LW&W and Frances Has A Pool
So it is true, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is on Sally and Roger's living room TV across the room in the corner by the kitchen. It is on just like promised. And I can see Lucy and Aslan and I guess my mom is seeing the exact same thing right now, miles and miles away on our TV at home. But I can't really pay attention very good to the story, because I am distracted by Roger's thing being out and naked.
He is sitting in a chair by the hallway right now. It is to the left of my vision if I look at the TV, the way left, but I can still see. I am on the couch because this is where I am sleeping. Sally made up a bed on the couch for me before she went to work. I got my pajamas on like I normally would and got a glass of pop (because I am not allowed to have pop at home, even though Nick has his own supply of Pepsi in the refrigerator at all times) and settled into the couch to watch Narnia happen. And then just before it started, Roger came home, which I thought was fine, and he said he was going to take a shower, and I thought that was no big deal either. I figured he would be doing his own thing and going to bed, which is the reason, supposedly, which it is such a big deal that I'm here to help in case the babies need anything, because Roger is so tired from working early and all that.
And the show started great, even though I am not with mom and it makes me sick to think she is watching it all with Nick who doesn't even know Narnia. And even though I have to admit that they don't really look that great, the characters. The cartoon-ness of them is kind of cheesy. It is not a very quality cartoon job, I'm afraid. But still, it's The Lion, the Witch and The Wardrobe and I love them and I love Narnia and I love Aslan and so does my mom and what am I supposed to do right now when Roger is sitting there with his privates showing? I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I don't know what to do. I am looking at the TV but my brain is frozen.
He came out from his shower and sat down over there in that chair and asked, "Hey Jen, how's your show?" He is wearing a dark blue terry cloth robe, a man's kind but the short kind. It comes about in the middle of his thigh. Except it's hanging open between the legs and how can he not know that, how can he not know? I don't know what to do. I want to go home. I want my dad.
"Aren't you a little old for cartoons, though?" He laughs, but just joking around like. He is being like we are buddies, just hanging out, sort of kidding around, no big deal. Would he be acting like that if he knew his privates were hanging out?
"What's this about, anyway?" He means the show. He means my beloved first volume of the Chronicles of Narnia, written by that very nice C.S. Lewis who would never, ever, ever not notice if his privates were hanging out in the middle of a living room.
"Um, just this book that me and my mom read." I know it's rude, but I cannot turn to look at him when I talk. I need to give him time to figure out what is going on and fix it, close his robe up or something. My neck hurts from how I'm sitting, but I can't move. I wish I was sitting up normal, but I was already under my blanket when he came out, and now I can't move. I don't know what to do. I am watching Lucy and Edmond argue, but my brain is so frozen that I can't even figure out the context of what they are doing. The TV and The Lion, The Witch, and even The Wardrobe are pinpricks of two-dimensional movement so far away. I have been sucked backwards into some other reality where every hair on my body is alive and straight up and I am aware of even dust specks floating around me because I am so aware of everything. I want to get back to the regular world that is now just a speck way off in the distance in front of me. I'm afraid I won't be able to get back there if this keeps up. Please, please, please stop. Please, dear God, please help me. Please help me and I'm so sorry that I haven't been praying these days very much. I don't you don't like bargains, but I really do promise to start praying again every night and not just to ask for things. I really am thankful for all the good stuff you do and all the good stuff I have and I'm so sorry that I haven't been showing up to let you know that. But please, please, please help me right now and I promise I will step up to the plate and get better at my relationship with you again. And also, you don't think eleven is too old for a cartoon, do you? Because it's not like it's just watching cartoons or something, this is a movie made from a book, so that is different, isn't it? Plus, my mom is watching it, and she is older than me.
"Are you cold?" It is just instinct, I just turned my head when he asked me that, and it is still out. It is still out, it is still out, it is still out. He is sort of relaxed back into the chair a little, and his feet are on the floor in front of him, and his knees are a little apart. And the robe is short and it is open at the bottom, even though the belt around the waist is tied, the bottom part is flapped open, and his you-know-what is totally showing. It is just totally right there. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, God, please show up and help me. I don't even know if I am breathing, what should I do. I can't let him notice because he would be horrified if he knew, and then he would know that I saw and it would be so embarassing. I just have to play it like normal until he fixes it. That way he won't be embarassed or anything and life can zoom back out of this back alley pocket of itself and up into normal world, which isn't so great but is a billion times better than this. Is The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe even still on? What is going on? Yes, the TV is still on, but it's a commercial. Happy people are doing dishes.
"You cold, Jen?" He is asking again. I am being very, very careful to look only at his face. God, I hope I look normal and he can't tell anything is wrong.
"No, not really," I say. What did he ask me? Oh, if I was cold. Well, I am under the blanket. But I like being under the blanket. I like being cozy, which is different than just trying to get warm because you're cold. Sometimes I will take being a little too hot for the sake of being cozy, because it's just more comfortable to me to feel cozy. Maybe he will wonder why I have the blanket on, then. Most people do not understand the reason why you would ever keep covers or sweatshirts or thick socks on when you're not cold, or even a little warm. Most people do not understand the feeling of cozy and it's importance and value. "A little, I guess. I'm fine."
