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The Front Door to My Life

Novel By: LForte
Literary fiction

This is the first segment of Matty Bianco's life. This here is the story of a girl who is experiencing romance and all of the complications that go hand-in-hand. She comes from a chaotic home, with little family. Her parents are both the only children in their families and all of her grandparents are deceased. Her truest confidant is her best-friend Tara, who supplies her with advice, even when Matty spontaneously pours her dilemmas on to her...which is quite often. She has complications of her own. Follow the ups and downs of a confused young woman, learning the trials and tribulations of life. View table of contents...


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Submitted:Jun 22, 2010    Reads: 13    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

I walked up the stairs into a pizza aroma filled kitchen. Husky and Lilly ran over to me like a stampede. I knew that my mom secretly couldn't stand any of the dogs.
"Matty, is that you?"
"Hi dad!"
Two-tone met me in the dining room, whimpering like a lost dog at a park. I picked him up to allow his grotesque breath to fulfill my senses.
"There's pizza in the kitchen sweetie."
Just how the old saying goes, home sweet home.
Usually, Two-tone and I barricade ourselves in my bedroom either listening to music or watching a cable movie. Now, that my mom had moved out of the house, I hate to say it, but I was freer. I now had the opportunity to stretch my legs across the couch. Two-tone found a new home, curled up against my feet. The both of us watched "First Wives Club" for the umpteenth time. But, in the living room, for the first time. Even with the television up one notch higher than usual, the house was quiet. The cars passing by and the Funero boy three houses down the street celebrating his teen years, made up for the lack of noise inside the house. I thought for sure that this new breed of silence would be deafening, but in actuality, the silence was peaceful and relaxing. For once, I was relaxing in my house.
It only took 20 years.
"I'm sorry sweetie; I don't mean to ignore you." My dad came out of his lair, better known as the computer room. "Do you mind if I join you?" I position myself upward, facing the television, with Two-tone now attached to my hip.
"Only if you don't mind watching Bette Midler, Goldie Hawn, and Diane Keaton seeking justice on their cheating husbands." Stan, the good Stan, makes himself a drink.
"Not at all. I too love Bette Midler. You want a drink?" My father had never once offered an alcoholic beverage to me. I had to take up on the offer.
"Yeah, why not?"
"Do you want anything in particular?"
"Make me whatever you're having."
"I'm having a Scotch on the rocks."
"Me too then."
I was about to drink an alcoholic beverage from the obscurely open bar; the same bar I had only given into temptation once. Now that I was 20 years-old, why the hell not actually have a drink from the forbidden bar?
"Here you go sweetie." I engulf an average amount so I could get the actual taste on my tongue.
Scotch is nothing like whiskey. Scotch is…
"So, fill me in. How's journalism? Do you like it?" Disgusting, but I'll learn to like it.
"I do dad. I had my doubts after the first class, but I smacked myself with reality. I've waited too long for this. It's my turn to take advantage of my wants." I take another sip.
"It'll taste better once it's watered down." I set the glass on my lap. "I'm glad that you have that attitude. Nothing is easy. It'll be tough at times and wonderful at times, but keep at it and you will succeed. I promise." Dad must have caught the philosophical bug that seems to be traveling around my world lately. He, who once tried to persuade me to change my mind about my dream. I remember his words vivdly.
"Sweetie, Journalism just seems so big and so intangible. You could major in Sociology or History and maybe do some freelance work once you have graduated. You need a substantial plan."
Maybe it was my mother's absence that allowed him to be more open minded and understanding of my decision.
"How's Danny doing? Is he busy this weekend?"
"He's good. No he's not busy. I just wanted to be home, without him. I miss home."
"Home misses you too. You know Matty, your mom and I never meant to hurt you. I know that we have, and I can speak for your mother when I say that it makes us feel as though we are awful parents. We never wanted to make you feel that our feelings towards each other had any bearing on you. You do realize that, right?"
I did, however, there was always that annoying apprehension that stands in the way.
"Honestly dad," I needed another sip. "At times I felt I was the only reason why you two stayed together, that's when I would place all of the blame on me. Not every argument was about me, but a big a portion did involve me. Those times, I had no other choice but place the blame on me." And there goes another, yet smoother, sip.
