Build Your Fence

My life isn’t exactly a walk in the park. I’m not saying I am the type of girl to go around complaining of my misfortunes to the guy that happens to walk into elevator to go up to the twentieth floor with me, but I sometimes wish I could go back to my tenth birthday. It was that day when I had the lucky misfortune to meet that crazy, Jewish boy that will soon be the death of me.

I was celebrating my birthday at the park by my house, and this kid with crazy hair comes out of nowhere. I knew I didn’t invite him and I should have told my mom I didn’t know who he was, but I kept my mouth shut. To this day I wondered what if I opened my mouth and made my mom force him to leave. Would I be half asleep on the job right now? Or would I be in a far worse state than I am?

I could be like most of the people I know and hang out with; drinking away all my problems, snorting unknown substances up my nose and have an unstable life. I learned better throughout the years, and most of the time I feel as if I’m the parent to all of my so called friends.

I figured I have become a maternal figure to everyone I meet because of my grandmother. She was already nearing retirement when I was dumped into her life. The woman raised me as if I were her own since my mother and my father were not ready for a child. I was born when they were children themselves. They were only experimenting and I came into their lives. Sure, they attempted to work things out for my sake, but they were both too young to be parents and I was left to be raised by my grandmother and very little help from my mother.

My father was barely there, but he did come to visit on birthdays and every so often when he wanted. I didn’t need parents to be happy. I could raise myself if I had to. Everyday like clockwork, I woke up, made my own breakfast and walked to school. Afterwards, I’d go home, do my homework and fall asleep. Everyday for the rest of my school years, I’d do the same thing.

But now that I think about it, I’m ecstatic I met Shia LaBeouf when I did. Minus my grandmother, he was the only person that truly cared about me. He may drink more than he should, party too much and get arrested for pathetic reasons, but I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

“Rough night?”

My head jerked up and I realized I was dozing off again at work. Not good when I realized it was my boss standing in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You can say that,” I replied as I tried to keep my eyes open and focused on his. I was hoping I wouldn’t get yelled at for sleeping on the job, but it seemed to be coming.

“You know I was working on the schedule for next week,” he said, “And I was thinking of giving you an extended vacation.”

And it was moments like these where I wanted to rip off Shia’s balls and shove them down his throat. That fucker came to my house so late last night and I was forced to stay up all night worrying and making sure he didn’t choke on his vomit. And now this cocksucker in front of me doesn’t even have the common courtesy to act like Donald Trump and say straight out that I’m fired.

“For what?” I asked stupidly.

“Danielle, you’ve been sleeping on the job,” he said. “This is the fourth time this month. I’m sorry D.” Yeah, I’m sure he is. I didn’t even like this job. Working as a hostess was for bitches.

“Fine, whatever,” I said as I walked away from behind the podium and towards the door. “This place is for queers.”

I walked out the door and started heading towards my car. I kept on walking down Ventura Boulevard towards my beat up 1999 Jetta. It was a shitty car, but it was the last thing I owned that was my grandmother’s. She left me everything when she died three years ago. I sometimes wish she was still around moments like this.

My mother would be there to listen to my problems, but she was sometimes too absorbed with her own life to care about me. I don’t really mind most of the time, I was just glad that she allowed me to live with her and I didn’t even have to pay rent. It was the least she could do after barely raising me for the last twenty one years.

Driving home in my current upset state was not very pretty. I ran many red lights, honked my horn too many times to count, tailgated all the slow drivers and yelled out obscenities that were only heard by me. I wish I could leave Los Angeles sometimes. I hate it most of the time and everyone drives like they failed their driving test.

Finally, I reached my house and slammed the door shut. Sooner or later that door was bound to fall off with the amount of slamming I do. I stomped my way towards the front door and as I opened the front door I began tearing off my uniform.

I threw the black jacket on the couch as I made my way towards the kitchen. I opened up all the cabinets and the refrigerator and found nothing to my liking. I started unbuttoning the buttons on my blouse as I made my way towards my room. I opened my bedroom door and became even more upset than I already was.

“Why are you still here?” I questioned as I held my now open shirt together, making sure nothing was revealed.

“I was just leaving,” Shia mumbled. He wasn’t lying; he was in the middle of putting on his shoes. His shirt was lying on the floor and I couldn’t help but stare at this chest. “I didn’t think you would be home this early.”

“I was fired you cuntlicker,” I said as I buttoned two buttons and headed towards my closet. I began flipping through my clothes so I could take one long shower and try to forget about last night and this morning. “Leave!”

“You were fired?” he questioned. I turned around as he bent down to get his shirt and began putting it over his head. “What for?”

“Does it really matter?” I snapped. “Can you just go? I don’t really want to see you right now.”

“I told you I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am Dani.”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied sarcastically as I grabbed a white shirt and sweatpants out of my closet. “Just leave and don’t come back. I’m sick and tired of your shit. Why do you always come here? Everyday you’re getting drunk and you come here and keep me awake. You don’t even care about me Shia.”

“I do care about you,” he said.

“Obviously not! Just go and find a prostitute that will keep you company,” I snapped. “I’m done Shia. This friendship we once had is fading. Everything’s been going downhill since you started drinking and I’m sick of it. Look at what’s happened to you. You don’t have you license anymore, you flipped your truck and your hand is broken.”

“I didn’t flip my truck on purpose,” he said, his voice raising. “You know damn straight I didn’t cause that accident.”

“Fine, but you know you were drinking that night,” I said. “You even called me and bragged about how much you’ve drank that night. You’re pathetic. Just leave.”

“You want me to leave?” he questioned. “I will then. I’ll see you around when you’re not on your rag.” He stormed out of my room and headed towards the front door. I heard it open and slam shut soon after.

I wish it could have been that easy. That my yelling had an affect on him and he’d finally straighten up if he wanted to salvage our friendship. But that seemed more like a fairytale dream than reality.