"I can turn the heat up," he says. I am about to say it's okay, but he is getting up to go in the hall and turn the heat up. He is getting up! Yay! Oh, thank you God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can feel my blood all starting to move around again, unfreezing. This crazy thick backwater reality is starting to drop away, and the air is getting thinner and back to normal. Thank you God, thank you God. I almost want to laugh from the relief of that episode being in my past. Thank God it is over. I love you God. I am so happy right now that I actually do want to start going to church and praying at least every night. Maybe I will even do some reading in the Bible. Oh, and there's the TV; I can hear it now. I guess I couldn't even hear when I was frozen, but now I hear Edmond talking to Lucy, and I want to hug them, my friends from Narnia, even if they are only badly drawn cartoons. The spirit is still there.
"That should be better." Roger is back and he sits down again but this time in the chair on the opposite side of the original chair he was sitting in, and this chair is closer to the couch. I am on the couch, and now Roger is about three feet away, and settling into the chair right there, and oh dear God, why, what did I do to you, why is his robe open again at the bottom. How can he not notice? How can he not feel the air difference at the very least. I don't understand. I don't understand anything that is going on and the pea soup reality is back two thousand force and I can barely breathe and this time it has completely sealed off any access to the regular world and I don't even know where the seam between the two might be. If I did, I would chew at it, rip at it. I need out of this. Dear God, why, please, why didn't you help me? I am so sorry, so so so so so very sorry for everything wrong I have done. I am so sorry, and if you point the things out to me, I will pay careful attention so I don't ever do them again, but I don't know what they are right now to apologize one by one but please help me, pleeeeeaaassseeeee...
Reality has started existing frame by frame. This is unpleasant and I want out out out. Every frame is it's own entire reality, and infinitely long. I have landed in another place. Is this hell? Maybe this is. Maybe that's what is going on. I know I'm only being melodramatic, like my mom always says, but am I really? I have no way to tell, because my brain is frozen. I wish my heart was frozen, I wish I was frozen dead. I want a sledgehammer to my head. Please please please. Do I tell him? I have to tell him. But now he will know that I have not said anything until now. That I looked at it and didn't say anything. Shit shit shit. What should I do? How can he not feel it?
I am just looking at the TV now, staring at it straight ahead, but I can feel him being close to me. I can feel that his private part is just sitting there naked right by me and it is freaking me out, oh is it freaking me out. Like, if a spider came down and landed on me or was crawling across my blanket or something, and I had to all of a sudden by reaction jump or move really fast, it is conceivably possible that my hand could accidently brush against his naked freaking you-know-what. Please, mom, call. Please god, help. Please, something happen. Please, self, wake up.
It is not small, that thing. I don't know what I pictured, but really that's because I've never spent much time trying to picture one. It is still kind of gross to me, and while I understand that I might one day grow to a different feeling about it, that has not happened yet, nor can I imagine it ever happening. I won't even kiss Jeff, and he's my boyfriend. I am just not comfortable with sex stuff and don't think I should have to be thinking about it all the time. Like with Jeff, can't he just be happy being my boyfriend? We talk on the phone, we like each other, we hang out. Jeez.
My self-hypnotizing isn't working very good. I think it did for a minute there, but it has popped and I am realizing that the situation of my life has not changed, and I am still on this couch out in the country at Sally and Roger's, and Narnia is wasting away on the TV way over there in corner that I can't get my eyes or brain to focus on, and my aunt Sally is an hour away in the city, and so is my mom, and my dad is five states away in Texas, and Roger, my aunt's husband, is sitting in the chair just to my left, and yes, his private part is still sticking out there. The robe is very open between the legs.
Why is he sitting here watching The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe? Why is he sitting here doing this, anyway? It is not the kind of show he would watch. Why doesn't he feel that his robe is open? In fact, how can he now see it now, now that he is sitting kind of slunched down? How can he not see it being open? He is going to be so humiliated when he realizes it. And what will happen to me for having known all this time and not said anything? God, why didn't I say something! What is wrong with me? Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why didn't I say someting right away? They will think I wanted to see it or something. Oh my god.
"You want something to drink?" He is not getting up. How can I answer him and not look? I just swivel my head really fast at him then back to the meaningless box in the corner that was the most important thing ever when this night started.
"No, I'm okay." I can't even tell if there is a commercial on or the show. "Thanks, though." I am so afraid he is going to be so mad and hate me when he realizes I knew all along and didn't say anything. I am trying to be extra nice to make up for it in advance. Maybe he will never notice, and somehow this will all end and go away forever. Or maybe I can make it believable that I never did notice, myself. I mean, if he didn't, how can he prove to himself that I did? Yeah, that is what I will do. I am so scared. My body feels like it is made of steel. I think one good poke to my arm and I would crumble and disappear in the blankets on this couch. I would like that very much. There sure is a difference between strength and hardness in a person.
