~ This story is not at all finished. This is only a chapter. Would love feedback. Let me know! ~
A Blank Beginning
Here I am again right back at the start, staring at myself in the mirror blanketed with fingerprints. I don't understand how life has become such a circle. Such a God-awful daily routine. It seems like I'm in an everlasting loop with no fork in the road, if this is even a road. The soft blemishes on my face seem more like mounds of red disappointment. I was never the attractive type, but a good friend to have none-the-less. Apparently. It must be my oily brown hair that I only want to wash twice a week. Maybe it's that my teeth aren't paper white or that my voice isn't sweet enough. Maybe it's the way I walk, much like sasquatch, with a certain swagger of cockiness as my shield. But perhaps maybe it's just me.
I sigh deeply to myself, still making eye contact with the sunflower eyes looking back at me. A weird mutation of blue sky with a golden flower in the middle. I've yet to find someone that has them
too; I've searched on Google and I'm definately not alone. I'm truly not ready for this abomination called High School. A place where kids are forced fed the roots of adulthood, but yet are talked
to by condesending voices and pushed back to the stages of awkward puberty. Luckily, I've never reached that stage of insecurity because I was born into it. I was always heftier than my friends, or
class. I was the tomboy who was never allowed to play football with the guys; made no difference to me, I would tackle them anyways. The progression from elementary school to middle school was
about as nice as a 2nd degree burn. It hurts like hell but there's nothing to really do about it. The bullying was worse in those days and I lost my friends. I also lost my father. I guess you can
say he was always lost, being a dead-beat, but he moved away officially at the end of this summer. The end of 8th grade. The end of when I would actually need him to help me through the terror of
foreign campus and tall people with weird hair on their faces. To help me with potential boy problems and math questions. I feel so alone though I have a great step-father and mother by my side. I
also have a loving dog and cat, a sister who annoys the hell out of me, and a suicidal beta fish named Charlie. I was never very close with my dad, but I did try; my sister was the daddy's girl of
the family. I sometimes feel like I was the reason why my parents split. They were close before I was born. Once I came into the world it appeared that that was when problems began. He called me a
brat and even tried to offer me up for adoption. I guess we never clicked and it wasn't meant to be despite the fact that we shared the same blood and nose.
Here it is. First day of Freshman year and I'm locking myself in the bathroom, praying that I'll never have to leave. I resent the school I have to slump over to because the other school wouldn't take me. My short hair and flannel shirt made me look like some movie style old-school teenage werewolf. Red framed glasses sat atop my nose. I was dead terrified of contacts, how do people put those in? My overall experience with makeup was that of a five year old weilding a colored pencil; decent but still not as pretty as it could be. I tried anyways with a single line of black eye-liner on my bottom lid. A deep huff came from my chest and I pushed myself away from the sink counter. My gray and orange messenger bag was on the floor. I stared at it with disgust, picked it up, pulled it over my head, and slowly walked downstairs. It was no surprise that Mom was there at the bottom of the steps awaiting me with a smile and full of excitement. It was pitiful and I loathed school. I didn't so much mind the first week, but as soon as homework was assinged I was already checked out. Me and homework as a no no. My 5-foot-6 stocky body made its own way to the car and managed to sit down before I realized where I was. I was so lost in my own thoughts. Highschool, please be good to me.
And there it was, Pines High, the home of skimpy girls and football. Also, it's swimming with secret drug dealers and pot heads in the midst. I've never touched a drug in my life, that was my dads thing. My first steps on campus were to await in the wrong line to receive my schedule. After being directed to the correct one, I ran into a few old friends and engaged in awkward conversations to pass time. The wait was useless. Upon receiving my schedule, I was lost due to the staff members running out of maps to give. The typical Freshman nightmare. Luckily I made it through the day in sprints from class to class. I survived the stuffy gym filled with frilly female voices and immature guys joking about God-knows-what. I survived a close encounter with a psychotic teacher, and sheer boredom. Lunch was terribly long as someone I used to know chatted my ear off with nonsense. It was indeed going to be a long year.
