LW&W (12.19.04)
I have hung up the phone now and am in the doorway of the kitchen and living room. I need to head back to the couch now, where I am staying. My mom will not come and get me. She doesn't understand why I am making such a big deal of it when I don't even sound that sick. I guess I didn't convince her very good. Or else she just doesn't care and Nick will be mad at her if she "spoils" me by coming to get me out here. Even if I am sick, or was sick. The truth is she is more afraid of Nick being mad at her than of me be mad at her tonight. That is the way is getting to be more and more these days. It did not used to be this way. But ever since we got Nick and all moved in together and they were married, it is changed. And does not look good. Because even though she gets mad and thinks Nick is stupid for being so mean to me, she doesn't admit it unless it's just me and her around. Then she will be normal and tell me how she really feels about it, but it doesn't matter because she won't do anything. She is more worried about not making Nick mad at her ever. Me, that is just the consequence that she doesn't like but can live with, I guess.
I even said that to her, knowing she would get mad, but I was desperate at the end of the call.
"You would come if it wasn't for Nick being mad!" I was crying, too.
Then she was mad back, so Nick knew I was sassing off to her, and he started yelling stuff and that was when the call ended and now here I am. I have to go back to the couch, and it feels for sure now like I'm in on it. I have to walk all the way across the living room, straight to the couch, to where Roger is still laying there on the floor with the cards spread around and in his robe and with it open on the bottom. And me walking all that way over there, it is me doing it on purpose. I am the one walking right into it, right where it left off. How could Roger not think I was in on it with him, then?
I wish if I ran, I could get away far enough. But he would for sure catch up to me. There is no doubt. He has a car and he lives here and everything. But if I could, I would, and it would even be worth it for me to hurt his feelings and have everyone hate me for that. Maybe I would just keeping running. If they all hated me that bad, which they would if I did something like running out of here and causing all the trouble that would happen from it, then maybe I could just leave for good. I wonder if I could go live with my dad. Probably not, though. Because two reasons: one, that he said last time we talked about it that the house he's in right now is not a very good one for it, the rooms are too small, and we should wait until he moves to a bigger house which he will be pretty soon; and two, because they would know where to find me because of the courts and stuff, and I can't see that working out. I wonder if Nick would drive to Texas and kill me, if that happened. What would my dad do if he showed up down there? My dad is too polite to just shut the door in his face. I guess he would just let him in and lead him to me. Then it could happen and what could my dad do, because he is not confrontational. I need someone confrontational on my side. When I grow up, I am going to marry someone who is very tough. But nice, too, I hope.
I am never going to grow up. I am never going to exist past this moment, because it is lasting forever. I feel like I have been standing here looking at Roger's back and the couch for longer than I have been alive. The carpet is gold, and it seems like it might be darker in here than when I first called my mom. Is the TV off? No, it is on, the same crime show thing. Something is different, though. I am sort of glad to be more hidden with darker, but also my stomach feels like it just went from shriveled to rock, like a peach pit. My stomach is an iron peach pit inside my abdomen.
My feet won't move. I don't want him to think I am liking this. I don't want to walk over there on purpose like everything is just fine. What should I do? What should I do what should I do what should I do. God, I do not have time to wait for you anymore. I can't believe you didn't show up. Really. I am sorry to say it, but I am pretty disappointed in you. I may not have been perfect lately, but have apologized and I thought you were supposed to forgive. And also to help us when we really did need it. Do you think I want this, too? If you do, then you are a crummier God than I ever thought, or else I am really not connected to my real self. Because me, I do not think I want any of this to be happening. If you and Roger are right, then I am truly a crazy person who has no idea what is the reality, and if that is the case, then why do I have to be stuck in this one in my head that hates hates hates every second of this night and cannot escape? If I really am bringing this on myself, then just shoot me through the stupid head, because I want to die right now.
His head is turning. Roger's head is lifting to the left, now there his ear is rolling back by his shoulder of the blue terry cloth robe, and now there is his profile, his mustache and beard and his nose and his glasses, and now there is his whole face, and the eyes behind the glasses have found me standing here.
"You off the phone?"
There is smoke around him. I can see it now. Like a cloud. He doesn't smoke, though. But that is smoke. How did I not smell it before. It is pot. I know that smell. He tried to give us pot up north last summer. And I have smelled it from other people in my life lots of times. Even my mom and Nick once, but she promised that was the last time ever. She said at first it was the fireplace backing up, but then she came up and told me the truth and said she would never do it again. I believe her. I must be stupid.
I do not want the pot happening. I do not want a drink, I do not want the lights darker, I do not want to play more games with the dirty cards. I do not want to be in front of his robe again. My feet will not move. There is gold sculptured carpet under my toes, and kind of dirty kitchen floor--linoleum--under the rest of my foot, the back part. A macrame owl is on the living room wall to my right. I can see the side view of it from here. There is some dust and a lot of spiderwebs attaching it to the wall. I think Sue might have made it. I made a macrame choker at summer day camp a few years ago. It's pretty neat; my favorite necklace. I wear it all the time, even now. I don't even care that it's gotten wet and dirty and never comes off. It sort of had made it more solid in a way, and I think it looks good. There is a bigger square bead right in the front, and then a few smaller ones on the edges, and some macrame knots along the way. I wonder if I should have taken it off before coming here. I wonder if I should have worn different pajamas. I wonder if I should have put my hair in a ponytail instead of hanging down long; not come at all, sat straight up on the couch until Roger went to bed, not worn the cherry cola chapstick today. Been born.
