is giving me a dirty look. Bitter bitch. She’s just jealous I can smoke and she can’t. Well, actually I can’t either. That doesn’t stop me. Clearly. We make it to the orphanage. Do they call them that anymore? Ah who cares? I smell like pot. Ganja, marijuana, wacky tabaccy, sticky icky, grass, weed. Mary mother fucking Jane. Good Lana doesn’t like my attitude. Bad Lana is egging me on. I want some rum, vodka maybe. Spritzed with something fruity. Who says ‘spritzed’? Me! Me! I feel like throwing up. I throw up on the sidewalk. “Lovely.” Sheryl Stoner says. “Bitch,” I mutter. It was that damn apple pie. Fucking Nazi. I got puke in my hair, strawberries and bile, appetizing. I smile as we walk in. People whisper. I giggle. I'm fucking STONED. “I'm happy!” I exclaim. “I'm sure you are honey.” Sheryl says sarcastically. “Why are you such a goddamn bitch?!” I scream. Am I crying? Fuck. I wake up in a small room. “You new here?” Whoa, she looks like she devoured Noah’s ark. Like the whole damn boat. “Apparently.” I muttered. I pull out a cig. Light, light, light. Suck, suck, suck. Swallow, swallow, swallow. Hold it. Now exhale. Repeat. “No cigarettes in here.” Noah’s murderer stated, she was afraid of me. Good. “Ha, looks like rules are gonna be changing.” I smiled. Suck, suck, suck. Swallow, swallow, swallow. Hold it. Now exhale. “Where’s the food at?” She should know. Haha. The girl shrugged. Fucking Narc. I walk outside. The sky is gray. I pull out my notebook. Bench. I find one. Then sit. “Hey.” I don’t look up. “Go away.” Is Bad Lana’s response, Good Lana doesn’t like my bad manners. “Can I sit here?” He asks. “No.” I say as I continue to write. He sits down anyway. Dick. “What are you writing?” Damn. You idiot. “None of your damn business. Look, can’t you take a hint?” He shrugs; I can see it from the corner of my eye. “I don’t take rejection well.” Clearly. “You should learn.” He could use a few tips. “I'm outtie.” I say over my shoulder already fleeting from him. “Wait!” He catches up to me. “What?” My tone is harsh. Signifying he better get the fuck away. “What’s your name?” I smile. “Mary Jane. My last name is Ganja.” I keep walking. My pace quickening. “Ah. I see.” He pulls out what looks to be a bag of swag. “Put that weak shit away. I bet you have the lowest tolerance ever. What is that? A nick? I wouldn’t even be buzzed if I smoked all of that on my own.” Which was probably true. By the look on his face I finally punctured his undying confidence. I walk away laughing. I walk back to my ‘room’. I sit on the cheap cot like bed. As I open my journal I find a nice little note. ‘My names Eric, you want to have some real fun? Meet me by the lake midnight, be careful the wardens watch everything.’ I laugh. This amuses me. I lie down; I should get some shuteye before I go get trashed. Nighty nigh Lana, dear. I wake up. Thank you internal alarm clock. Shower. Dry and straighten hair. Apply too much make up. Check. Skinnies and Sublime shirt. Check. I walk out of the door, to see a fat butch security guard sitting by the door. Damn. Window. There’s always a window. Climb out. I walk down to the lake. Eric. The annoying boy with an ego the size of… Noah’s murderer. Ha. Sigh. “You ready to get blown?” I giggle. He walks me to a car. Orphans had cars? “I stole the key.” He said as if reading my mind. I think he thinks I'm going to be impressed. I am. But I'm not planning on letting him know. We get in. He drives too fast. Good. We end up at some huge house. Ah. He actually opens my door for me. Oh he’s good. Really wants to get laid tonight. That will be left a mystery. Ha. “So… Why are you at St. Marks?” He asked me, actually interested. “Baby mama is dead and the sperm donor is locked up.” I said in a bored tone, as if the subject was dull, it was. I started walking up to the house. “Don’t you want to know why I'm there?” He asked. “Nope.” I walked in, in search for some booze. Ha. Screw booze! Eric and me found some chronic. “Lana, wanna come to the back?” I giggled and got up. We made it to the back of the huge house. He started kissing me. Get this. I