The Prettiest People Do The Ugliest Things
You Worry About the Wrong Things
The best part of the day was a highly disputed argument within myself for as long as I can remember. Being young, I remember loving dark nights. Maybe it was their mystery, maybe it had something to do with the stars. Whatever it was, I remember loving it, if I made it up that late. On the other side, bright, crisp weekday mornings at the bus stop with dewy grass and fresh air were just as beautiful. Basically, in the morning I’d always spit a lot of talk of how nice it was outside and in the night, I’d spit an equal amount of talk of how nice it was then. My mother never paid much attention, she just said I was indecisive. So served me breakfast and walked me to my bus stop in the morning, and served me dinner and tucked me into bed at night. My dad, however, whom I only saw on Wednesdays and every two weekends, would always say that when I grew up, there wouldn’t be enough time for me to enjoy the beauty of the morning and of the evening, so I had better savour my time while it lasted. That idea seemed ridiculous to me. I told him that if a minute is sixty seconds, and a year is 365 days then it should always seem the same, and if it doesn’t daddy, you must be crazy. He told me I was in for a surprise.
Growing up in Wasaga Beach had its ups and downs. As a kid, until 12 years old there are only ups in life as we know it, but I’m talking about 12 and beyond. Summertime in Wasaga is beautiful. The population triples, at least. It’s always hot out and there’s always a lot of people around, tourists visiting the beach, friends nearby, skaters skateboarding. Stuff like that. Everybody is always either smiling or laughing with their friends and family. Some people say Wasaga is like a world of its own in the Summer. In the Winter, though, Wasaga is depressing. It’s a small town with a frozen beach and a dead strip. There’s never really anybody outside because it’s so damn cold. We all stay in, stay warm, watch TV and wish we lived in an actual city with actual things to do. I say in the Winter, Wasaga Beach is a part of the world that shouldn’t even exist. I’m not sure why my family moved here in the first place, I was born in Quebec, and shortly after, we moved here. I think to be close to the military base, where my dad works. Speaking of my parents, they divorced when I was 3 years young. I honestly don’t remember them together and I can’t see how they ever were. My mom isn’t strict, she’s just afraid of something. I have an older sister who paved the way for me, so I’m basically allowed to do whatever if I don’t get out of hand, as long as it’s not hard drugs or getting pregnant. She’s dating a control freak who controls her. He’s not a part of my life, but I think her lack of control in that relationship makes her want to control mine. Not what I do now per se, but what I do in the future, you know? She was brought up kind of strict, kind of nerdy. No boys or anything, until she met my dad. Then they got divorced, she dated a police officer, they broke up, she went clubbing a lot and met her current piece of shit boyfriend. My dad on the other hand is kind of a crazy free spirit. He’s a closet stoner, we’re not supposed to know it. Sorry to break it to you dad, but when your kids smoke weed, they can smell the chronic on you. He has radical opinions and he’s shown me lots of incredible places. The weekends we spent together when we were younger were spent sightseeing in Toronto, mostly at the Beaches and Queen’s Quay. When we grew older, it moved up to Queen Street and Bloor Street, and now I barely really see the guy because he’s up north in his hometown strumming his acoustic guitar and smelling the air, because when it comes to money, he’s set for life. I guess it’s only natural that they made me and my sister, Hollie.
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“Melissa, stop jewing us and pass the bong!”
April of the tenth grade. You have no idea how long it took to get just here. It’s late afternoon and it’s beautiful outside. I’m sitting in my sister’s basement bedroom passing around a pink glass bong with her and one of my best friends, Tasha. Tasha is, of course, the one nagging me. It sounds bad, but my sister loves and cares about me too much, more than herself. That’s why she wouldn’t mind if I took a few extra hits. “Shut the fuck up Trasha! Just take an extra hit next time it comes your way, bud.”
Some people find it extra strange that me and my sister blaze together, but last year, we started doing it every day after we got home. She was a stoner first, and she took the honor of turning me into one. She goes to college now, so it’s natural that as the Easter holidays come forth and she comes home, we have a major bong sesh. There’s no other way to capture the moments, and there’s no other way to make new memories. To be honest, I live high and I see no problem with it. I’m passing academic courses with good grades, my parents don’t hate me and the only friends I’ve lost are assholes. I’m humming Sleepyhead by Passion Pit really low to myself in my head, until my sister interrupts my thoughts: “What are you guys doing tonight?” I stare at her for five seconds until my answer comes out, “It’s a long weekend dude, we’re putting our party shoes on,” I don’t have party shoes, but I like the saying. “What are you saying?” “Probably going to the Queen’s.”
