Well, here's the other lame-o plot I came up with on the plane flight. No, it's not exciting; no, there isn't any near death; yes, it's mostly emotional jibber jab. I'm on one of those violently dramatic hiatuses and toning it down a bit, but only just this once. I promise I'll have something devastating up by next week. Lol. I'm going to update "Deadly" sooner or later, too. I mean, I've got about five chapters written that are "ready," but I can't post them yet because...I don't know. Think of a reason and we'll go with that.
"So…"
"So."
He sighs. "Bag all packed?"
I nod, swallowing hard. "All packed," I affirm, staring down at the second-hand, torn up suitcase that carried pretty much everything I was going to continue owning. No going back after this, I think to myself. I'm not going to quit like my brother. I'm going to carry this through to the end.
"You know…you don't have to do this," Dan reminds me, as if I don't already know.
I search for the humor in his face, but find none. "No. I'm going."
"It's far away…"
"I can handle it," I interrupt him. What's his deal, trying to psych me out? Isn't he supposed to be supportive? I'm doing this for him and my mom. They need money, and as soon as I become a doctor they can get it. Meanwhile I've got scholarships that'll take me as far as I need to go for college.
Here I stand at the threshold of my life, awaiting, quite possibly, the scariest thing I'll ever face. College. I wonder what it'll be like. Can't be any worse than around this dump, I assure myself, looking outside at the dirty streets and hearing sirens in the distance.
"Yeah. Sure."
I scoff at him. "Yeah, sure? What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugs at me. "I don't know. I just can't see you…being a doctor, that's all. You're…you know. J.D. Juvenile Dork. It's a little weird to me, you know?"
I shake my head. "No, I don't…"
"Well, all your life I just sorta thought you'd end up like Dad."
The words feel a bit like a stab to the heart, but not the kind that doctors would be able to fix. "…end up like Dad?" I trail off. My mom divorced my father when I was seven, because he was never home and he was a lowly traveling office supply salesmen. Don't get me wrong, I love my Dad. But I've wanted to be completely different from him since I even knew what "college" meant.
"Yeah. Free-floating, doing your own thing," he says, extending his arm out to scale an imaginary horizon. "Out on the road, doing the unpredictable…"
"Abandoning my kids…" I finish for him, glaring. "Besides, my GPA was over a 4.0…which is more than you can count."
Dan stumbles back, surprised. Then he grins. "Low blow," he acknowledges. "Where'd that come from? Never seen you get angry before."
"I'm not angry," I lie, taking a deep breath. Just terrified.
Where is your inspiration, you lost it, oh so long ago
So much for innovation, I saw this coming long before
You had no motivation, your hopes are high but trapped below,
This constant competition, we've won but you're still keeping score
"Oh, okay, then. Look, all I'm trying to say is…well, you were a nerd." He looks me up and down. "Are a nerd," he corrects himself. "You study all the time and don't go out to parties like normal people. I just thought you'd be a freak or something. Well, I'm glad."
"What, because I didn't do drugs like the rest of you?" I snap. "At least I have more going for me than…" I stop mid-sentence. I can't believe I was really going to say that. Dan likes his job bartending, and pummels anyone who questions him. I would know.
He narrows his eyes. "What? Finish the sentence. Go on. Say it."
Nervous, I refuse to maintain eye contact. "No," I mumble to the floor.
"Just say it, damn it. You think I'm a crummy bartender with no life."
"I didn't say that!" I protest.
"You might as well have. You just don't understand, do you? You don't know what it's like to be me."
"Oh, partying and snorting up crap and drinking all day must be so hard," I drawl sarcastically. Then I immediately shut my mouth again. I'm really just asking for it now. See, when Dan thinks someone needs to learn a lesson, he teaches it…the hard way.
"You don't get it! It's…hard."
"Hard?" I repeat, laughing softly to myself. "You know what, Dan? I don't go to parties. And I do study. You're right. I also happen to take care of our alcoholic mom, I've held a steady job at the mini mart making crap money for four years without fail, I pay the bills every month and I worked my ass off to go to college." I grab my suitcase. I'm supposed to be waiting for our mom to come home, but I was supposed to leave hours ago and I'm going to be late. "Good luck with all that."
