Crooked Minds, Wicked Hearts, and Clean Hands
How Things Change
Tracy
High school... what a blur. All I remember after coming out of my shell freshman year is showing up at party after party, and waking up in a new place (with a new guy) each morning. No matter how often I drank, I could never manage to keep in control of myself after the first couple of beers. I was taken advantage of more times than I could count, and probably even more that I never found out about.
Oh well. At least I remember my first time. Even though it's arguably the one I most regret.
High school... I was so pathetic. All I had ever wanted was to fit in, and when I was asked out by the most popular guy in school, I thought it was too good to be true. In some aspects, it was great. It was often hard to feel comfortable around him because he always seemed to be pressuring me to do things I wasn't so sure about, but that didn't matter so much. It was just nice to know—or at least to think—that someone loved me. And I loved him. I gave him all I had to offer, my heart, my virginity, my whole life was his. And one day, out of the blue, he dumped me. He called me because he couldn't even bear to look at me. Here I was, feeling like I had done something wrong, and when I saw him again at a party sucking face with a stranger, I realized nothing was ever right.
From that moment on, I promised myself that I would never get involved with anyone like him again. I would have nothing to do with him or with anything he stood for. I chopped off all my hair and got so many body modifications that I didn't recognize myself anymore, and as far as I was concerned, that was good. I got used to the new me, an identity that belonged to myself and no one else. Independence was a good feeling.
Despite all the changes, however, I couldn't kick my alcohol habit, so I still found myself at parties sometimes. I made some different friends that also liked to drink, but never nearly as much as I did. I was abused all through my high school years, but none of that ever hurt as much as what my first boyfriend did to me.
Now? I'm entirely another person. My face is tougher, and I've gained a good fifty pounds, in height, muscle, and all right, some fat. I'm doing pretty good in college, and I do most of my drinking alone. Best of all, no one fucks with me anymore. It feels like just yesterday I was that feeble, meek wannabe that the tough chick I am now just laughs at.
How things change...
Devon
High school... what a joke. I got everything handed to me, and everyone was jealous of me. I lived the teenage guy's dream, but now I realize that none of it matters in the end.
I was nervous about attending a new school freshman year, but I came from a wealthy family, so naturally, I became popular quickly. All the cool guys wanted to hang with me, and all the hot girls wanted to get with me. It's funny how power like that can consume a guy and conceal what's really worthwhile in life.
High school... I was so foolish. I spent my money on frivolous things instead of investing in my future. I victimized the people I should have befriended, and befriended the people I should have ignored. I looked for love in empty girls, and turned down all the real women. Every day, I get a step closer to knowing what love is, and at the same time, I get a step farther from actually achieving it. Now that I know what I was looking for, I realize how far off I was.
I did fall in love once, a long time ago. She was sweet and very creative, but she fell short of the standards I was supposed to have for beauty. And I took a lot of shit for it. I don't think she knew what I endured to keep her as long as I did. When we eventually broke up, it was because I realized I wasn't being honest with her about who I was. I think she knew the real me better than any of my friends, and probably better than I did, but I couldn't lie to her any longer. She was too good for me.
Now? I'm all by myself. I've given up on love; it seems like all the girls I meet these days are hollow on the inside. I wound up caught in the routine of slaving away at the local supermarket for a less-than-mediocre wage. I didn't get any scholarships, so I figured I could take a year off without any trouble, then just go to college when I wanted. It feels like just yesterday I was putting off important decisions while I still had the time.
How things change...
Reese
High school... what a blast. Those were the best four years of my life. Time sure flies when you're having fun. I experienced a lot of firsts while I was in high school. First cigarette, first hangover, first kiss...
Okay, so maybe I'm now struggling to control my harmful chemical intake, and maybe that kiss cost me a couple of friendships. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was a valuable experience, even if I regret the majority of it.
High school... I was so careless. I lived every moment like it was my last, seeking nothing but instant gratification. I don't think I ever stopped to consider the consequences, the after-effects of one night's seemingly harmless fun. I didn't care that drugs could lead to brain damage, that sex could lead to pregnancy. It never occurred to me that some things were irreversible until there was a human life growing inside my womb, the product of myself and a man I thought I loved but, in actuality, I hardly knew.
True, pregnancy doesn't really fall under the category of irreversible. But in my case, it did. Reality hits you like a ton of bricks if you're not prepared for it. I fucked up my life beyond repair. It didn't matter how insensitive I was toward the life I had created; I was going to pay a price for my mistake.
In the end, I had the baby because I couldn't bear to destroy him, but I gave him to his father because I couldn't bear to raise him. He'll be better off this way, I told myself. He's a tough kid and he's not gonna screw up like I did.