let him. I pushed him on the bed. “Feisty.” He joked. I kissed him again. He began to fumble with my bra clamp. That when we heard the sirens. I pulled on my sublime shirt and started out the window. Eric followed behind, I started sprinting, fuck. I don’t wanna get caught. To bad Eric did… He was caught with the left over of the good shit. Now he’s in juvie. What a shame. Good Lana wants to visit him. Bad Lana says it’s his fault he was too stoned to run. As I sit on my cot like bed I wonder how long I’ll be pent up in here. I mean, why am I not in a foster home? I'm always in one. I’ve only been in a place like this a few times. Ha, maybe they’re sick of finding me somewhere when I always get kicked out. My face froze. That could be possible… I finally spoke to the head bitch. And yes, she is a bitch. Looks like I'm here until I have a major ‘attitude change’ but my counselor said I need to do some real ‘soul searching’ I laughed at that and she frowned, as if I disturbed her. I probably did. The bitch said this is just a game to me. And it is. I can’t help it. Like someone said, ‘Life is too serious to take it serious.’ True, true. I stood in the line to get some grub. I had to admit, it wasn’t that bad. Okay, yea it is. Sigh. “No, you’re completely wrong, the judicial branch doesn’t give a flying fuck. They just pass off laws that are made by legislative branch. Bush doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, therefore they don’t either, it’s not like you can blame them for being confused. The ass hole can’t lead them, how is he supposed to lead the country?” I smiled. Grabbing my tray I take a seat next to the brilliant boy who had just spoken. “So, your one of the few sane people here, huh?” He didn’t turn; he was deep in his conversation. “You could call it that,” he said finally turning. Again I smiled, a genuine smile. “You sane?” He asked? I think he was actually waiting for a real response. “I am, indeed.” He did a double take. He sighed, like he recognized me. “You’re quite the star here, Miss Lana Clarke.” I shook my head. “I am?” I was actually shocked. “Indeed. They say out of your 17 years of living you’ve been to over 50 houses.” I smiled. “58 but who’s counting?” He returned the smile, and from then on me and Kurt Nowell were the best of friends. Basically he was a genius, very into politics, although like me he hated authority. He listened to punk. He hated Bush. But he didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, and didn’t have sex. He was a hardcore straightedge. And to be honest… I loved that about him. He was incredible. We’d been chilling for about 3 months and I felt like I knew him forever. This was very rare. Me having friends, let alone a best friend was, well shocking. “So. If you could change one thing about your life what would you change?” This was a normal question; we always asked each other questions. Just a game we played. “Hmm. I wouldn’t have let my dad abuse me. I would have done something earlier.” He pondered the thought. “Why not just change your father?” I smiled. “Because, he helped shape who I am. He helped me meet you.” I crossed my eyes, and stuck my finger in my mouth faking a gag. “Hey now, hey now. You love me you know you do.” He murmured messing with my hair. “You know it.” I smiled and truthfully I did. In a weird way, I meant it. “Hey, come walk with me. I wanted you to see something…” He said grabbing my hand and pulling me away from our usual spot. I followed him helplessly. There was a big wall. Really big. Like, whoa. The wall read ‘punx not dead’ and a huge Anarchy symbol underneath it, then lyrics to my favorite song by Anti-Flag. It was beautiful. I hugged Kurt. “You, my friend, you’re incredible… to say the least.” He smiled and looked at the wall, he was proud. And he was truly happy, just gazing at the wall. The wall was part of a run down wing of the shelter, it was old, needing renovation, but the shelter was to poor to fix it up. The wall had a small crook in it, big enough for about 3 people. It was bound to become Kurt and my new spot. Obviously. I'm