Funny how not only can my mind fragment off like that when I'm in the middle of feeling like I'm dying, but it can further fragment to notice and comment on it all, like I am right now. How many versions of me are there? I would like it very much if the one sitting in this living room with Roger right now died.
"Well, I'm going to get something." He is getting up and walking across the room and it is momentarily safe to breathe and let my eye muscles relax. Probably it is over now, for sure. Probably he will not sit back down in the chair, probably he will go into his room and go to bed now, since he is supposedly so tired from work because he has to be there at 4:00 a.m. He works at some kind of shop in Royal Oak, where I live, but on the other side of Royal Oak (it is big). I see it sometimes when we drive down Fourteen Mile for some reason. The new Meijer's Thrifty Acres is over there. That is a new kind of store that is so big it actually is acres. It has everything in it, from clothes to groceries, like it ate a Kmart, a Farmer Jack, a Sears, and who knows what all else. You can even get flim developed there and have something to eat. Plus, it is open 24 hours a day! Just like 7-11. Except it is a different kind of store. The parking lot, man, it is huge. I went there with Maryellen a while ago, and anyway, we passed Roger's work. Also by Roger's work is Ray's Ice Cream, which is where we can go and say, "Dave Topher is my grandpa," and they will give us all the free ice cream we want. Neat, isn't it? It's because my grandpa built that place. When I was growing up at my grandpa's, we always had the giant store-sized tubs of ice cream in our big freezer. And, I could have any whenever I wanted. Now I am not allowed to open the refrigerator without asking first. And then I have to answer the question, "Why? What do you want?" and will just be told that I either ate not that long ago, or that we will be eating in not too long a time away, or that I can have water if I'm thirsty. So I don't bother even asking anymore.
He is still in the kitchen. The doorway to the kitchen is right next to the TV, like, literally just one inch because of where the TV is wedged between the doorway and the big front window. It is black outside. You don't even need curtains here because there are no neighbors except for far away. The driveway is like the equivalent of four blocks from the road, and it is a dirt road. Behind the house are woods with a few trails in them.
I wonder if my mom is watching. I feel so stupid, because now I am afraid she will be able to tell that I wasn't really paying good attention to the show. I can't stand that I'm going to have to fake something as important as The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.
He is back, in the chair, and he is giving me something to drink. The robe was closed when he sat down, but now it is open again.
"Come on, Jenny, give it a try. It's really good." He wants me to drink this thing he gave me. It is red. Now he has that buddy voice again. "I won't tell your ma." He is chuckling like we're in on something together. Something fun. I am not in on anything. Please kill me, God, if you hate me this much.
* * *
There have been some problems with me and God since moving in with Nick. The first year, we were actually closer than we ever had been. At my Grandpa's, I prayed at night sometimes, but not every night. Once we moved to Royal Oak and lived with Nick, I prayed every night for the most part. I felt like me and God had a pretty open line of communication, and he sort of helped pull me through that confusing first year. But the confusing two years since then , he hasn't really been around. I don't know who it was first, him or me, but either way, the relationship has gotten rocky. I couldn't get through to him, then I got mad, then I apologized and tried again, and I finally just sort of gave it up. There isn't much point in talking to someone every night when they aren't listening.
I am pretty sure that I must have done something horrible. I don't know when, I don't know where, and I am just not sure what it was. But it's the only thing that seems right. It would explain my life the past three years, and nothing else really even comes close to making sense. I am thinking whatever I did probably has to do with my sister, but I could be way off on that. It is so frustrating to be punished for something you did when you don't even know what it was you did. But then, is that just my mind wanting to pretend I don't know? That is what Nick would say for sure. That I am just pretending, and I know "damned well" what I did. Am I falling for my own act? Because he thinks there is an act going on with me all the time, a fake personality. And that beneath the surface is the real me at the controls, evil and bad and trying to trick everyone that I'm nice and innocent. He does not think I'm innocent. How can he be so sure? Because he is deathly sure. He would bet his life on it, I guarantee it. And I can only figure out that God agrees with him. So here is Nick and God, both seeing an evilness in me that I can't figure out. If I could, I would try to fix it. I swear to you-know-who I would.
This year, I have been trying to fix things at random, hoping to land on the one that has everyone seeing me as so evil. I have quit being mean to Frances Dennis, for one. Even though she deserves it. I am trying to find the good part of her and only react to that, and even when she is mean and bratty, I have been acting nice back to her ever since school started this year. And she is hard not to be mean to, trust me. Last year, she all sweetly asked us---me, my sister, and Cindy Lester---for our addresses. Why? So she could send us Christmas cards. Well, fine. We were all walking home from school and we were in the alley by the cement place. There was snow on the ground, and I was walking along the steel railing beam thing that goes along there. And my sister and Cindy looked at me, and were going to be mean to Frances, I could tell, but I thought it was a nice thing, her wanting to send us Christmas Cards. I jumped down from the beam.
