June 12th, 2004

this is me

[your] hipbones are calling my name.

Storytime. Whether it is true or false is up to you.


Every night I go on a walk.

I leave the house at precisely 9:30. My sneakers are on, my keys are in my pocket, I'm off walking.

I never have anywhere to go in mind. I usually cross the lawn - which typically results in rabbits running away - and turn right at the sidewalk. Sometimes I turn left. Sometimes I go straight.

Tonight, I go right. I walk down the street which I have lived on for what seems like forever, passing by the same cookie cutter houses. The same houses which give "suburbia" such a bad name, and I'm right in the middle of it.

I don't belong in suburbia. I don't like being a product of my ancestors - a product of white flight, a product of a bunch of imbeciles who fled from the south to the northern cities. I belong in the country, in the middle of nowhere, where I can look up to the sky and see a million other worlds. Not here.

As one would expect, I am walking in the dark. It really isn't all that dark: lights from the city give the sky a purple haze, porch lights are left on and people watch television or use computers, leaving their curtains open for all to see how empty their lives really are.

I trudge down the sidewalk, attempting to avoid cracks or sticks which I might trip over. Whenever a car passes by, lights on maximum, I shield my eyes.

I never think of anything while I walk, and that is the reason I do it: thinking about whoever I'm crushing on now, or my lackluster grades, or the ridiculous antics of my parents - I just can't stand it. I need to escape, and walking is my way to do it.

Tonight, lightning flashes in the sky. "Nothing wants to let me walk in peace," I murmur, and my pace remains constant. I have nothing against walking in the rain. As far as I can figure, if you're going to get sick, you're going to get sick. There's no need to avoid the inevitable.

I'm walking by a side yard, filled with trees and flowers and knee-high grass, when I sense something burning into my back. Casually, I twist my head to look behind me - nothing, no one. I continue walking, just like I had been, though slightly unnerved.

As I pass by a lawn with two lawn gnomes and three rabbits, a simple phrase rushes into my head. "Serial killer," I murmur out loud. The thought is so crazy, so entirely impossible, that I begin to believe it. I quicken my pace and look back again. Nothing.

After a block of this looking and walking, I begin to calm down. "It's ridiculous," I say. "You're acting just like your parents do, whenever you leave the house." I walk slower, enjoying the night. The lightning behind the clouds is growing increasingly more common, as well as more prominent; every minute or so, a buzz off in the distance shows that a storm would be hitting sometime soon.

I am walking in front of an old, grand Tudor house, not paying attention to it, when the porch light turns on. "Oh my God," I gasp, sprinting down the street. I didn't bother to stop to remember that there are plenty of houses with lights that turn on based on motion. The only thing in my head was the knowledge that most people would be perfectly willing to call the police on a teenager, regardless of whether they had done something wrong.

I don't notice where I'm running when the sky falls apart, torn open with a jagged spear of lightning. I stop, realizing that I was in the middle of the neighborhood park. Rain falls like a waterfall, covering my body. Lightning is thrown from the heavens, thunder is bursting in my ears - it's a storm.

God, is it a storm.

I don't move an inch as I allow myself to be soaked to the bone. My worries roll off my shoulders like drops of rain. My hopes and dreams burst back to the surface, like the desert frog that comes to life only when it rains; like dying flowers, reaching greedily to the sky, sipping up the streams of water that flow by their roots, my feet. I am perfectly refreshed and happy and completely in love with the world.

I laugh. It finally feels good to be myself.
  • Current Music
    Death Cab For Cutie - Photobooth
this is me

je ne dis pas aime

I've packed, I've written my annual story, I've played with Annie as much as possible, I've set all of my daily haunts on "vacation" mode. I've gotten Belle to move me around every few days on Vampires. I've gone through my yearly struggle of "what books should I bring?" I've gone through my yearly struggle of "what CDs should I bring?"

I am ready and prepared and sweet Jesus I don't want to go. I don't think any of you could possibly understand how much I hate West Virginia. I mean, it's a great place, but I hate the trailer, I hate Aunt Jo, I hate having to realize that my only living grandparents are 91 and 81 years old and they will die someday.

You know, I've just realized that it's not so much that I hate West Virginia. I hate the concept of it. The second most poorest state (right behind Mississippi). The distance from anything and everything. The pitch black of the mountain, the crazy-ass roads, everything.

I really don't need any bullshit. I really don't.

After our visit with relatives, my mother and I will be heading off to West Virginia University (WVU) in Morgantown for some genealogy research/college visiting. I'll take tons of pictures of everything. I will gain hundreds of pounds from the food which my grandmother used to make, but we'll be making since she can barely cook any more. It will be a marvelous, typical visit.

Have fun, kids.
  • Current Music
    Slowdive - Altogether