sure Kurt had considered that a long time ago seeing as he was scaling the wall. Ha. I'm in my room. Knock on my window. Ah, Kurt. I go to the window. Shocked. No, terrified, it’s Eric. I just smile. “Lookin’ good, boy.” Eric looks cold. I'm dressed to party. I was planning on finding one tonight. “Let’s go.” That’s all he had to say and I was out that window. My shirt was tight. My thirty-four c’s filled it out well, too. I was wearing low-rise jeans, too. My midriff was perfectly toned, and tanned. “We have some unfinished business to handle.” His smile was smug. I laughed as we hopped into his stolen car. We only drove a little ways. He turned the keys and slipped them into his pocket. “Come here baby.” Eric stretched his arm, as if to touch me cheek. I just kissed him. Hard. Passionless, but whatever. “Do it like you fucking mean it Lana!” He hollered, pissed. He ripped of my shirt. Then began to fumble with my bra and finally unclamped it. He kissed me, then my neck, my chest, and my stomach. The he began to unbutton my pants. “Slow down.” That just got him even more fired up. “No… No…!” I moaned. I didn’t want it. I never did. He stripped me down and had his fun. I was lying in the passenger seat, in my bra and panties. Eric brushed his fingers across my breasts. Who am I kidding he was fucking grabbing my tits. I was tired of this. Why did guys think they could do this? “I missed you, Lana, baby.” I know. I know. They always do. The next morning in the Café “Lawny…? What’s wrong? I know the food is bad, but come on… Don’t be such a drama queen.” Kurt probed, and I, I totally snapped. At the wrong person. The only right person in my life. “I'm not a fucking drama queen. I'm fucking tired of it. Fucking wastes of testosterone rubbing their grubbing fingers and stubby cocks all over me. I'm not a goddamn object!” I ran off. I didn’t want to cry in front of Kurt. He’d think I'm being a pussy. I sat by the Anarchy wall. My knees pulled into my stomach. My arms wrapped around my chest. I felt vulnerable again. I hated it. Vulnerability was weakness. “Lawny…” Kurt struggled for words. Nervous? Kurt? Never. “Um… wanna talk about it?” He kicked at the ground. I picked at my vans and just looked at the ground unmoving. “Who did it?” Kurt’s voice was steady now, he sounded pissed, and that was strange. “Who the fuck did it?!” He looked around. “What mother fucker did that to you? Lana. Who the fuck was it?!” He was screaming now. I was scared. I never saw him like this before. Ever. “Kurt, dude. Don’t worry about it, I was just being a drama queen again, you should know that.” I tried to assure him. “No. Nobody has the right to fucking touch you. Ever. That fucker is dead.” He helped me up and hugged me. See, Kurt isn’t a small guy. He’s athletic, a skater build. I never realized this, till now. I always thought of myself as the dominant one in our friendship, but now, now I feel like he’s ready to beat somebody’s ass. “I'm sorry.” He said as we walked back to the rec. room. I smiled. “Well, I thought that was pretty hot.” I said, laughing to myself. “Really?” His eyes brightened. I loved to do this to him. Watch his ego go sky high. “Awh, Lawny don’t do that to me.” His face fell. “I'm serious. I love it when a man takes control.” I giggled. Too easy. “Shut up.” I smiled and squeezed his hand and let go. Eric then turned the corner. “Hey baby. Last night was phenomenal.” I grumbled something under my breath and looked down. “Who are you…?” Kurt asked, tensing up. “Lana’s boyfriend and you?” Kurt looked confused. And I was shaking with fury. “Her best---…” I cut him short. “No, Eric, you are a fucking dirty bastard.” Recognition flashed across Kurt’s face. “You mother fucker. It was you. You nasty piece of shit!” He screamed. He shoved his fist in Eric’s face. Before I knew it the were on the ground wrestling, so far they both got punched in the face a few times. Kurt’s fist connected to Eric’s jaw, and I heard it pop. “Kurt, come on! Kurt, seriously, do you want to get sent out of here?!” I cried. If he left me. Damn. Just as Kurt was getting up, Eric