"Fine, Frances, that is nice of you. You got a pen?" She did. She had an address book all ready just to capture our addresses and stuff, and we gave them to her. Frances is fat, fatter than me and in a different way, anyway (the flabbier, unhideable, doesn't even try, kind of way), and has black hair that is sort of short. I have always thought she really is kind of pretty, if she knew how to work it and lost even a little weight. But she is just dorked out, through and through, and shows no signs of moving over to the non-spoiled-little-kid variety of person who will always hide behind her mommy's skirt. Like, she made all this problem the first year we moved to the neighborhood by her having a pool, and being all power hungry with who she would invite to swim in it and who she wouldn't. It was a stupid power game and always left someone feeling bad, or so she hoped. But that didn't last past that first summer, because Frances Dennis quickly feel so low on the who-gives-a-shit radar that nobody I hang around with would even be seen swimming in her pool. I don't care how hot it is out. The next summer really did draw some lines that have stayed with us in the neighborhood, all because of the Frances pool stuff. Because Mary Morton, she kept swimming in Frances's pool the next summer. And Mary had really been pretty powerful before then; she could have rode the wave to darn near the top. But instead she swam in Frances Dennis's pool, and stayed friends with her, and so dropped off my radar, anyway. But I still like Mary. She is so smart and really pretty cool. It would be nice if I could hang out with her, but what can you do if someone wants to opt out like that? It's just so weird to me, her wanting to keep herself down with Frances. What do they talk about?
Actually, if I am totally honest (another of my random flaws I am working to perfect---the not telling of the truth, that is) about it, I am sort of jealous of the route Mary Morton has taken. I mean, there are days when hanging out with Frances wouldn't be so bad. It might not be so bad every once in a while to spend the day coloring outfits on construction paper and cutting them out, or making fancy cakes with all the right ingredients and pans, which Mrs. Dennis lets you use (my mom doesn't even let me in the kitchen when she's cooking), or just hanging out in the pool and talking about what kind of boys we'd like to marry. Stupid stuff like that. It does seem kind of peaceful in a way that doesn't exist in my life anymore. For example, I may spend a lot of time with Theresa and I may be more "in" that Frances and Mary (like, that is a joke to even compare, not to brag about myself or anything, but they are really majorly dorked out and even like don't know how to feather their hair right and they wear really stupid pants and stuff--you'd have to know them to understand that I am not just being mean, here), but sometimes I am really jealous on a Friday night of knowing they are probably having a sleepover, and making cookies and watching a good movie and Mrs. Dennis or Mrs. Morton is there being nice to them and everything, when I am like scared to death of some 18-year-old guy who is giving me beer or something. That doesn't always happen, though. But even when I stay at Theresa's and how she always wants to go down in the basement after her brothers go out, and wants to scrape around through their ashtrays to look for roaches (which are the little parts that are left of joints, I have learned)--I don't really feel like doing that. But she always wants to. I don't mind sneaking out to walk by some guy's house or something, but I really do hate how we always have to look for pot or something. I really don't like the feeling of pot. Okay, truthfully (see, God?), I usually don't feel very much from the roaches. Theresa always gets all super high (she is so funny, really), and wants to crack up in each other's faces about how high we are. And I do it, of course, I crack and up and do my best to imitate what it looks like she's feeling, but the truth is I do'nt usually feel that different. So then there is the whole acting component to it which make sthe night a bummer. And one more thing: words like 'component' I can't say around Theresa. She makes fun of me if I use any even relatively minor "big word." She doesn't know what I'm talking about. I guess she really isn't that good of a speller or anything. But with Mary, I never had to worry about what I was saying like that. I could have actual conversation. But the topics just got too limited to things that don't have much to do with what's going on in my life. Theresa and me, we know what it's like to hate your fucking house. Good for Mary. The loser.
Anyway, so I was telling you about me trying to be nice to Frances, and how we gave her our addresses and all that. And also our phone numbers, because there was a place in her book for that, and she said about how her mom might let her have a Christmas party, and she wanted to be able to invite us if we were already on Christmas vacation, etc. I felt pretty good that Christmas, at least about that part, and I guess I was happy that we would sort of have some peace and love in our neighborhood group of kids. I was even thinking that if we were already on vacation from school, I would probably go to her stupid party. And if I went, that meant my sister, Cindy, probably Sandy, too, would all go.
Except, no cards ever came from Frances. And calls, they did come, but not from her. What she did was give all the boys at school our personal information! What a little witch, man. I still can't believe the evilness behind that. What balls she had, really. I can picture her in the alley that day after school, all sweet and friendly and sincere (seeming), and all along she had a plan. That's why I beat her up after Christmas vacation.
Got in trouble for that.
* * *
"How's that taste?" It's Roger, and he means the drink he gave me.
