Summer of 09'

The alarm clock woke me up and I stared at my ceiling as it continued to drone on, the buzzing filling my ears but surprisingly it wasn't unpleasant. I heard someone bang on the wall from the next apartment over and I rolled onto my side and hit the snooze button.

Another day.

I forced myself out of bed as I walked to my closet trying to find something comfortable versus something stylish. I grabbed the first pair jeans I saw and then grabbed the flannel t-shirt as I exited my room. My thoughts dimly thinking about to the events of last night.

I didn't need to think anymore as I saw my grandmother laying passed out on the couch, bottles littered the floor. I shook my head as I bent down to pick them up, the smell making me slightly nausea.

I walked to the back door and threw them into the recycling bin. I leaned against the door jam rubbing my eyes. I didn't want to go to school, I didn't want to deal with life anymore. Hit after hit I had been dealt.

I shook my head as I walked over and grabbed my black coat, I shrugged it on as I heard my grandmother moaning. I didn't want to have to deal with her half-hearted drunken sympathy. I quickly grabbed my books before exiting.

The cold hit me full force and I shivered as I felt it creep into my joints. A dull aching entering my knee but I ignored it. I let my hand dig into my jacket and feel around for my cap and with a smile I pulled the knitted wool over my head.

Small town life left no secrets.

My eyes scanned the dark cement beneath my boot clad feet, a smile played across my lips. Many times my father would have walked down this road with me, my hand in his as he told me not to step on the cracks.

A small game we always played.

I entered Lehman High School and was presented with warmth and with a sigh I pulled the hat from my head and stuffed it back into my jacket's pocket.

I walked towards my locker dodging people with ease that I've accomplished within my fours year here. I was excited that this was my last year and I could escape.

I would escape.

I entered in my locker's combination without an ounce of thought behind it, I slipped the jacket from my shoulder and stuffed it inside. I exchanged notebooks and picked up my textbook and turned and nearly screamed.

I put a hand over my chest as my best friend Ava smiled at me, her gorgeous eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, good morning to you too," I muttered a little bitterly as I began to walk off, her laughter filling my ears as she ran to catch up with my long strides. "How are you?" I asked, now smiling over at her, she gave me a cheeky grin.

"I am absolutely wonderful. Spencer asked me to go to the Valentine's day dance with him next month, as if I would have said no. He is my boyfriend after all." She said with a grin and I nudged her and she nudged me back.

I felt lonely in the sense of having no boyfriend. I was of course happy for my best friend, how could I not? Spencer and her made sense like pizza with extra cheese and tons of toppings.

I made sense with no one. I brushed off the thought as we departed and I headed to Web Design for another boring class. I always finished early and I sat there for the remaining hour doing nothing but looking at colleges.

I sighed as I walked into the class and looked towards the back board for an assignment and I saw I had finished every single one already there. I groaned as I stared at the computer screen, the options very minimal.

I had done all my homework, surprisingly.

I had sent applications to the colleges I wanted to attend.

I smiled as I typed in my blog's address and decided it was time for a post.

_________________________

It's hard to live with a drunk, the amount of alcohol always around drives you to drink yourself. Although at this point I don't think I ever could. I don't want to turn into the monster everyone in my family becomes.

I'd rather deal with violence than the sympathy my grandmother offers, alcohol brings forth honest hearts, brings forth honest answers. We all say something for a reason, truth is behind everything we say whether we realize it or not.

Last night was the worst it had ever gotten, my grandmother drank bottles, two to be exact, of vodka. I thought for sure she was going to die and that was the worst part, I remember crying and trying to beg her not to drink.

But every word fell short every time she brought the bottle to her wrinkly lips, ignoring my pleas and only satisfying her own need. I left, I couldn't take the smell anymore and I couldn't take watching my grandmother kill herself in front of me.

I laid in my bed with my music blaring in my ears until I heard the banging on my door and I watched as my grandmother staggered in and collapsed to my floor. I remember moving forward and ripping the music from my ears as she cried on me.

Her hands gripped my hair tightly, I thought for a second she might rip it from my head. But instead she released it and she began to run her hands over it, her deceased husbands name sobbing from her lips.

Than she looked at me, "My son loved you, I'm sorry this happened to you." I held my tongue and my composure as I continued to try and soothe my grandmother. She had lost her husband and her son all in a years time.

I was the only thing left besides her turtle, Henry, but I knew Henry didn't provide the comfort I did. I held her until she grew still, until I could feel her hands grow loose upon me. I pulled back and placed my two fingers against her throat to feel a slow pulse beneath it.

I helped her to the couch and went into my room until I eventually fell asleep to the steady beat of my favorite song.

The point is, I can't wait to get far away from Lehman. I love my grandmother, she took me in when my mother was placed in jail. She held me when I was younger and cried at my father's funeral. She had been there countless times for me.

Now at the age of 18, I supposed she thought it was time someone take care of her. How could I manage school, a job and my grandmother? My grandmother could support herself, she always could even without the money my grandfather had left behind for her.

I had money from my father, money that I planned on using for college. My dreams hadn't been tarnished, not yet.

I refuse to let them be tarnished.

I'm alone when it comes to coping with the amount of stress pushed upon myself. I may have money but money doesn't give you happiness. Love doesn't seem to give it to you either, look at my grandmother and look at me.

I've never really known love.

I seemed to be a fuck up or close to it.

So let me ask the most important and instinctive question that constantly fleets around the dark corners of my mind.

What is it like to feel loved?

To actually feel wanted?

Someone, tell me because I'm dying to know.

Love.