The Queen’s is a bar in the bigger town nearby. I’ve never been, but that may have to do with being 15 years old.
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“I don’t know what to wear tonight!”
As always, Tasha is obsessing over her wardrobe. She really doesn’t need to, she always looks good and girly. Whenever I’m around her I feel sort of boyish. Not manly or anything, specifically boyish. She has long, dark hair, a curvy figure, mature fashion sense and always has perfect makeup. I’m really not sure how somebody can always look so good and still find it in herself to complain about her looks. Whatever. It doesn’t phase me that much, it just sort of makes me feel uncomfortable. I never know what to say to people when they criticize themselves, so I just don’t say anything. “Just wear... Clothes, dude. What else can you wear?” She looks back at me from the mirror, unimpressed. “Like, not even funny.” “Like, wasn’t even supposed to be!” “Like, wasn’t even supposed to be!” She repeats after me in a ridiculous voice. Laughing, I reply, “That’s not even how I said it, Tash!” We both laugh and get over it. She finds an outfit, so do I, we do our hair and makeup, call our ride, grab our booze and head on over to the jam.
The party is at a stunning house on the beach, and the first thing I say to Tasha is that it’s going to get trashed. Immediately, I see a group of girls we know who want to take a picture. We take a quick one, but I’ve been texting my other best friend Liam who said he’d meet me in the kitchen. As soon as i walk into the kitchen, his voice fills the air: “EASY DONALD TRUMP!” I smile as wide as I can, “What are you talking about, Liam, the dirty comb over or the twenty-sixer of Goose?” “Hella both, don’t fire me, bitch!” He’s drinking Coors and Bacardi. We start the night with a few shots, no chase. Tasha left the kitchen, probably off getting sloppy-drunk with somebody she just met. She hates familiarity for some reason. I’m over it, so me and Liam take shots with a few bros and broads, and next we mix some drinks. There’s nothing like a night out with the closest friends, and the closest friends you don’t know yet. I don’t know if it’s normal, but I started drinking every weekend halfway through grade nine. My liver is a champion, my lungs are dead from hitting poppers everyday and my gums are bust and probably cancerous from chewing tobacco, but I’m so over it. There is nothing like a night out. Nothing like high school life, especially when it’s a good one. I see so many people out tonight, I reconnect with an old best friend for five minutes, I make math inside jokes with people from math class, science jokes with people from science class and so on. Mostly though, I chill with my bros and my ladies and sip on my Screwdriver and hack darts. I don't really smoke when I'm sober; when I'm high it takes the high to a new and better level. When I'm drunk, head-rushes feel amazing for some reason and I could probably smoke a pack. The most I've ever smoked sober is a few drags.
A few hours later, everybody is smashed and having a great time. A fight broke out between these two guys who openly dislike each other. I guess if we can't watch UFC, a high school fight is the next best thing. High school boys are so full of hormones, it's insane. The amount they don't know about girls is even crazier, but that's another story. After what seems like hours, I see Tasha. "Melissa! Where have you been this whole time!" As always, Tasha is sloppy-drunk and loving every minute of it. I smile at her and tell her I've been right here this whole time. Just that second, we hear glass shatter. Tasha screams, and I put my arm around her and follow the crowd that is looking for the cause of the commotion. Every footstep towards finding out is an adventure. Halfway up I forget what I'm going to see, but I know it's something good because everybody else is going. The person in front of me stops walking and screams, so I look over their shoulder to see a broken window. I look further down where everybody else is looking to see a freshman I've met a few times on the pavement outside. "Holy shit, Melissa! Do you see that? She's on the ground! And she's bleeding. We should all go help her! What if she dies?" Tasha says all those words frantically, and the more she says, the more I forget. The words turn into nothing and I just smile: "Everything's alright, Tash." She looks at me like I'm crazy, and I announce that I'm walking home. She yells for me to wait and follows behind me.