"Fine." It tastes like cough medicine and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I feel like I'm going to throw up even without this gross drink. There is nowhere to set the glass, so I just keep holding, and from nervousness keep sipping it even though I hate it and now it's half gone.
"Yeah, that's strawberry schnapps and 7-up."
He is sitting in a chair by the hallway right now. It is to the left of my vision if I look at the TV, the way left, but I can still see. I am on the couch because this is where I am sleeping. Sally made up a bed on the couch for me before she went to work. I got my pajamas on like I normally would and got a glass of pop (because I am not allowed to have pop at home, even though Nick has his own supply of Pepsi in the refrigerator at all times) and settled into the couch to watch Narnia happen. And then just before it started, Roger came home, which I thought was fine, and he said he was going to take a shower, and I thought that was no big deal either. I figured he would be doing his own thing and going to bed, which is the reason, supposedly, which it is such a big deal that I'm here to help in case the babies need anything, because Roger is so tired from working early and all that.
And the show started great, even though I am not with mom and it makes me sick to think she is watching it all with Nick who doesn't even know Narnia. And even though I have to admit that they don't really look that great, the characters. The cartoon-ness of them is kind of cheesy. It is not a very quality cartoon job, I'm afraid. But still, it's The Lion, the Witch and The Wardrobe and I love them and I love Narnia and I love Aslan and so does my mom and what am I supposed to do right now when Roger is sitting there with his privates showing? I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I don't know what to do. I am looking at the TV but my brain is frozen.
He came out from his shower and sat down over there in that chair and asked, "Hey Jen, how's your show?" He is wearing a dark blue terry cloth robe, a man's kind but the short kind. It comes about in the middle of his thigh. Except it's hanging open between the legs and how can he not know that, how can he not know? I don't know what to do. I want to go home. I want my dad.
"Aren't you a little old for cartoons, though?" He laughs, but just joking around like. He is being like we are buddies, just hanging out, sort of kidding around, no big deal. Would he be acting like that if he knew his privates were hanging out?
"What's this about, anyway?" He means the show. He means my beloved first volume of the Chronicles of Narnia, written by that very nice C.S. Lewis who would never, ever, ever not notice if his privates were hanging out in the middle of a living room.
"Um, just this book that me and my mom read." I know it's rude, but I cannot turn to look at him when I talk. I need to give him time to figure out what is going on and fix it, close his robe up or something. My neck hurts from how I'm sitting, but I can't move. I wish I was sitting up normal, but I was already under my blanket when he came out, and now I can't move. I don't know what to do. I am watching Lucy and Edmond argue, but my brain is so frozen that I can't even figure out the context of what they are doing. The TV and The Lion, The Witch, and even The Wardrobe are pinpricks of two-dimensional movement so far away. I have been sucked backwards into some other reality where every hair on my body is alive and straight up and I am aware of even dust specks floating around me because I am so aware of everything. I want to get back to the regular world that is now just a speck way off in the distance in front of me. I'm afraid I won't be able to get back there if this keeps up. Please, please, please stop. Please, dear God, please help me. Please help me and I'm so sorry that I haven't been praying these days very much. I don't you don't like bargains, but I really do promise to start praying again every night and not just to ask for things. I really am thankful for all the good stuff you do and all the good stuff I have and I'm so sorry that I haven't been showing up to let you know that. But please, please, please help me right now and I promise I will step up to the plate and get better at my relationship with you again. And also, you don't think eleven is too old for a cartoon, do you? Because it's not like it's just watching cartoons or something, this is a movie made from a book, so that is different, isn't it? Plus, my mom is watching it, and she is older than me.
"Are you cold?" It is just instinct, I just turned my head when he asked me that, and it is still out. It is still out, it is still out, it is still out. He is sort of relaxed back into the chair a little, and his feet are on the floor in front of him, and his knees are a little apart. And the robe is short and it is open at the bottom, even though the belt around the waist is tied, the bottom part is flapped open, and his you-know-what is totally showing. It is just totally right there. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, God, please show up and help me. I don't even know if I am breathing, what should I do. I can't let him notice because he would be horrified if he knew, and then he would know that I saw and it would be so embarassing. I just have to play it like normal until he fixes it. That way he won't be embarassed or anything and life can zoom back out of this back alley pocket of itself and up into normal world, which isn't so great but is a billion times better than this. Is The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe even still on? What is going on? Yes, the TV is still on, but it's a commercial. Happy people are doing dishes.
"You cold, Jen?" He is asking again. I am being very, very careful to look only at his face. God, I hope I look normal and he can't tell anything is wrong.
"No, not really," I say. What did he ask me? Oh, if I was cold. Well, I am under the blanket. But I like being under the blanket. I like being cozy, which is different than just trying to get warm because you're cold. Sometimes I will take being a little too hot for the sake of being cozy, because it's just more comfortable to me to feel cozy. Maybe he will wonder why I have the blanket on, then. Most people do not understand the reason why you would ever keep covers or sweatshirts or thick socks on when you're not cold, or even a little warm. Most people do not understand the feeling of cozy and it's importance and value. "A little, I guess. I'm fine."
