| Too Far Gone Her cat leaped on my leg and I suppressed a shriek. My friend shifted as I dug into her pile of dirty clothes for the pack of Menthols. I couldn’t sleep. It was around two a.m. I should morally be against smoking since my grandfather died of lung cancer. I just didn’t know how to wrap my mind around the fact that my boyfriend was leaving me for a whore. A dancing, singing whore who wrote bad poetry and wore glittery eyeshadow. It took me a few minutes to get the lighter to work but once I inhaled, ah, everything was okay again. I tried to spell out my name. It was only three letters and I used to hate it but then I realized, it couldn’t be bad to be unique. I liked the way he used to whisper it, over and over again like a chant. I liked to hide out at Amy’s place whenever I could. I didn’t like sleeping at home anymore because my mom slept on the couch every night and pretended nothing was wrong. Her excuse in the morning would be that she fell asleep to a show or movie. When I was younger, my mom used to sigh after reading me stories like Cinderella. “Love,” she said,” is what you should always live for.” I was nine, had no clue what love was whatsoever. “Your dad and I met when we were both eighteen. He was still immature and I was unbelievably selfish. We grew up together. It‘s the most beautiful thing.” I made a noise that was somewhere between ‘Uh huh’ and ‘What?’ “Absolutely beautiful to grow up together. You come to discover everything about each other together, all the little quirks. And it’s never enough, you always want more, to do more for each other. I think life is too short, why waste another day not being together?” I made the noise again. “So I’m just saying, I am not against underage marriages, you know, for you.” She kissed me and left. I pushed Cinderella off my bed to fall with a thump on the floor. The story sounded like complete crap to me, even then. Amy and I liked to go down to the train station to hang out. Men often came up to us to tell us we’re sexy; we liked that. Yesterday after the 5:20 train passed, she said, “It's revolting what you let him do to you. “I don’t let him do anything to me.“ We had our legs spread out on the grass. We had tequila in Poland Spring bottles hidden within our oversized purses. The sun was beginning to dip behind the brown hills across the river, casting over us a mild ray of violet and orange light. “Sure, you don’t,” she said. “Well, I don’t.” I wanted to sock her in the mouth for even suggesting the idea. “Well, as for me, we’re very close to a real relationship.“ She showed me the distance with her thumb and fore finger. "It's hard. I can't let go." I wanted to know how her case was different from mine. What a judgemental bitch. I pressed at the ashes on the square tray we brought with us with the tip of my fake fingernail until the tiny balls of ember burned out. "He's reserved," Amy said. "Some people are," I said. “You should fight for him.” “I thought you said it’s revolting what I let him do to me.” “I know I did but still, you should. Don’t let him win.” “What?” “What?” Amy shrugged. “Sorry. I am drunk. I don‘t know.” I rolled my eyes. “So yesterday morning, I was having breakfast. Right?” “Right.” “Carla came downstairs, all dressed, right?” “Right.” “My parents were already gone. She sat down, poured herself some Fruit Loops and she was like, exact quote here, she said, last night at Vanessa’s birthday party, they were talking about tittie fucks and blowjobs. Then she asked me if I…” “What? That’s so…” “I know.” “And how old is she, again?” “Twelve.” “Gah.” I didn’t tell her the worst news though. Last month, I saw my dad and his friend, Clark kissing in the yard by the glow of the blue lights illuminating our penis-shaped pool. Dad said he was just a friend from work, that everyone else on the fifth floor was insufferable. Amy told me countless times she envied the stability of my family. Her father had left when she was seven after being the aim of two frying pans, four vases and numerous forks. She still remembered the out of control screaming from both sides. I finished the cigarette and lay back down. The moon highlighted her row of magazines. I began to hear bedsprings creaking above my head. “Don’t worry, it’s my mother,” Amy said though I wasn’t sure if she was fully conscious. When I first met her mother four years ago, she had a sour, furrowed expression and also, dry, frizzy hair. I saw her today and her whole person shone with what I figured happiness must look like. She couldn’t stop chirping, kept telling me how she loved my hair, my make-up, my ears. I turned on my Ipod but I could still hear them in my mind. I didn’t know if I should be happy or jealous or revolted. ©Jamie Lin 2007 |