It's one of the prettiest nights and starriest skies I have seen in a while. Walking in this air makes me feel like the luckiest I've ever been, and I'll ever be. Without looking at Tasha, I start to talk, "Tasha... What the fuck happened tonight?"
I don't look to see, but I know she's looking at me with her mouth wide open, "Not a big deal or anything, his fridge door got broken off, so many bottles were broken, I lost my cellphone for a second and Kristin... something, grade nine Kristin fell or got pushed out of a window or something insane like that."
"Oh."
"Doesn't that scare you a little?"
"I mean, it's not you or me or anybody we love is it?"
Growing up in Wasaga Beach had its ups and downs. As a kid, until 12 years old there are only ups in life as we know it, but I’m talking about 12 and beyond. Summertime in Wasaga is beautiful. The population triples, at least. It’s always hot out and there’s always a lot of people around, tourists visiting the beach, friends nearby, skaters skateboarding. Stuff like that. Everybody is always either smiling or laughing with their friends and family. Some people say Wasaga is like a world of its own in the Summer. In the Winter, though, Wasaga is depressing. It’s a small town with a frozen beach and a dead strip. There’s never really anybody outside because it’s so damn cold. We all stay in, stay warm, watch TV and wish we lived in an actual city with actual things to do. I say in the Winter, Wasaga Beach is a part of the world that shouldn’t even exist. I’m not sure why my family moved here in the first place, I was born in Quebec, and shortly after, we moved here. I think to be close to the military base, where my dad works. Speaking of my parents, they divorced when I was 3 years young. I honestly don’t remember them together and I can’t see how they ever were. My mom isn’t strict, she’s just afraid of something. I have an older sister who paved the way for me, so I’m basically allowed to do whatever if I don’t get out of hand, as long as it’s not hard drugs or getting pregnant. She’s dating a control freak who controls her. He’s not a part of my life, but I think her lack of control in that relationship makes her want to control mine. Not what I do now per se, but what I do in the future, you know? She was brought up kind of strict, kind of nerdy. No boys or anything, until she met my dad. Then they got divorced, she dated a police officer, they broke up, she went clubbing a lot and met her current piece of shit boyfriend. My dad on the other hand is kind of a crazy free spirit. He’s a closet stoner, we’re not supposed to know it. Sorry to break it to you dad, but when your kids smoke weed, they can smell the chronic on you. He has radical opinions and he’s shown me lots of incredible places. The weekends we spent together when we were younger were spent sightseeing in Toronto, mostly at the Beaches and Queen’s Quay. When we grew older, it moved up to Queen Street and Bloor Street, and now I barely really see the guy because he’s up north in his hometown strumming his acoustic guitar and smelling the air, because when it comes to money, he’s set for life. I guess it’s only natural that they made me and my sister, Hollie.
---
“Melissa, stop jewing us and pass the bong!”
April of the tenth grade. You have no idea how long it took to get just here. It’s late afternoon and it’s beautiful outside. I’m sitting in my sister’s basement bedroom passing around a pink glass bong with her and one of my best friends, Tasha. Tasha is, of course, the one nagging me. It sounds bad, but my sister loves and cares about me too much, more than herself. That’s why she wouldn’t mind if I took a few extra hits. “Shut the fuck up Trasha! Just take an extra hit next time it comes your way, bud.”
Some people find it extra strange that me and my sister blaze together, but last year, we started doing it every day after we got home. She was a stoner first, and she took the honor of turning me into one. She goes to college now, so it’s natural that as the Easter holidays come forth and she comes home, we have a major bong sesh. There’s no other way to capture the moments, and there’s no other way to make new memories. To be honest, I live high and I see no problem with it. I’m passing academic courses with good grades, my parents don’t hate me and the only friends I’ve lost are assholes. I’m humming Sleepyhead by Passion Pit really low to myself in my head, until my sister interrupts my thoughts: “What are you guys doing tonight?” I stare at her for five seconds until my answer comes out, “It’s a long weekend dude, we’re putting our party shoes on,” I don’t have party shoes, but I like the saying. “What are you saying?” “Probably going to the Queen’s.”
The Queen’s is a bar in the bigger town nearby. I’ve never been, but that may have to do with being 15 years old.
---
“I don’t know what to wear tonight!”
