Where the Mind Wanders

Time's Heretic

I slam the door behind me resolutely. Though this room is technically under my parents' roof, I still feel like it's my own refuge from the world: The familiar walls covered with the faces of the silently accepting artists; the tangled bedspread with occasional streaks of smeared mascara; the chaotically organized books dotting almost every surface; the necessary piece of junk computer in the corner; and, of course, the ever-trustworthy storage box containing my innermost thoughts and feelings.

I step toward my bed and fling my shoes behind me, aiming to make sure they thud loudly on the door to prove my point. I allow my legs to collide with the edge of the bed and send my face flying directly into my pillow. I deliver some indirectly profane screams at my pillow before flipping over to face the cottage cheese ceiling. My hand already knows exactly where to go as I reach over and pull a plastic packet from my bedside drawer. I press on the designated pressure point and wait 30 seconds for the liquid to begin seeping to the corners before I lay the cooled packet gently on my throbbing eye.

The voices of my mother and father begin to seep into my thoughts. "Maybe you could stay home and spend time with the family instead?" "You should be using that money to save for college." "He's allergic to nuts so I'd hate for him to have an allergic reaction." "Remember how smart you are; you have so much to offer." "Don't let your potential go to waste." "Just be safe." They think I'm ignorant. They think I don't know. They think I'm so head-over-heels in love with him that I just don't see how terrible he is.

Of course I know.

A healthy relationship doesn't involve a black eye when he's raging drunk or always spending time in his house because there's a warrant out for his arrest or days without muttering a single word to each other. I know the situation isn't ideal. I know he's hurt me. I know things could be better, but I also know that he could be better too.

I hold the patch in place as I hang my torso beyond the edge of the bed to reach my box. The blue plastic bends slightly from the weight of the contents as I slide it outward from under the bed. I sift through the various paper contents until I find a maroon hardbound book with a single cursive "J" swirled on the front. I pull myself back up and rest my elbows on the mattress as my free hand flips through the pages to the desired date.

~Monday, August 17th, 2009.

Today just can't get any worse.

I don't even want to be here. This is all my parents' fault. No one even asked me if I wanted to move. Dad doesn't even know how to be a dad. He fed me rotten eggs so I got sick on the bus and threw up all over myself.

On the first day of school I have puke all over me!

How am I supposed to be cool now? People are going to call me "Pukie" or "UpChuck" or something.

The nurse gave me this shirt that was way too big so I look like a freaking Tomboy.

At lunch, this lame kid sat with me. He doesn't have any friend either. Great. So now I'm so low that I'm going to friends with the kid that no one else wants to be friends with?

This is my life now.~

I flip to the next journal entry.

~Friday, August 21st, 2009.

Ben sat with me every day this week. At first, I was embarrassed, but he's actually a nice guy. He's really smart so he helps me with my homework. Sometimes he shows up late to lunch because he's helping in the lunchroom, but he doesn't get paid for it. He does it for fun. That's a little weird.

I thought that he sat by me because he doesn't have any friends, but he actually has a lot. He talks to everyone all the time. He's really outgoing and social. Kind of...popular, maybe? I don't know. It's weird.~