"I can see how we could have made it seem that way, and I despise myself for that. But Matty, truth of the matter is, your mother and I knew each other. Sure, we had past relationships, in high school, but we met in college. We were both 19. Back then, we thought we were made for one another. We were great for a while, hell we were great for about ten years, and then comfort set in. We felt 100 percent comfortable hating one another. We were both too scared to leave that comfort. You were the best part of our relationship, Matty."
Hell, the Scotch looks watered down enough, start drinking…
"Honey, you sure you want to drink it that fast?" I stop.
"Yes." I place the glass back up to my lips.
"Matty, did I say something to upset you?"
"No dad. You didn't realize that you just described Danny and me to a tee."
"Oh? What do you mean? I didn't mean to--"
"Everything was going great this summer. We took a week vacation to Hampton Beach, which pretty much rejuvenated our relationship. School...over all school is great. I've been learning to even out all the confusion in my life with a list. I was beginning to conquer the barriers that are in my life in my own way. I've been caught up with managing these specific barriers, that I almost forgot that I have a relationship to work on as well. Trust me, Danny and I are no where near the path to loathing one another, but we have settled deeply into the bed of comfort. We are completely comfortable with one another. Ant helped me to put it into some perspective and now, Dad, you've hit the nail on the head."
"Who's Ant?"
"Never mind. I need to add my relationship with Danny on to the list."
"What's the list?"
It's now 1 am and I enter my room with a buzz. I take the picture of my grandmother and hold her up to my eye level.
"What would you say to me if you were still alive?"
Mom's apartment was literally five blocks away from Dad's, and yet it felt more like five towns away. For 20 years, all I've known was an unconventional chaotic household. I've know home to be Anne and Stan Bianco, fighting. Lilly and Husky barking every second did help to make me feel at home, but heading over to a new destination to see my mother, I needed to have Two-tone by my side.
Sandyville's streets are made up of 100 year old homes that are either complied with a traditional family, or are constructed into apartments. My mother's apartment just happened to be in one of the misfit houses in town; a white siding, black shuttered house that had a bright red front door. A salary for a sales person in retail makes it difficult to afford the cost of a house, so renting it is for Anne. When entering through the front door, the hallway displayed plastic candles as its source of lighting, not entirely revealing the drab brown paneling. Two-tone huddled closely to my ankle. He's never been outside of the house much, only for the occasional visit to the vet. For the house looking as beautiful as a residential home could on the outside, the inside, so far, was way too dark.
"Do I knock?" I ask Two-tone, who was staring up at me just as confused as I was. "It's my mother; I am allowed to just walk in, right?" Confusing. This whole situation was confusing.
So, I decided to knock. "It's weird, knocking on my mother's door."
"Hello Matty, you could have just walked in. Who were you talking to?" She looks down, noticing the frightened Two-tone. "Oh. Your dog."
"Do you mind? He misses me, but I can take him back home--I mean back to dads."
"Of course your dog can stay here, I get it." Mom lets us into the apartment. 'Trust me, all he used to do was lie up against your pillows and whimper during the night." I look down to my right, noticing a full glass of wine on her brand new oak wood coffee table. "It was pathetic."
I stood still, scoping around the brand new living room. To the left of me, there was a section of a wall devoted to me. Photographs of me, ranging in age, formed an arch directly above a 24' screen television. This decorating style was not only different, but brand new. "The rug is tan, but I only pay $500 a month and with these beige walls, I guess it's a perfect match."
"Mom, you have a Matty shrine."
"Well, of course I do. You're my only child."
"It's just…new."
"Well, yes. Anyways, let me show you your bedroom."
The kitchen was connected to the living room without a walkway or doorway to distinguish the two. Aside from the evident kitchen appliances, the white aluminum flooring and the oak cabinets and dinner table provides a differentiation between rooms.
"I even bought myself a brand new black fridge and a black stove, just what I've always wanted. The rent originally was four hundred month, but since Joe, the landlord, replaced the old cabinets with new ones, I have to pay a hundred dollars extra."
The tone in my mother's voice had now become an enthused one. Usually, she speaks in a low, sarcastic tone. I don't ever recall hearing her enthused about, anything.
She turns to the left to flick on the light switch inside of the room, before us.
"This is your room Matty. Walk on in."
I stepped into a brand new territory, where an oak bed, an oak dresser, and even an oak vanity stared back at me.
"Oak is my new favorite." Behind the oak bed post, there is a Less Than Jake poster taking up majority of the wall space.
I was speechless.
"They're your favorite band, right?"