As always, Tasha is obsessing over her wardrobe. She really doesn’t need to, she always looks good and girly. Whenever I’m around her I feel sort of boyish. Not manly or anything, specifically boyish. She has long, dark hair, a curvy figure, mature fashion sense and always has perfect makeup. I’m really not sure how somebody can always look so good and still find it in herself to complain about her looks. Whatever. It doesn’t phase me that much, it just sort of makes me feel uncomfortable. I never know what to say to people when they criticize themselves, so I just don’t say anything. “Just wear... Clothes, dude. What else can you wear?” She looks back at me from the mirror, unimpressed. “Like, not even funny.” “Like, wasn’t even supposed to be!” “Like, wasn’t even supposed to be!” She repeats after me in a ridiculous voice. Laughing, I reply, “That’s not even how I said it, Tash!” We both laugh and get over it. She finds an outfit, so do I, we do our hair and makeup, call our ride, grab our booze and head on over to the jam.
The party is at a stunning house on the beach, and the first thing I say to Tasha is that it’s going to get trashed. Immediately, I see a group of girls we know who want to take a picture. We take a quick one, but I’ve been texting my other best friend Liam who said he’d meet me in the kitchen. As soon as i walk into the kitchen, his voice fills the air: “EASY DONALD TRUMP!” I smile as wide as I can, “What are you talking about, Liam, the dirty comb over or the twenty-sixer of Goose?” “Hella both, don’t fire me, bitch!” He’s drinking Coors and Bacardi. We start the night with a few shots, no chase. Tasha left the kitchen, probably off getting sloppy-drunk with somebody she just met. She hates familiarity for some reason. I’m over it, so me and Liam take shots with a few bros and broads, and next we mix some drinks. There’s nothing like a night out with the closest friends, and the closest friends you don’t know yet. I don’t know if it’s normal, but I started drinking every weekend halfway through grade nine. My liver is a champion, my lungs are dead from hitting poppers everyday and my gums are bust and probably cancerous from chewing tobacco, but I’m so over it. There is nothing like a night out. Nothing like high school life, especially when it’s a good one. I see so many people out tonight, I reconnect with an old best friend for five minutes, I make math inside jokes with people from math class, science jokes with people from science class and so on. Mostly though, I chill with my bros and my ladies and sip on my Screwdriver and hack darts. I don't really smoke when I'm sober; when I'm high it takes the high to a new and better level. When I'm drunk, head-rushes feel amazing for some reason and I could probably smoke a pack. The most I've ever smoked sober is a few drags.
A few hours later, everybody is smashed and having a great time. A fight broke out between these two guys who openly dislike each other. I guess if we can't watch UFC, a high school fight is the next best thing. High school boys are so full of hormones, it's insane. The amount they don't know about girls is even crazier, but that's another story. After what seems like hours, I see Tasha. "Melissa! Where have you been this whole time!" As always, Tasha is sloppy-drunk and loving every minute of it. I smile at her and tell her I've been right here this whole time. Just that second, we hear glass shatter. Tasha screams, and I put my arm around her and follow the crowd that is looking for the cause of the commotion. Every footstep towards finding out is an adventure. Halfway up I forget what I'm going to see, but I know it's something good because everybody else is going. The person in front of me stops walking and screams, so I look over their shoulder to see a broken window. I look further down where everybody else is looking to see a freshman I've met a few times on the pavement outside. "Holy shit, Melissa! Do you see that? She's on the ground! And she's bleeding. We should all go help her! What if she dies?" Tasha says all those words frantically, and the more she says, the more I forget. The words turn into nothing and I just smile: "Everything's alright, Tash." She looks at me like I'm crazy, and I announce that I'm walking home. She yells for me to wait and follows behind me.
It's one of the prettiest nights and starriest skies I have seen in a while. Walking in this air makes me feel like the luckiest I've ever been, and I'll ever be. Without looking at Tasha, I start to talk, "Tasha... What the fuck happened tonight?"
I don't look to see, but I know she's looking at me with her mouth wide open, "Not a big deal or anything, his fridge door got broken off, so many bottles were broken, I lost my cellphone for a second and Kristin... something, grade nine Kristin fell or got pushed out of a window or something insane like that."
"Oh."
"Doesn't that scare you a little?"
"I mean, it's not you or me or anybody we love is it?"