knocked him down behind. Kurt’s head landed on the ground. Hard. Eric ran. I ran too. I ran to the security. I told them what happened, Kurt was rushed to the hospital. And they wouldn’t even let me go. “Misty, come on, you know me. You know that Kurt is my best friend. And I swear to you if he dies or something, and….” I started crying. Like really crying, you know the ribs shaking head bobbing weeping type of crying? Well that’s me. “Oh come on Lana.. I'm sure he’ll be fine… but it’s policy…” Misty thought for a moment, and took a deep breath, followed by the nicest thing she’d ever say to me. “Get your stupid ass in the car.” I quickened my pace as we reached the ER; I was going to fucking murder Eric. Not even kidding. Okay, maybe I am. But you get what I mean. “Can I see Kurt? Kurt Nowell.” I asked trying to sound polite. “If your not family then…” The nurse pointed to a poster next to her shabby desk that read: ONLY FAMILY MEMBER VISITATION. I sighed, and then turned my head back to her. “I'm his sister.” The nurses eyes twinkled, “Oh, dear. I'm sorry, follow me.” Cha ching. She led me to a small room with a white curtain surrounding a bed. My stomach lurched. “Kurt… Kiddo, you okay?” The nurse left silently. “Lawny?” He replied meekly. I pulled the curtain away from his bed and swallowed, his head was wrapped with white gauze. I hugged him. “You moron, I knew this was going to happen!” I yelled. He looked down and swallowed. “What did you want? Me to just let him do that to you and walk away scot-free? I don’t think so. That bastard had it coming. I kicked his ass too! But now I'm in here for awhile.” He sighed. I shook my head. This was terrible. If only I could have kept my big mouth shut. Why do I have to be such an attention seeker? “I’ll stay here, with you. I mean… if you want.” He smiled. And I stayed. “Lawny. Tell me, am I um.” Kurt blinked, unsure of what to say. “Huh?” I mumbled. “Ugly. Am I?” He blurted. I laughed, I touched his cheek, “why, did someone say that? Because personally, I think your hotty.” I giggled. “No, please be serious?” His tone was stern. “You’re cute. You are, but did someone say different?” He looked down. “There’s this girl…” ooooh lala. “Is that so? I bet you’re into Shawna . She’s a punk. Smart, really pretty too. Want me to hook y’all up?” I smiled. I was happy for Kurt. Really. “No… it’s not her. The girl I like, she just. Doesn’t notice me.” He sighed. “I guess what happens, happens. You know.” I smiled and took his hand as he said that. “Let’s go to the Anarchy wall.” I said softly. I climbed up the wall, careful not to scuff it with my orange converse. Kurt climbed up with me, kind of gracefully. As non-gay as graceful can be. We leaned back into our cubby like shelter. “So what’s her name?” I questioned. “Uh… I'm not sure if I should tell you...” He murmured. “Why is that? You think I’ll get jealous?” I laughed. “No. It’s just; I'm not sure what your reaction will be… I’ll tell you when I'm ready. ‘Kay Lawny?” He smiled and laid his head back against part of the crumbling wall. I nodded and rested my head on his stomach. “Let’s go to a party. You can take a break, and stop being Mr. Perfect for a night.” I smiled. Kurt sighed. “I can’t, I have morals. I don’t do that stuff.” I rolled my eyes. “For me?” I gave him a pleading look. “Lawny! Don’t do that to me…” I smiled. “Come on, live little!” He gave in, I called up an old friend, he told me that I was in luck, and he was having a huge party. Involving lots of alcohol and Mary Jay. He said he could get me a ride, too. “Hey I'm going to change alright?” Kurt nodded. I pulled off my shirt and grabbed a Rancid tee. “Whoa…” he muttered. I laughed lightly. “Might wanna pick up your jaw.” I joked, Kurt shook his head, “no, I mean the scar, what happened?” I looked down, oh. “Just an accident.” I lied, he didn’t need to know, and so I didn’t need to tell. I grabbed my red belt pulling it around my waist, setting it so it was just below my shirt. He nodded not calling me on my bluff. “Ready cowboy?” I said as me and Kurt hopped out of the beat up Chevy. “Sure.” Kurt