"Yes, mom, they are. I didn't think you knew who they were."
"I know Matty."
Two-tone jumped up on the forest green comforter, which went well with the tan rug and salmon hued walls.
"Well, what do you think?"
"I love it mom. I can't believe you did all this...thank you."
"Let me pour you a glass of wine."
The chestnut wicker couches were nowhere near as comfortable as the brown velvet couches at home. I cross my legs, sitting in Indian style, in hopes to capture an essence of comfort.
"Honey, I want you to know that whatever may have happened between your dad and I was not any of your fault." Maybe if I put my left leg under the right, I might be more comfortable. "We faded away, a long time ago. Our relationship was a train wreck…going nowhere, very fast." This position hurts a little...switch it up.
"I think you knew that. I knew it; it was just that your father couldn't grasp it." I sit back, hoping the white cushion would provide me an inkling of comfort. "God Matty, if feels so good to finally let all of this out...I haven't loved your father for years. The only reason I stayed with him was because of you."
"It screws with a child's head when their parents separate or divorce. It puts them through a lot of confusion and anguish. Honey, I didn't want that for you. So, I stayed strong for you and sucked up the house and your father."
Was I actually hearing this correctly? Was she actually saying this?
"You just said it was none of my fault. And trust me, deep down I know that. How dare you mom for using me as the reason why yours and dad's relationship was a 'train wreck'."
"Matty," I sand up. "Sit down."
"No." I stare down at my mother, becoming almost a hierarchy of authority over her. "By the both of you fighting as mush as you absolutely loved to... that is what put me through tons of confusion and tons and tons of anguish throughout my childhood and lingering into adolescence." I walk on over to the door.
"Please, let's talk about this."
"Honestly, mom," I grab my purse, which is hanging on a black wrought iron coat hanger. "I am through with this subject."
I open the door. The dark, drab hallway entices my anger; I slam the door behind me. I flip open my cell phone and dial the first number that naturally came to mind.
"Danny, this is not going as I intended. I just told off my mom and stormed out of her apartment."
"What happened?"
"It turns out that my mother used me, her only child, as the sole reason why she stayed in the house and continued being Mrs. Anne Bianco. She basically deemed me as her scapegoat. She made me feel as though I was the sole reason for what was wrong with my household."
"You know--"
"I am realizing that I have no key part in any of the animosity they reined heavily throughout that house. But, how dare she utter those words to her daughter. My father made damn sure that they were the only ones to blame, I had no key part in their reciprocated animosity." I inhale, literally trying to breathe in his warm breath. "I need you. Want to meet somewhere or I could just head back to your house? We can get drunk, really drunk. Hammered even."
"I thought the whole purpose was to be there with your parents and be there for them? Don't just walk away Matty."
"Did you not just hear the words that came out of my mouth? My mom used me as the scapegoat for their useless, pointless, train wreck of a relationship. What kind of parent says that?"
"You are not--"
"I know it's not true, but to hear it, really pisses me off. Please, let's just do something, preferably involving alcohol, and forget about it…all."
"Well, Matty, I don't want to interfere with all of this. Honestly, this has nothing to do with me. This is something you made clear that you needed to do, on your own. I think that's how it should be."
"Danny, I need you. Did you hear that?"
I was sounding a bit pathetic.
"Sweetie, yes I did. Unfortunately, I have plans tonight." What?
"Henderson and I are gonna hang out. Probably hit up a few bars." He has plans and I am all alone.
"I'm sorry babe, I really am, but you need to do this alone. I think you were right from the beginning. Just try and muster up some strength by giving you and your mom a little bit of time. Maybe try to call your mom tomorrow morning. Time clears the mind and you both can start over with a rational mind. Just be strong...you can do this alone."
Alone, being the operative word here.
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."
"Are you upset with me?"
"No, not at all. I'll be able to do this...alone."
I ended the conversation without saying goodbye.
Lost, alone, and confused on an island called Matty shouldn't feel as distant as it did. I look at my car, having it only to remind me of how alone I really was. I walk down the street, not really paying any attention to where I was going. I'm not quite sure what made me more upset, Danny's plans with Henderson or his reluctance to have anything to do with me or my Island. Aside from the mini pep-talk he provided, his words contributed to my inner struggle. The shock that was produced from my mother's apartment still ran through my veins, causing me not to place a full grip around the fact that Danny believed that my family issues had nothing to do with him. In the literal sense, he was right. But when involved in a relationship, baggage is shared. Yet, that concept was neither formulated nor conceived.