I even said that to her, knowing she would get mad, but I was desperate at the end of the call.
"You would come if it wasn't for Nick being mad!" I was crying, too.
Then she was mad back, so Nick knew I was sassing off to her, and he started yelling stuff and that was when the call ended and now here I am. I have to go back to the couch, and it feels for sure now like I'm in on it. I have to walk all the way across the living room, straight to the couch, to where Roger is still laying there on the floor with the cards spread around and in his robe and with it open on the bottom. And me walking all that way over there, it is me doing it on purpose. I am the one walking right into it, right where it left off. How could Roger not think I was in on it with him, then?
I wish if I ran, I could get away far enough. But he would for sure catch up to me. There is no doubt. He has a car and he lives here and everything. But if I could, I would, and it would even be worth it for me to hurt his feelings and have everyone hate me for that. Maybe I would just keeping running. If they all hated me that bad, which they would if I did something like running out of here and causing all the trouble that would happen from it, then maybe I could just leave for good. I wonder if I could go live with my dad. Probably not, though. Because two reasons: one, that he said last time we talked about it that the house he's in right now is not a very good one for it, the rooms are too small, and we should wait until he moves to a bigger house which he will be pretty soon; and two, because they would know where to find me because of the courts and stuff, and I can't see that working out. I wonder if Nick would drive to Texas and kill me, if that happened. What would my dad do if he showed up down there? My dad is too polite to just shut the door in his face. I guess he would just let him in and lead him to me. Then it could happen and what could my dad do, because he is not confrontational. I need someone confrontational on my side. When I grow up, I am going to marry someone who is very tough. But nice, too, I hope.
I am never going to grow up. I am never going to exist past this moment, because it is lasting forever. I feel like I have been standing here looking at Roger's back and the couch for longer than I have been alive. The carpet is gold, and it seems like it might be darker in here than when I first called my mom. Is the TV off? No, it is on, the same crime show thing. Something is different, though. I am sort of glad to be more hidden with darker, but also my stomach feels like it just went from shriveled to rock, like a peach pit. My stomach is an iron peach pit inside my abdomen.
My feet won't move. I don't want him to think I am liking this. I don't want to walk over there on purpose like everything is just fine. What should I do? What should I do what should I do what should I do. God, I do not have time to wait for you anymore. I can't believe you didn't show up. Really. I am sorry to say it, but I am pretty disappointed in you. I may not have been perfect lately, but have apologized and I thought you were supposed to forgive. And also to help us when we really did need it. Do you think I want this, too? If you do, then you are a crummier God than I ever thought, or else I am really not connected to my real self. Because me, I do not think I want any of this to be happening. If you and Roger are right, then I am truly a crazy person who has no idea what is the reality, and if that is the case, then why do I have to be stuck in this one in my head that hates hates hates every second of this night and cannot escape? If I really am bringing this on myself, then just shoot me through the stupid head, because I want to die right now.
His head is turning. Roger's head is lifting to the left, now there his ear is rolling back by his shoulder of the blue terry cloth robe, and now there is his profile, his mustache and beard and his nose and his glasses, and now there is his whole face, and the eyes behind the glasses have found me standing here.
"You off the phone?"
There is smoke around him. I can see it now. Like a cloud. He doesn't smoke, though. But that is smoke. How did I not smell it before. It is pot. I know that smell. He tried to give us pot up north last summer. And I have smelled it from other people in my life lots of times. Even my mom and Nick once, but she promised that was the last time ever. She said at first it was the fireplace backing up, but then she came up and told me the truth and said she would never do it again. I believe her. I must be stupid.
I do not want the pot happening. I do not want a drink, I do not want the lights darker, I do not want to play more games with the dirty cards. I do not want to be in front of his robe again. My feet will not move. There is gold sculptured carpet under my toes, and kind of dirty kitchen floor--linoleum--under the rest of my foot, the back part. A macrame owl is on the living room wall to my right. I can see the side view of it from here. There is some dust and a lot of spiderwebs attaching it to the wall. I think Sue might have made it. I made a macrame choker at summer day camp a few years ago. It's pretty neat; my favorite necklace. I wear it all the time, even now. I don't even care that it's gotten wet and dirty and never comes off. It sort of had made it more solid in a way, and I think it looks good. There is a bigger square bead right in the front, and then a few smaller ones on the edges, and some macrame knots along the way. I wonder if I should have taken it off before coming here. I wonder if I should have worn different pajamas. I wonder if I should have put my hair in a ponytail instead of hanging down long; not come at all, sat straight up on the couch until Roger went to bed, not worn the cherry cola chapstick today. Been born.
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