Status: Christmas Break is coming up. I'll be able to write more, then. ^.^ Finals and presentations and projects....Gah!! I haven't given up on this, though, promise! I have somewhat of an ending written...And I love it!
Weeds
October 1
October 1
Amanda approached me today in the hallway. She had this look in her eye, like, ‘Oooo….Jordan-roast. Nummy!”
I watched her, cautiously, as she approached, flanked by three of her clones. Or maybe they’re her cronies. Hmmm….Clonies? ‘Crones’ would be pretty nifty, too. I think there’s a double meaning in there. I like thinking of them as ancient, unmarried women. (Insert evil cackle here…)
Anyway, her clonies are typical: designer, perfect, gorgeous. I mean, you’d think that whatever god there is out there would have some creativity. Something new, exciting, and unexpected would be so welcome. The only difference from the stereotype, I suppose, would be these clonies’ intelligence. I heard through the grape vine that one is aiming to become a CEO, one wants to cure cancer, specifically breast cancer, and one is well on her way to earn the Nobel Peace Prize for her work on this Epic Novel about her grandfather who survived Vietnam or something.
I mean, really? How could somebody justify hating people like that? Fortunately for me, my conscience doesn’t require justification; I just hate them.
At any rate, Amanda approached me, and the first words out of her mouth were not a greeting, or anything relatively friendly, really. “Don’t you have a brother?” The words seemed conversational, but her tone was anything but. It made me think of a slug wrapped in rusty barbed wire coated in syrup. Fat-free, sugar-free, preservative-free, all-natural maple syrup, of course.
“Um…” I started. “Maybe.”
“What’s his name?” A small smile played around her rosebud lips.
I stared at her, wondering what was playing on her mind…besides that evening’s tanning appointment and this weekend’s shopping spree. “Jaden.”
“Jaden,” she echoed, her words tearing from her lips in surprise. “Jordan and Jaden?” She blinked. “Jordan and Jaden Jakes?” Her eyes widened in mock amazement and her clonies burst into laughter. “Are your parents comedians?”
I blinked. My dad was, sort of.
Amanda must have caught the look on my face, because she latched on to something that turned the conversation the wrong way. “My sister is in the same grade as your brother. She mentioned that you live with your mother, but she didn’t say anything about your father. Where is he, anyway?”
She would ask that, of course. Her family is perfect. Her friends’ families are perfect. Everyone she knows has perfect families: Mother Marvelous, Father Flawless, Sister Sweet, and Brother Brilliant. She has no clue, no idea whatsoever.
I bit my lip, hard, keeping the snotty retort inside. It wasn’t my job to educate her on the real world. It was the place of real life to do that for her, so the experience could turn into true wisdom. She needed some massive, life-crushing earthquake to wake her up, and however much I knew I wouldn’t wish one on anybody, I knew that it would do her a lot of good.
I left Amanda and her clonies standing in the middle of the hallway, her question still hanging in the air. As if I was actually going to answer. It wasn’t like she really cared, anyway.
Amanda approached me today in the hallway. She had this look in her eye, like, ‘Oooo….Jordan-roast. Nummy!”
I watched her, cautiously, as she approached, flanked by three of her clones. Or maybe they’re her cronies. Hmmm….Clonies? ‘Crones’ would be pretty nifty, too. I think there’s a double meaning in there. I like thinking of them as ancient, unmarried women. (Insert evil cackle here…)
Anyway, her clonies are typical: designer, perfect, gorgeous. I mean, you’d think that whatever god there is out there would have some creativity. Something new, exciting, and unexpected would be so welcome. The only difference from the stereotype, I suppose, would be these clonies’ intelligence. I heard through the grape vine that one is aiming to become a CEO, one wants to cure cancer, specifically breast cancer, and one is well on her way to earn the Nobel Peace Prize for her work on this Epic Novel about her grandfather who survived Vietnam or something.
I mean, really? How could somebody justify hating people like that? Fortunately for me, my conscience doesn’t require justification; I just hate them.
At any rate, Amanda approached me, and the first words out of her mouth were not a greeting, or anything relatively friendly, really. “Don’t you have a brother?” The words seemed conversational, but her tone was anything but. It made me think of a slug wrapped in rusty barbed wire coated in syrup. Fat-free, sugar-free, preservative-free, all-natural maple syrup, of course.
“Um…” I started. “Maybe.”
“What’s his name?” A small smile played around her rosebud lips.
I stared at her, wondering what was playing on her mind…besides that evening’s tanning appointment and this weekend’s shopping spree. “Jaden.”
“Jaden,” she echoed, her words tearing from her lips in surprise. “Jordan and Jaden?” She blinked. “Jordan and Jaden Jakes?” Her eyes widened in mock amazement and her clonies burst into laughter. “Are your parents comedians?”
I blinked. My dad was, sort of.
Amanda must have caught the look on my face, because she latched on to something that turned the conversation the wrong way. “My sister is in the same grade as your brother. She mentioned that you live with your mother, but she didn’t say anything about your father. Where is he, anyway?”
She would ask that, of course. Her family is perfect. Her friends’ families are perfect. Everyone she knows has perfect families: Mother Marvelous, Father Flawless, Sister Sweet, and Brother Brilliant. She has no clue, no idea whatsoever.
I bit my lip, hard, keeping the snotty retort inside. It wasn’t my job to educate her on the real world. It was the place of real life to do that for her, so the experience could turn into true wisdom. She needed some massive, life-crushing earthquake to wake her up, and however much I knew I wouldn’t wish one on anybody, I knew that it would do her a lot of good.
I left Amanda and her clonies standing in the middle of the hallway, her question still hanging in the air. As if I was actually going to answer. It wasn’t like she really cared, anyway.