As I continue to walk, my sole concentration was placed on the isolation.
There it was, the color magenta practically painting my entire body. My eyes were too dry to cry. My fists were too weak to grip. My vocal chords were locked in their cage. I wanted a can of spray paint to spray the entire town black. I wanted to see an actual color that makes sense.
"Matty?" I stop, look up, and see Tara walking towards her new Neon."What are you doing here?"
"Just taking a walk round town."
"What in hell brings you home?"
"Oh, well I wanted to see my parents… in their new settings, meaning my mom. So, yeah, that's what brings me home." Her perfume travels its way to my nose. She clearly has plans as well. "I see that you've got plans. Don't let me hold you up. Have fun."
"Where's Danny?"
"Oh, he's got plans too."
"What? Danny boy has other plans and you're here without him. Ha!" I did not need her to rub it in.
"Yes. Wow, un fucking believable isn't it? Like I said, have fun." I start to walk away.
"Stop and get back here." I turn around.
"You'll be late."
"I'm already a half hour late. He can wait a little bit longer."
"Who is he?"
"You're magenta, aren't you?"
"Magenta? Nah."
"Shut the fuck up Matty. You're practically wearing the fucking color. Why are you magenta?"
"He'll be waiting all night."
"Is it Danny?"
"No." I lied, a bit.
Tara digs into her purse.
"Hi Brad, it's me. Listen, I'm going to have to cancel."
"No, don't."
"Shut the fuck up Matty. My friend needs me and quite frankly she's more important than you."
Tara and I sit in the middle of the violet carpet, with a bottle of Bacardi Limon, a jug of Iced Tea as the chaser, and a six pack of Bud light in between us. Like mine, her white walls are decorated with posters of her favorite bands.
The Grateful Dead stare down at me from the violet painted wood door. I rotate my eyes to the left, where between two windows Jefferson Airplane set their abode. The wall where her bed is placed up against, The Doors and her favorite poet Bob Dylan, reside. To Tara, music is simply music. Music should not be put into any category. To me, there is punk and then there is everything else. Staring at the posters in her room reminded me of the back and forth, endless conversations of our love and views on music.
"Here, take one." Tara cracks open a Bud light can for me. "Since when are you shy when it comes to alcohol?"
The truth was, I was frozen. I didn't know where to start. Should I start with an immediate apology? Should I start by giving her a huge bear hug? I was afraid to start. I was afraid that if I tried too hard, I would only fall through the ice and drown.
"Jesus Christ Matty." She opens up the bottle of Bacardi. "Take a fucking shot and just spill it."
I follow her command. She hands over the jug of iced tea, but I didn't want the chaser. I wanted the alcohol, straight, to break the ice correctly.
"Before I start venting, let me get this heavy pile of guilt off of me." She places her hands behind her, ready for the predicted apology. "Cliché, I get it, but damn it Tara, I'm fucking sorry. I don't know why I drift myself away, from you especially. I don't do it intentionally. I don't literally say, 'ignore Tara for such and such of time' and then one day wake up and say 'oh now it's time for Tara!' Let's be honest, I've been a mess for almost two years now. The story goes as follows: Once upon a random fall day, a contently single gal meets the all American star pitcher. Not even two months pass by and that once known single gal becomes his Stepford wife. I have almost lost myself completely, by neglecting everything that is apart of me. I hardly ever have the chance to listen to my music without wearing a pair of head phones. Fuck, the only time I am alone is in my car, and when I'm driving I am too scared to put on any music, since I'm afraid I'll crash and die if I take my eyes off of the road for a single second. And, you, my best fucking friend, I've probably lost you too. I have lost what makes me Matty Bianco. Who am I?"
Tara takes a swig from the Bacardi bottle.
"Here I go, again, coming to you and venting about my relationship." She hands the bottle over to me. I hold it to my lips inhaling the Lemon scent. The devious citrus scent reminds me that it tastes more like pure toxin. The reminder of the toxic taste flows through my nostrils and into my brain.
The toxin created a force of reality that can only strike a human like an animated bolt of lightening. The sound cracked down upon me producing a wall shattering burst of thunder. I take a huge swig straight from the bottle, neglecting the chaser again.
"Holy shit Tara. I need to break up with Danny." She spit's the Bud light out of her mouth.