sighed. I pulled out my pipe and a bag of purp. “Purple Kay.” He mumbled. “Uh, how’d you know?” I wondered, sure a stoner would know but not Kurt. Apparently he did. “I used to blaze Lawny. I thought you knew that.” I shook my head. “No. That’s… wow.” I took a hit and handed it to him, unsure of what he’d do. “God. You’re lucky you’ve got those killer eyes.” He joked, referring to my persuasion. He took the pipe, hesitated and then slowly took a fairly large hit. He didn’t even choke. I smiled. This should be fun. An hour later Kurt and me were in the kitchen, playing quarters on the marble table. Kurt got it in my cup. “Drink!” He yelled, happily drunk. I drank it, one gulp. “Let’s go out there, finish up the Purple?” I followed him out and we took a seat on the couch. I loaded a bowl and took a hit. “Let’s do shot gun.” Kurt suggested, instead of the standard shotgun he put his lips to mine. I exhaled through my nose, and kissed him. No he kissed me. Really kissed me. “Wait. Wait… you don’t want this. God damn. I feel so stupid!” He yelled, half stoned, half drunk off his ass. “No, Kurt, it’s not like that… I mean you’re my best friend, but…” I felt terrible. He liked me. Why? I mean I love Kurt to death, but not like /that/. “Just forget it Lawny, I'm sorry, I'm just really drunk.” I nodded, wanting to believe that. We got a ride back and snuck into my room. I lay down on my bed, and took of my clothes. I just laid there in an undershirt and shorts. “Lana…” I looked up. I was fucked up. Really. “Yea?” I smiled, drunk. “Can I just sleep here tonight?” I nodded and rolled over. Kurt climbed up into my bed and lay right next to me unmoving. “Hey. You know how I said I liked a girl?” I nodded too messed up to speak. “Well. I can’t stop thinking about her. I mean I know she deserves better. I know she doesn’t feel the same, either” I thought it over as best as I could. “No. You’re wrong. She doesn’t deserve you. She’s not good for anything.” He grabbed my hand. “That is not true.” He kissed my forehead and sat up. I looked down at my torn up converse. “I should go.” He said trying to end the awkwardness, and walked out the door. I passed out. The whole thing must have been a dream. I woke up. Talk about a hangover. Talk about awkward. “Did I really kiss Kurt? Are you fucking kidding me?” I shook my head. Ridiculous. Knock knock. Fantastic. “Yo! Lawny.” Kurt nonchalantly walked into my room. Maybe it was a dream. Just a dream. “Hey…” I gripped my forehead. “Hangover?” Kurt smiled, knowingly. “Like no other.” I admitted. Kurt smiled and grabbed my hand. “Where are we going?” I asked. I was a mess. “You look fine.” He said as if reading my mind. “Where are we going?” He laughed, “You’ll see.” “Well… you know how my birthday was last week?” Kurt questioned. I nodded. “Well, I'm…” He took a deep breath. “I'm leaving St. Marks.” He smiled, happily. I gulped slowly. Kurt. Was. Leaving. Me. “But…” I shook my head slowly unsure of what to say, I mean I couldn’t blame him. He was an adult he could lead his own life now. I mean this day was inevitable. I was just trying to avoid it as long as I could. “What’s wrong? I wasn’t even finished.” Great there’s more. “I want you to come Lawny.” I smiled slowly. “Come on, I’ll show you our place.” Interestingly enough Kurt had bought a car. He had been keeping secrets from me. Weird. I wonder how long he had been planning everything. Knowing Kurt, a while. The car paint was a pealing sea green. It was an old Camaro. Probably a ’68. Kurt opened my door for me and then walked to the drivers’ side and hopped in. We drove for about an hour, blasting various punk bands and our favorite bands, Rancid, Nirvana, Sublime, Breaking Benjamin, and Motion City Soundtrack. Kurt had been named after Kurt Cobain and Bradley Nowell. His mother had a good taste in jams, I’d give the bitch that much. “Finally.” We pulled up to a two story house in the northern suburbs. “You’re full of shit!” I accused. Kurt smiled. “Nice huh?” I nodded my jaw still hanging. “How. The. Fuck. Did. You. Pay. For. This.” I pronounced every word