|
|
12-31-01 - 1:07 a.m. Mike went with Bryan and Justin to the zoo today, then came home, ate dinner, and zonked out. So it was a pretty easy day. I discovered this morning around nine that Bryan had gone in my room, found my stash of vodka, and disposed of it. I found the empty bottle, label glaring at me, in the trash can under the sink. I was meant to find it there. He hadn't thrown it out. He had carefully placed the empty bottle so I could see it and know that I was not in control. He was. It was a mind game and I didn't feel like playing along. But it didn't end there. Oh no, this was just the first round. He'd made his serve and I couldn't return, nor would I dare give him the satisfaction of an unsuccessful volley. Instead, thinking myself clever, I quickly searched around for my car keys so I could get my ass up north for some drugs. I hardly ever make housecalls, but I somehow felt this was a desperate enough situation. Bryan had taken my keys. So I was stuck at home. Eventually, I began making phone calls to find a way out of the apartment. Haley offered a trip to Barnes & Noble, and I, eager for anything but the walls of my living room, agreed. So we went and I picked up a copy of A Confederacy of Dunces, something I'd begun to read, thoroughly enjoyed, and then completely forgotten about, but now intend to finish. Afterwards, we went to lunch, then I came home. Later, I went to dinner with George. When Bryan and Justin came home and put Mike to sleep, Justin decided to take a shower. Bryan and I were left alone, and I decided to have a little cruel fun. Deprive me of my illegal medication and I become the manipulative little bitch I was locked up for. By choice, of course. It's sort of my "fuck you" to the world. "You owe me twelve bones," I told Bryan. I sprawled myself on the couch, licked my lips, and glared at him. Rob used to tell me I had "piercing" eyes. "Magnetic," he sometimes said. I used to joke that, one day, I'd flip my eyeballs backwards so that the poles would be opposite. That way, I'd be able to repel people and finally they'd leave me the hell alone. Rob didn't like that. I allowed myself a cigarette. The kid was asleep and, more honestly, I didn't care. "What for?" asked Bryan. "And smoke that outside." I rolled my eyes and blew a smoke ring. I have so many hidden goddamn talents, I amaze even myself. "You look like shit, Laura." "If I look half as bad as I feel, well..." I didn't feel like finishing my sentence. "Cut the act." "Who's acting? You?" "I'm not acting." "You're pretending to be the hero. You want to save me. You and everyone else." Bryan made as if to say something, but I shook my head. I wasn't through. "Who's pretending, Bryan? You or me? Me? I don't think so. In fact, it's just the opposite. I'm not acting. Rather, I'm not acting. This is me. But then there's you. You, who are so noble and so perfect and so comfortable with who and what you are. If you think I don't know that you're just as insecure as I am, then you're a fuckin' wackjob and I'm not." I got up to extinguish my cigarette. I opened the sliding glass door on my balcony to aerate the apartment. Bryan followed me, closing the door behind him. I leaned over the banister, lit another cigarette, and waited for my lecture. "I want you to stop showing off the fact that you can be a selfish little girl." I told him I wasn't "showing off" anything, that I didn't want to take care of Mike, that I wanted to be left alone. I reminded him of his $12 debt. Bryan said that, yes I was acting, that I was pretending to be "a fucked-up little headcase" when, really, I'm not. He said that all I am is a "scared little girl trying to act like [I've] got an ounce of courage" when, really, I'm a coward. I lost it there. He had been standing behind me, back to the door, facing out over the banister. I can't really explain it, but I felt this sudden fury and all I wanted to do was lash out at him. I tried to suppress it, I really did, but he'd gone too far. So I crossed the balcony, grabbed him by his shirt, and slammed him up against the sliding glass door. "Don't you ever call me a coward," I threatened, "or I swear to god I'll kill you." I held him for a little over a minute, just scowling at him in silence, and then I let him down. I crossed the balcony again to resume my post at the banister. I don't know how much time passed, but it couldn't have been too long before he was next to me, calm, his hand on my back. I nudged it off. "What are you thinking?" he asked me. I sighed. "I'm thinking that I'm sick of people fucking asking me what I'm thinking all the time." He backed off and didn't say anything for a while. I voiced a thought that had been stirring in my mind for a few minutes. "If I jumped off this balcony, you think I'd die?" Bryan's reply was very quiet. "No, I think you'd break your legs and spend the next few months in a wheelchair." "Oh." "I'd buy you a spatula, though. Two." Being in no mood for cutesy affection, I stamped out my cigarette and walked back inside, pausing only for a half-second to "accidentally" cut my palm on the sharp end of a broken light fixture. I know where all the sharp points are in my apartment. I watched my hand timidly spit out little dribbles of blood as I lay in bed. I stared at the ceiling for a while and eventually fell asleep. When I woke up, I found a small wad of cash on my bedside table, along with my keys. I counted it. Twelve dollars. So that was my night. And of course everything is paraphrased and it'll sound more like a movie script because that's just how I write. But I didn't delete any scenes, or even any lines. I just added to the sentence fragments still in my memory. Tomorrow is my favorite holiday. And I'm stuck with someone else's kid. I hate even seeing anything of Sari. I can't deal with anything that reminds me of Bayview. Fucking hellhole.
|