"I have to break up with him. I have to." Tara grabs my hands.
"Matty, you didn't drink glass upon glass of white zinfandel with Anne earlier, did you?"
"No, I am sober."
"So what you just said is 100 percent sober talk, right?" I stare into her huge, serious eyes.
"Yeah. Two swigs of this stuff isn't going to get me drunk, right?"
"Ok. I need more than." Tara stops my hand from grabbing a hold of the bottle.
"Wait. Think about what you just said before getting drunk." I consider her request
I consider her request by staring at her square in the eyes. I meant the words I said, but in honor of placing reason behind them, I needed substance. So, I stand up and walk on over to the Grateful Dead poster.
"I remember the first time you played me a Grateful Dead song. We were 11. I didn't get it. I thought the music was pure, stale noise."
"And I remember thinking, 'what the fuck does she mean by stale?'."
"Remember back then, Ace of Base was considered ingenious to me."
"The only pop album you ever bought." I smile at the band and walk on over to Jefferson Airplane.
"Remember making Hannah, Amber, and I watch VH1"s 100 women of music in the middle of the night?"
"I made you guys stay awake till Grace Slick came up on the countdown."
"Amber threatened to rip the poster up if 'the bitch' didn't make an appearance by 4 o'clock."
"And every time she'd close her eyes, I'd grab one of her beasts." I chuckle in knowing that Tara loved knowing just what D cups felt like.
"How do they feel?"
"Amber's tits are amazing. They feel like soft, amazing round pieces of flesh that have so much to play with. The bitch has no idea what she has."
I smile, moving on over towards the window that faces the Kirkwood's pool.
"Remember when we thought the whole Kirkwood family went on vacation?"
"Oh yes, the infamous skinny dipping incident." Tara had now joined me at the window, with a Bud light in hand. "Jerry Kirkwood watching us, in the dark from the pool house."
"And assuming he could join in on our fun by jumping in the pool naked." She put her arm around my waist. "Teenage boys like to get naked for us, don't they?"
"Seems to be a trend." She rests her head on my shoulder. "You know you will never loose me as a best friend Matty."
"Deep down I knew that. I feared of losing myself and didn't even realize I was taking it out on the most important people in my life."
"You didn't realize any of it, meaning the whole picture. Realistically you knew of your actions, but you were too caught up."
Silence hovers as we remain focused, looking out the window.
"My dad said it best, without even realizing it was pure advice." I take in a deep breath. "We are too comfortable with comfort."
"No fucking shit Matty." Tara takes her head off of my shoulder. "Come on, it's drinking time."
I turn, noticing the Kevin Bacon shrine located directly above her bed post. There was a new picture added to the shrine, one of him and Kiera Sedwig, except Tara's senior year photo was plastered over his wife.
"You finally made yourself Kevin's wife. It only took you 12 years."
"Well, I've finally realized that I will never find a man as great as Kevin Bacon. So, I finally settled with a great man, as I should of a long time ago."
The Bud light and Bacardi revelation help me to exceed the realization of just how occupied I was by comfort. Of all the irrational and immature nonsense I lived though for almost two years, Tara and the rest of my peers had delved into their youth. I was censored by my own self that I had neglected to see the honesty.
I woke up that morning with a pounding headache, Tara's light snore in my ear, my cell phone beeping into my pounding head, and dogs barking to the beat of my head. I sit up, immediately remembering the Bud light and Bacardi revelation. I flip open the cell phone to see that my mom had called once and Danny had called 12 times. 12 freaking times, that boy broke away from his plans with his best friend just to hear my voice on the voice mail. My stomach started to churn.
I call my voice mail. The first message was my mom, mumbling something incoherently and ending the message with a very clear, "I love you."
The next message,
"Matty, baby, I miss you. I wish you were here with us."
Next message,
"Honey it's me, again. Just wanted to tell you, I miss you."
Next message,
"Matty, where are you? Is your phone dead?"
Next message,
"Sweetheart, I'm worried. I love you. Where are you? Are you ok?"
You get the drift.
"He is obsessed. Two nights Danny, that's it. You are obsessed." I yell all of that into the phone, waking Tara up.
"Shut the fuck up Matty."
"Sorry." I climb out of the bed. "I'll give you a call tonight. I'll be at my dads."
"You'll be where?"
"Just have your phone on."
I darted for dear life out to the increasing pounding of my head.


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