"I can turn the heat up," he says. I am about to say it's okay, but he is getting up to go in the hall and turn the heat up. He is getting up! Yay! Oh, thank you God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can feel my blood all starting to move around again, unfreezing. This crazy thick backwater reality is starting to drop away, and the air is getting thinner and back to normal. Thank you God, thank you God. I almost want to laugh from the relief of that episode being in my past. Thank God it is over. I love you God. I am so happy right now that I actually do want to start going to church and praying at least every night. Maybe I will even do some reading in the Bible. Oh, and there's the TV; I can hear it now. I guess I couldn't even hear when I was frozen, but now I hear Edmond talking to Lucy, and I want to hug them, my friends from Narnia, even if they are only badly drawn cartoons. The spirit is still there.
"That should be better." Roger is back and he sits down again but this time in the chair on the opposite side of the original chair he was sitting in, and this chair is closer to the couch. I am on the couch, and now Roger is about three feet away, and settling into the chair right there, and oh dear God, why, what did I do to you, why is his robe open again at the bottom. How can he not notice? How can he not feel the air difference at the very least. I don't understand. I don't understand anything that is going on and the pea soup reality is back two thousand force and I can barely breathe and this time it has completely sealed off any access to the regular world and I don't even know where the seam between the two might be. If I did, I would chew at it, rip at it. I need out of this. Dear God, why, please, why didn't you help me? I am so sorry, so so so so so very sorry for everything wrong I have done. I am so sorry, and if you point the things out to me, I will pay careful attention so I don't ever do them again, but I don't know what they are right now to apologize one by one but please help me, pleeeeeaaassseeeee...
Reality has started existing frame by frame. This is unpleasant and I want out out out. Every frame is it's own entire reality, and infinitely long. I have landed in another place. Is this hell? Maybe this is. Maybe that's what is going on. I know I'm only being melodramatic, like my mom always says, but am I really? I have no way to tell, because my brain is frozen. I wish my heart was frozen, I wish I was frozen dead. I want a sledgehammer to my head. Please please please. Do I tell him? I have to tell him. But now he will know that I have not said anything until now. That I looked at it and didn't say anything. Shit shit shit. What should I do? How can he not feel it?
I am just looking at the TV now, staring at it straight ahead, but I can feel him being close to me. I can feel that his private part is just sitting there naked right by me and it is freaking me out, oh is it freaking me out. Like, if a spider came down and landed on me or was crawling across my blanket or something, and I had to all of a sudden by reaction jump or move really fast, it is conceivably possible that my hand could accidently brush against his naked freaking you-know-what. Please, mom, call. Please god, help. Please, something happen. Please, self, wake up.
It is not small, that thing. I don't know what I pictured, but really that's because I've never spent much time trying to picture one. It is still kind of gross to me, and while I understand that I might one day grow to a different feeling about it, that has not happened yet, nor can I imagine it ever happening. I won't even kiss Jeff, and he's my boyfriend. I am just not comfortable with sex stuff and don't think I should have to be thinking about it all the time. Like with Jeff, can't he just be happy being my boyfriend? We talk on the phone, we like each other, we hang out. Jeez.
My self-hypnotizing isn't working very good. I think it did for a minute there, but it has popped and I am realizing that the situation of my life has not changed, and I am still on this couch out in the country at Sally and Roger's, and Narnia is wasting away on the TV way over there in corner that I can't get my eyes or brain to focus on, and my aunt Sally is an hour away in the city, and so is my mom, and my dad is five states away in Texas, and Roger, my aunt's husband, is sitting in the chair just to my left, and yes, his private part is still sticking out there. The robe is very open between the legs.
Why is he sitting here watching The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe? Why is he sitting here doing this, anyway? It is not the kind of show he would watch. Why doesn't he feel that his robe is open? In fact, how can he now see it now, now that he is sitting kind of slunched down? How can he not see it being open? He is going to be so humiliated when he realizes it. And what will happen to me for having known all this time and not said anything? God, why didn't I say something! What is wrong with me? Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why didn't I say someting right away? They will think I wanted to see it or something. Oh my god.
"You want something to drink?" He is not getting up. How can I answer him and not look? I just swivel my head really fast at him then back to the meaningless box in the corner that was the most important thing ever when this night started.
"No, I'm okay." I can't even tell if there is a commercial on or the show. "Thanks, though." I am so afraid he is going to be so mad and hate me when he realizes I knew all along and didn't say anything. I am trying to be extra nice to make up for it in advance. Maybe he will never notice, and somehow this will all end and go away forever. Or maybe I can make it believable that I never did notice, myself. I mean, if he didn't, how can he prove to himself that I did? Yeah, that is what I will do. I am so scared. My body feels like it is made of steel. I think one good poke to my arm and I would crumble and disappear in the blankets on this couch. I would like that very much. There sure is a difference between strength and hardness in a person.