~"Let's go, Maggots!" I screamed across the field. The zombies wouldn't react to my commands. By 'zombies', I mean teenage girls on their cell-phones with yellow and red flags wrapped around their
waist. It was flag football day and the groups were broken up. "Oh, come on! Someone besides me has to play!" The anger dwelled inside me and I was becoming frustrated. I huffed and sat down with
the most childish pout. These girls were idiots. It was then that a short hair brunette with different color streaks in her hair walked up to me. "I'll play," she shrugged, "come on." She helped me
off my feet. This is what I'm talkin' bout! Finally someone who knows their shit. A game got started almost immediately. These girls weren't all that bad after all.
Over the course of the hour I learned that this girl had a serious case of Bieber-Fever. Good God not another one, I thought to myself. But she wasn't too shabby at football I'll give her that. She ran pretty well and was great at catching. I still hadn't learn her name, but I decided to give her one anyway. "Hey, Bieber, get over here." She ran back with the ball to my side. "Okay, here's the plan. I'm gonna fake a run plan and pretend to hand off the ball to you. Cover it, twist there, then catch. Got it?" She nodded and stood behind me. I peered into the eyes of the worried faced females in front of me. I was going to demolish every single one of them. I took a quick glance back at Bieber. Another nod. "Hut... Hike!" Bieber 'took' the ball and avoided the girls at all cost, opened her arms wide, and gave a wave while still running. The pass was completed quicker than I thought I could make it happen. She made a mad dash for the endzone. Touchdown. This Bieber girl was alright after all, despite her incredibly odd obsession with a talentless frilly Canadian boy.
We all headed back to the locker room. The lockers were a hideous shade of rusty orange. It was hot and crowded, not to mention incredibly loud and awkward. I used the bathroom stall to change back into my clothes. I'm extremely self conscious about my body and the idea of changing in front of athletic bodies was terrifying. I had two friends in that class, Vanni and Ash. Complete opposites but best of friends. Vanni was more school oriented while Ash was into sports. I knew them a tad in Middle School, but as of now they were the only ones I still talked to from that time. It was rough without a doubt, the transitions, but knowing at least two people would make it easier.
I was at home now, hearing the usual how was school, did you have a good day, yada yada bullshit. I just wanted to take a shower and go to sleep. I felt completely different since my father left for good. My double Christmas's, my double Birthdays, my newfound pal and the man who made me love professional wrestling and football. Gone. It was on my 13th birthday that my lungs caved in and I found myself in an emergency room. I'm still convinced that it was his girlfriend at the time that forced him to see me. I died twice and I'm not sure he truly cared. Our slurpee days seemed so far away. The days of playing Super Nintendo while basking in the stench of beer and marijuana were only a memory. He arrived at my house in his u-haul. I had cut up my "Hasselbeck" Seahawks jersey to make it say "ass". All my memorabilia and anything he has ever given me was now in scraps. I hated him. Fury was in my veins when I handed him the tied plastic bag filled with our past. I felt so little, and so angry. I still do feel that way. I tried years upon years to even get him to say I love you and mean it. I was trying to be the boy he always wanted but my long hair and chest would give me away. My voice is stuck at a deeper pitch from me forcing it that way. I quickly became a very angry person.
"Cheree, I'm sorry that your father is an asshole." My mother says this to me all the time. It's a constant pity circle. She says she loves me, that she is sorry that my father doesn't like me so much and that he left after how much I tried for him to stay. It is quickly followed by a rant of how selfish and self centered he is, how he could never love anyone but himself; and I believed every word of it.
The nights are longer than usual and I found myself up at terrible hours drowning myself in the voices of angry or sad music. I would cry, and talk to myself about how upset and unsatisfied I was with my life. I even contemplated how I would end it one day. The thoughts finally began to consume me, but scare me at the same time. I would aggressively shake my head to try to get them out but more kept slowly crawling in. Slowly eating me away. I was obsessed with the sadness. I was obsessed with the pain. I just wanted to sleep.
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