But I grew up, wishing on a star
(Wishing, on , a star)
You think I won't ever get too far.
(I, Get, Too far)
I open the apartment door, disappointed that this had to end so bitterly. I wish we could have worked things out. Suddenly I feel wrenched with guilt—I know they won't be able to function without me there. Who was going to pick Mom up when she was completely drunk? Who was going to pay the rent? What would happen to my family?
I close the door, but remain standing in the hallway, my eyes wandering aimlessly. The wallpaper used to be white, I think. Now it's some sickly yellow color and it's peeling. Our neighbor was going to put in some new paper, but he got shot on his way to the deli a couple of weeks ago. That's the way it is in this part of the city. You never know if today will be your last.
"Just go," I tell myself, willing my legs to move. Instead I feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. I don't want to leave them here. I can't. They need me.
But…I've worked so hard for this. I've wanted this my whole life. How could I justify turning down my one chance?
How could I justify leaving them alone?
Those two are a recipe for disaster. Both of them are exactly the same—irresponsible, play-it-by-ear, drinking types that couldn't give you the month if someone asked. I feel so selfish and dirty.
I open the door again.
"I knew you were chicken," Dan mocks me, sitting on a chair we found on the side of the road.
"Shut up."
"I don't get it, dork. How come all of a sudden you're mad? You never get mad. You're freaking me out."
I stop in my tracks, dropping the suitcase on the floor. "I'm mad," I say evenly, my teeth gritting, "because you make me sick. You've tormented my whole life." I stand up a bit straighter. "I do everything for you and never got anything in return—no, you just beat me up and set your stupid buddies on me. Well, let's see how you function when I'm gone."
Silence fills the room. My heart beats loudly in my head, waiting for his reply. Now I feel, if possible, even worse. Even more guilty. I don't deserve this.
"You…you've really thought that all along?"
I wait for a moment, thinking it through. Whatever I say now could affect the rest of my life. Whatever I say now…either does me in or pulls me through.
"Yes," I admit, "that's what I've thought all along."
I don't say anything else and neither does he, the both of us locked in our separate worlds of defense. I want to say more to him. Don't use too much dishwashing soap, remember to call the exterminator in winter, the bills need to be paid within a week, make sure Mom has taxi money, stay off the streets, be careful…I'll miss you.
"Good-bye," I mutter.
So high on dedication, it feels so good to get away,
From all this repetition, this angry town, this battleground
So now we'll break tradition, we'll leave you swimming in our wake
Without your inspiration, you won't survive, you'll surely drown
And just like that, I'm walking down the stairs and outside to my dingy old car. I stand next to it for a moment, staring at my smudged reflection in the glass. I am Juvenile Dork, just like they say. How am I going to do this? Besides customers and bullies at school, I rarely talk to people regularly. What, was I hoping that some grand talent would pop out of the sky?
"I'm going," I mutter to myself, opening the door determinedly. "I'm gone."
The engine starts up and I pull out of the drive. I take one last look at the apartment. Dan nods at me from the window, an understanding between the two of us.
Yeah, he'll be calling me drunk in about three hours, asking where the hell I went.
But it doesn't matter. I'm going to be living twenty hours away and it won't bother me. Maybe I'll sleep at night now. The thought is a little crazy to me now, but eventually it might work out.
There's not really much I can say about the drive. Let's just leave it at this—it gave me a lot of time to think. Think about everything that could go wrong, think about how doctors have a big responsibility, think about that time I flunked a science quiz in the third grade and my teacher, who forgot to take her meds that day, totally flipped out on me.
I'd been through a lot in my neighborhood, however dangerous it is. I mean, I guess I learned a lot. Like, for example, drunk driving causes accidents. You can tell a kid that, but they don't really get it till it's right in front of them. Horrible as it is, experience is the best teacher. Guys at our high school OD'd all the time. People walking out at night alone got shot/raped (depending on gender…usually) all the time. You had to watch for yourself all the time.
Fine by me. I'm paranoid enough by nature—the place was born for a safety freak like me. I think I'm the only one in the city who owns a helmet, let alone a working bike (I chained it up so tight it would be impossible to break).