Funny how not only can my mind fragment off like that when I'm in the middle of feeling like I'm dying, but it can further fragment to notice and comment on it all, like I am right now. How many versions of me are there? I would like it very much if the one sitting in this living room with Roger right now died.
"Well, I'm going to get something." He is getting up and walking across the room and it is momentarily safe to breathe and let my eye muscles relax. Probably it is over now, for sure. Probably he will not sit back down in the chair, probably he will go into his room and go to bed now, since he is supposedly so tired from work because he has to be there at 4:00 a.m. He works at some kind of shop in Royal Oak, where I live, but on the other side of Royal Oak (it is big). I see it sometimes when we drive down Fourteen Mile for some reason. The new Meijer's Thrifty Acres is over there. That is a new kind of store that is so big it actually is acres. It has everything in it, from clothes to groceries, like it ate a Kmart, a Farmer Jack, a Sears, and who knows what all else. You can even get flim developed there and have something to eat. Plus, it is open 24 hours a day! Just like 7-11. Except it is a different kind of store. The parking lot, man, it is huge. I went there with Maryellen a while ago, and anyway, we passed Roger's work. Also by Roger's work is Ray's Ice Cream, which is where we can go and say, "Dave Topher is my grandpa," and they will give us all the free ice cream we want. Neat, isn't it? It's because my grandpa built that place. When I was growing up at my grandpa's, we always had the giant store-sized tubs of ice cream in our big freezer. And, I could have any whenever I wanted. Now I am not allowed to open the refrigerator without asking first. And then I have to answer the question, "Why? What do you want?" and will just be told that I either ate not that long ago, or that we will be eating in not too long a time away, or that I can have water if I'm thirsty. So I don't bother even asking anymore.
He is still in the kitchen. The doorway to the kitchen is right next to the TV, like, literally just one inch because of where the TV is wedged between the doorway and the big front window. It is black outside. You don't even need curtains here because there are no neighbors except for far away. The driveway is like the equivalent of four blocks from the road, and it is a dirt road. Behind the house are woods with a few trails in them.
I wonder if my mom is watching. I feel so stupid, because now I am afraid she will be able to tell that I wasn't really paying good attention to the show. I can't stand that I'm going to have to fake something as important as The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.
He is back, in the chair, and he is giving me something to drink. The robe was closed when he sat down, but now it is open again.
"Come on, Jenny, give it a try. It's really good." He wants me to drink this thing he gave me. It is red. Now he has that buddy voice again. "I won't tell your ma." He is chuckling like we're in on something together. Something fun. I am not in on anything. Please kill me, God, if you hate me this much.
* * *
There have been some problems with me and God since moving in with Nick. The first year, we were actually closer than we ever had been. At my Grandpa's, I prayed at night sometimes, but not every night. Once we moved to Royal Oak and lived with Nick, I prayed every night for the most part. I felt like me and God had a pretty open line of communication, and he sort of helped pull me through that confusing first year. But the confusing two years since then , he hasn't really been around. I don't know who it was first, him or me, but either way, the relationship has gotten rocky. I couldn't get through to him, then I got mad, then I apologized and tried again, and I finally just sort of gave it up. There isn't much point in talking to someone every night when they aren't listening.
I am pretty sure that I must have done something horrible. I don't know when, I don't know where, and I am just not sure what it was. But it's the only thing that seems right. It would explain my life the past three years, and nothing else really even comes close to making sense. I am thinking whatever I did probably has to do with my sister, but I could be way off on that. It is so frustrating to be punished for something you did when you don't even know what it was you did. But then, is that just my mind wanting to pretend I don't know? That is what Nick would say for sure. That I am just pretending, and I know "damned well" what I did. Am I falling for my own act? Because he thinks there is an act going on with me all the time, a fake personality. And that beneath the surface is the real me at the controls, evil and bad and trying to trick everyone that I'm nice and innocent. He does not think I'm innocent. How can he be so sure? Because he is deathly sure. He would bet his life on it, I guarantee it. And I can only figure out that God agrees with him. So here is Nick and God, both seeing an evilness in me that I can't figure out. If I could, I would try to fix it. I swear to you-know-who I would.
This year, I have been trying to fix things at random, hoping to land on the one that has everyone seeing me as so evil. I have quit being mean to Frances Dennis, for one. Even though she deserves it. I am trying to find the good part of her and only react to that, and even when she is mean and bratty, I have been acting nice back to her ever since school started this year. And she is hard not to be mean to, trust me. Last year, she all sweetly asked us---me, my sister, and Cindy Lester---for our addresses. Why? So she could send us Christmas cards. Well, fine. We were all walking home from school and we were in the alley by the cement place. There was snow on the ground, and I was walking along the steel railing beam thing that goes along there. And my sister and Cindy looked at me, and were going to be mean to Frances, I could tell, but I thought it was a nice thing, her wanting to send us Christmas Cards. I jumped down from the beam.