slowly. “I saved a shit load of money, that’s how.” He smiled, he looked utterly happy. “Also… I inherited a shit load. Just found out two weeks ago. So. Me and you can both go to school. Four years.” I laughed. “Shut the fuck up.” He laughed too. “I'm not kidding, I swear to you.” His face turned serious. “A. I wouldn’t waste your money. B. I'm too stupid to go to college.” I informed him. Kurt looked sad, pained. “That is absolutely not true. You are brilliant. Do you think I would be willing to pay your way through college if I didn’t know that it’d be worth it, that you’re worth it?” he ruffled my hair, and kissed my forehead. I faked a smile; I couldn’t really understand any of it. So many things had been going on. “You look a little off, how bout we go grab some grub?” I nodded, wordlessly. We hopped into the Camaro, and I turned up Breath, by Breaking Benjamin. Kurt looked over at me. “What’s wrong?” I shook my head, nothing. “Don’t play dumb, you’re playing Breath. Try fooling anyone, I don’t care, just not me, I know you too well.” I gave him a side way glance. “Favorite food?” I asked smiling. “Tofu Thai, without water sprouts, extra salt.” He winked. “Date of birth?” “October 13th, 1991, around one am, right?” He laughed, so did I. “Those were easy questions,” I muttered as we pulled up to a tacky rest stop, mainly occupied with grungy, old, fat truckers. “Uhh, can I have some fries, and uhhh. You wouldn’t happen to serve tofu here, huh?” I heard Kurt mumbling in the background, I was sitting at a maroon booth; the cushion was peeling off. “Hey there, little lady.” A gravely voice beckoned behind me. “Go away.” I retorted as at I poured ketchup on my finger, licking it off. “Ahh, what a lady.” He chuckled. I flipped him the bird, hoping he’d get the hint. He seemed to be all laughs, chuckling once again. “So what’s a beautiful lil’ lady doing here all by herself?” I hitched my thumb over at Kurt, still without even glancing at him. He responded with a raspy sigh, and got closer to me, his lips at my ear. “Well, when you’re ready for a real man give me a call,” he grabbed my hand, and jotted down his number, I assume. I laughed as Kurt walked up with an odd look on his face. “What the Hell was that about?” I smiled, and patted his head. “Hmm. Curly fries, huh?” I picked up a fry and nibbled on it, peeking at my hand under the table. Landon Jackson. Hmm. “Seriously Lana, you’re a little player, aren’t you?” I waited for him to smile, or laugh, or something to hint he was joking, but his face stayed serious, yet curious at the same time. “Shut up and eat.” I said as I stroked the name once more. “So..” Kurt supplied as we settled down on the Anarchy Wall. “What Cowboy? Cat got your tongue?” He looked down at his shoes. “Spit it out, Kurtsy.” I said, looking straight at him. “Why are you always into the assholes?” I was shocked. What was Kurt talking about? “What the fuck?” Kurt glared at me. “Don’t play dumb. I mean, I know Landon; he’s bad news. I’ve known him for a long time. If you have any interest in self preservation, steer clear from Jackson.” He hopped off the Anarchy Wall and strode off. Hopping out of the shower I heard a knock at my window. Kurt. I pulled a white towel around me and ran to the window. “Yo.” I said, in a dull tone. Kurt climbed through the window and took a seat at Noah’s Murderes previous bed. Kurt sighed. “Landon is my brother.” I stared at him. “He’s your what?” Kurt got up, and put his hands on /my/ hips, looking into my eyes. I hated when he did that. “Lana. Come on! My mom kept him, but not me, she gave me away when I was 11, I wasn’t a little narrow-minded twit like he was, or like her.” I was shocked I never knew this before. “What... Why?” I shook my head he let go of me. “I don’t know, I don’t… I just know, anyone else would be better, just not him. I know how he is…” I smiled, “I wont call him. Promise.” I smiled again. |
![]() |
|
| Tempest | Mar 20 2008, 04:59 AM Post #2 |
|
Wow. That was pretty awesome. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Short Stories · Next Topic » |







8:52 AM Jul 11