When I finally arrive, I'm exhausted. Twenty hours in the car with nothing but a ham sandwich. I don't even know how the sandwich got in the car…and I really don't want to know, either. It's dark, and I can barely see the campus by the glow of the streetlights.
I squint up. Damn, is this place humungous.
You know…you don't have to do this.
I can hear his voice as clear as day, chanting in my head like a death march.
"Yes. I do," I say aloud, parking the car and making my way to admissions.
But I grew up, wishing on a star
(Wishing, on , a star)
You think I won't ever get too far
(I, Get, Too far)
So now i am wishing on a star
(Wishing, on , a star)
You think I won't ever get too far
(I, Get, Too far)
I wake up early in the morning, the sun peeking in through the window shades. I jerk up immediately, unaware of the setting, and smacked my head on the top bunk.
"Damn," I mutter, clutching my head. It occurs to me that I'm in a college dorm room now. Whoa. That sounded weird. Like, JD in a college what? Considering where he's from, he ought to be mopping the floors…
"Huh?" My roommate stirs, obviously woken by my head jab.
I panic. What should I say? Am I supposed to say something? Should I pretend to be dead and hope he goes away, or at least back to sleep? How incredibly awkward can this get? I can't believe I'm living with a total stranger.
"Um. Hi," I say, getting up from the bed. My shoes are still on. I can't even remember anything from last night—I must have just crashed instantly. My clothes are still on and sticking to me strangely. I shake them out. "I'm JD."
My roommate yawns, stretching his arms lazily, before climbing down to the floor. I know instantly that this isn't going to work. I should just get packing now. I'll never survive—he's…he's…
Cool.
"Turk," he says, extending his hand.
Am I allowed to shake his hand? Why do I keep asking myself these questions? I shake his hand and say as normally as possible (in my I'm-not-a-freak-that's-never-kissed-a-girl voice), "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too, dude. Wanna get some breakfast?"
"Sure."
Okay. I haven't screwed up yet. Surely this is some sign of—
Spoke to soon. I trip on my own suitcase and go flying about five feet. It's all over now. There goes pretending to be cool.
Instead of mocking me, though, Turk laughs. "You okay?"
"Yeah. The floor smells, though," I say, making light of it. "Kind of like bacon."
"Oh, that's the breakfast hall. We live right next door," he informs me, a wide grin on his face. "So, what are you majoring in?"
"Me? Oh, biology, I think. I might be a doctor."
"Really? I was thinking the same thing, but you know, just keeping my options open. I don't have a clue what I'm majoring in," he admits, shrugging his shoulders.
And he's not having a panic attack about that? I have my whole future set for me, and it's safe that way. He's…winging it.
I want to switch places with him. Badly.
But I grew up, wishing on a star
(Wishing, on , a star)
You think I won't ever get too far
(I, Get, Too far)
So now i am wishing on a star
(Wishing, on , a star)
You think i won't ever get too far
(I, Get, Too far)
"So, where are you from?"
"About twenty hours north of here. You?"
"About twenty hours south of here," he says, smirking. "I'm not heading back for the holidays if I can help it, though. My mom is…creepy. You know, the type that's totally overprotective and controlling."
No, I didn't know. "Yeah, sure," I agree with him, nodding like I understand. "Totally annoying."
We eat breakfast, discussing our lives and getting to know each other. I realize something as the time passes. In the short twenty minutes we spent together, it occurs to me that there is something I'm good at besides studying and ringing people up at the register.
I can make people laugh.
And all day, it continues like that. Tripping and laughing at yourself is suddenly a good thing. A "cool" thing. I didn't understand it. It made no sense.
Man, was it awesome!
Even at orientation, seated next to a thousand peers, I decide it's going to be okay. There's no reason to be nervous—I'm not defenseless. I've got something now. I have the advantage.
My whole future is ahead of me now. I'm not going to waste it.
Where is your inspiration, you lost it oh so long ago
REVIEW. Or go crazy like Dr. Cox did on tonight's episode. Was anyone else severely disturbed by that? Uh, I WAS.
CRAP. CRAP. I have a quiz and a test and a gateway to take tomorrow. CRAP CRAP CRAP. Darn all you fanficking people...lol...