Now? I've moved to New Jersey to start anew, let my past fade into the background as if it never was, and waved goodbye to my future, which I only just realized had gone on without me years ago. I live every day ashamed of the choices I've made and the coward I've become. It feels like just yesterday I was sitting around chatting with my friends about our big dreams for the future.
How things change...
Abigail
High school... what a drag. I spent all four of my high school years disinterested in everything. Lessons were understimulating, teachers were mechanical, students were narrow-minded. I barely survived those seven monotonous hours of my day before I returned home and hit the interweb.
From four in the afternoon to twelve midnight, I sat at my computer finding new information to retain and having intellectual debates in forums. Sometimes my parents worried that I was spending too much time staring at pixels in the computer screen and made me go out to "see my friends", but as I had none, I always found myself on another computer at the library.
High school... I was so misunderstood. Students and teachers alike, no one wanted to bother with me. It was like I spoke a different language than them. All my life, I only made one friend, and that was Matthieu.
I met him in a forum. We argued for days over who made the greatest contribution to mathematics, and although we never came to an agreement, we found that we, in fact, had a lot in common. Over the next three years, we grew increasingly fond of each other, until, one morning in the summer, just days after I graduated from high school, I received an email from him that said, "Pack your things; I'm coming for you."
Now? I'm living with Matthieu in an apartment in Chicago. It feels like just yesterday I was searching for respect in all the wrong places when it was hidden in plain view, right under my nose all along.
How things change...
Holland
High school... what a disaster. I had barely completed my freshman year when I lost someone very close to me, my brother and best friend Wyatt, to drug abuse. He was believed to have committed suicide, but no one knew him like I did. Wyatt had a great life and he wouldn't give it up by his own accord. Someone else was at fault here, not my brother.
I've spent the last four years trying to figure out why. Everyone liked Wyatt. I couldn't think of a single person who might've wanted him dead.
Well, maybe there was one.
He had been a friend of Wyatt's. Before my brother's death, I never paid much attention to him. But after, I saw him everywhere. Wherever I went, whatever I did, he watched me with intimidating eyes, and I felt vulnerable and threatened. When I found out that he was a drug dealer, I knew that it was him, but I got an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach any time I tried to tell someone, as if warning me that if I didn't keep my lips sealed, I was next.
High school... I was so alone. I hated having a fear that no one else shared, never being able to say why I was scared. I spent a lot of time in the counselor's office, partly because everyone thought I was going mad, but mostly because there, I could hide. I primarily talked about my brother, and no one questioned the reason for my madness.
My junior year, he was gone. I didn't know whether he had finally graduated, dropped out, moved, died, or otherwise, and I didn't care. I breathed a sigh of relief and tried to get my life back on track.
Now? I'm renting an apartment with a girlfriend, finishing up my four-year teaching degree, and, in general, being as happy and as normal as possible. I still miss Wyatt, and I still think about the guy who took him from me. It feels like just yesterday I was curled up in Wyatt's lap, burying my face in his shirt to hide from a thunderstorm while he read Dr. Seuss's The Cat in the Hat to me in his soothing voice.
How things change...
E
High school... what a mistake. Just thinking about it makes me want to frantically search for life's redo button.
I was the biggest drug addict of my class. Or rather, all three of my classes. I repeated my senior year because of how badly my grades were slipping, and when the third year came around, I dropped out with the intent to get my GED.
Know where my intent got me?
At twenty-three, I still live with ma and pa, unemployed (who's gonna hire someone with a record like mine?), no friends (they all did the smart thing and left), and pretty much a gigantic waste of time, space, and resources. But my addiction's long gone; that's a positive thing. Of course, my addiction never was drugs...
It was her...
High school... I was so hopeless. I had no way to cope with the pain of seeing her in the hallways, the way she avoided me. It hurt that she wouldn't even give me a chance. I knew I wasn't the best-looking guy around, or the smartest, and I definitely hadn't made the best choices, but I had a good heart. Of course, she couldn't see that. No one could. And soon enough, I didn't have a heart at all anymore. Pot, booze, and even worse stuff—the escape from reality they offered—seemed to be my only way out, and they took my ability to love with them when they left.
Now? I don't know. Everything's in monochrome to me, but at least I'm staying clean. The girl I used to love is no longer a part of my immediate reality, so I have nothing to escape. It feels like just yesterday I was drowning my sorrowful feelings in beer instead of not feeling at all.
How things change...
*
That night, five of these six seemingly unrelated individuals receives the same phone call.
"Does the name Beth Hanson mean anything to you?" the mysterious caller asks, and bad memories come flooding back.
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This is such a lame chapter. -_-'I hope all the font changing doesn't screw with your eyes. I just want to keep the characters as separate as possible because I have a bad feeling that in later chapters I'll be switching narrators as often as every other sentence. Hah.