"your emotions! make you a monster!" jello screamed into the speakers that laid on my desk.
"how do you listen to this shit?" marta asked, thumbing through my cassette tapes.
"sex pistols, the dead milkmen, dead kennedys, butthole surfers, who the hell are these people and why do they have such awful names?" she asked.
"that's punk," i shrugged. i handed her a Fear tape.
"will this be any better?" she asked. i shrugged again.
she sat the tape on my desk and ignored me.
"ah! something i know!" she said, pulling out a beatles tape triumphantly.
the beatles.
my mother in the kitchen, her wiry blond hair tied within itself. the yellow submarine record spinning on the player, screeched to a halt when there was a knock on the door and the needle was lifted.
she opened it, i clung to her dress, it was the police.
"may i come in?" the officer asked my mother, she nodded, opening the door further.
she led him to our den that held a bed, and a baby, as we didn't have central air conditioning. she shut the door behind her.
"just one moment," she said.
i sat there, behind the door, waiting until the big hand turned from 2 to 3. i knew better than to eavesdrop.
when she opened the door, my sister on her hip, she looked different.
she always looked different, after that.
"your daddy's been shot. they're flying him home to see us." she said, every ounce of her aching soul poured out onto me.
it only takes an hour for everything you know to change.
my father was a throwaway boy on the front line. a welder at home. 26 years old. fuck i hate patriotism.
i was shaken from my thoughts by jodi.
"kurt's on the phone," she said. marta gently hit my arm.
"new beau?" she asked. i rolled my eyes and hurriedly stepped across the linoleum of my bedroom floor to pick up the call on my phone line.
"hey!" i said excitedly.
"hey, beatlemania?" he asked. i quickly paused my tape player.
"yeah, all my friend would let me play," i laughed.
"i was wondering if you wanted to go with me to a show?" he said, unsure.
"when?" i asked, tapping my finger on my desk.
"tonight at 8, but i can pick you up earlier if you want."
"oh yeah, sounds great. be here at 7:30 alright?" i said, giving him my address.
"cool! see you later."
"hot date?" marta asks.
"yeah!" i finally said for once.
"what a change."
i eyed myself in the mirror, glasses thicker than reagan's skull, my mother's same short wiry yellow hair. a curl hung over my forehead, got in my dirt brown eyes.
"where to?" she asked.
"a show." i answered.
"he's a punk huh?" she asked. i nodded. i decided against changing my clothes, jeans and a t shirt was good enough.
"wonder who." she said, not really caring.
YOU ARE READING
Stomach Pains (KURT COBAIN)
Fanfictionyou wouldn't dream of meeting your match at the ears, throat and nose clinic, would you? when heidi meets kurt at a hospital and makes small talk, she finds they're being treated by the same gastroenterologist, they bond over their weak stomachs.