"Fine, Frances, that is nice of you. You got a pen?" She did. She had an address book all ready just to capture our addresses and stuff, and we gave them to her. Frances is fat, fatter than me and in a different way, anyway (the flabbier, unhideable, doesn't even try, kind of way), and has black hair that is sort of short. I have always thought she really is kind of pretty, if she knew how to work it and lost even a little weight. But she is just dorked out, through and through, and shows no signs of moving over to the non-spoiled-little-kid variety of person who will always hide behind her mommy's skirt. Like, she made all this problem the first year we moved to the neighborhood by her having a pool, and being all power hungry with who she would invite to swim in it and who she wouldn't. It was a stupid power game and always left someone feeling bad, or so she hoped. But that didn't last past that first summer, because Frances Dennis quickly feel so low on the who-gives-a-shit radar that nobody I hang around with would even be seen swimming in her pool. I don't care how hot it is out. The next summer really did draw some lines that have stayed with us in the neighborhood, all because of the Frances pool stuff. Because Mary Morton, she kept swimming in Frances's pool the next summer. And Mary had really been pretty powerful before then; she could have rode the wave to darn near the top. But instead she swam in Frances Dennis's pool, and stayed friends with her, and so dropped off my radar, anyway. But I still like Mary. She is so smart and really pretty cool. It would be nice if I could hang out with her, but what can you do if someone wants to opt out like that? It's just so weird to me, her wanting to keep herself down with Frances. What do they talk about?
Actually, if I am totally honest (another of my random flaws I am working to perfect---the not telling of the truth, that is) about it, I am sort of jealous of the route Mary Morton has taken. I mean, there are days when hanging out with Frances wouldn't be so bad. It might not be so bad every once in a while to spend the day coloring outfits on construction paper and cutting them out, or making fancy cakes with all the right ingredients and pans, which Mrs. Dennis lets you use (my mom doesn't even let me in the kitchen when she's cooking), or just hanging out in the pool and talking about what kind of boys we'd like to marry. Stupid stuff like that. It does seem kind of peaceful in a way that doesn't exist in my life anymore. For example, I may spend a lot of time with Theresa and I may be more "in" that Frances and Mary (like, that is a joke to even compare, not to brag about myself or anything, but they are really majorly dorked out and even like don't know how to feather their hair right and they wear really stupid pants and stuff--you'd have to know them to understand that I am not just being mean, here), but sometimes I am really jealous on a Friday night of knowing they are probably having a sleepover, and making cookies and watching a good movie and Mrs. Dennis or Mrs. Morton is there being nice to them and everything, when I am like scared to death of some 18-year-old guy who is giving me beer or something. That doesn't always happen, though. But even when I stay at Theresa's and how she always wants to go down in the basement after her brothers go out, and wants to scrape around through their ashtrays to look for roaches (which are the little parts that are left of joints, I have learned)--I don't really feel like doing that. But she always wants to. I don't mind sneaking out to walk by some guy's house or something, but I really do hate how we always have to look for pot or something. I really don't like the feeling of pot. Okay, truthfully (see, God?), I usually don't feel very much from the roaches. Theresa always gets all super high (she is so funny, really), and wants to crack up in each other's faces about how high we are. And I do it, of course, I crack and up and do my best to imitate what it looks like she's feeling, but the truth is I do'nt usually feel that different. So then there is the whole acting component to it which make sthe night a bummer. And one more thing: words like 'component' I can't say around Theresa. She makes fun of me if I use any even relatively minor "big word." She doesn't know what I'm talking about. I guess she really isn't that good of a speller or anything. But with Mary, I never had to worry about what I was saying like that. I could have actual conversation. But the topics just got too limited to things that don't have much to do with what's going on in my life. Theresa and me, we know what it's like to hate your fucking house. Good for Mary. The loser.
Anyway, so I was telling you about me trying to be nice to Frances, and how we gave her our addresses and all that. And also our phone numbers, because there was a place in her book for that, and she said about how her mom might let her have a Christmas party, and she wanted to be able to invite us if we were already on Christmas vacation, etc. I felt pretty good that Christmas, at least about that part, and I guess I was happy that we would sort of have some peace and love in our neighborhood group of kids. I was even thinking that if we were already on vacation from school, I would probably go to her stupid party. And if I went, that meant my sister, Cindy, probably Sandy, too, would all go.
Except, no cards ever came from Frances. And calls, they did come, but not from her. What she did was give all the boys at school our personal information! What a little witch, man. I still can't believe the evilness behind that. What balls she had, really. I can picture her in the alley that day after school, all sweet and friendly and sincere (seeming), and all along she had a plan. That's why I beat her up after Christmas vacation.
Got in trouble for that.
* * *
"How's that taste?" It's Roger, and he means the drink he gave me.
"Fine." It tastes like cough medicine and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I feel like I'm going to throw up even without this gross drink. There is nowhere to set the glass, so I just keep holding, and from nervousness keep sipping it even though I hate it and now it's half gone.
"Yeah, that's strawberry schnapps and 7-up."
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