Beautiful in California

On the drive home, all I could think about was Amanda. There was something about this girl. She was different from the rest. Oh wait let me slow down, I like chicks, majorly. There's the other problem with me. Always have. I guess you could say I was born gay. I parked the car in the driveway. My mom wasn't home, yet.

I went inside and took off my shoes. I straightened up around the house: Fixed the pillows on the couch, washed the dishes, etc. I heard m Mom pull in the driveway. I hurried to get her beer on the coffee table. I ran into my room and cut off the light, pretending to be asleep. The front door flew open. And what I heard wasn't just my mom. She was with someone, a man.

A wave of disgust came over me. I could not stay here. When I heard my mom's bedroom door shut, I slipped out of the house. When I got in the car I had no idea where to go. It was 10 o' clock at night. I could try and go to Aaron's house, with Amanda. No, I don't want to be a burden. So I decided to just drive. After a few minutes I drove by the library, shocked to see it was still open.

I pulled into the parking lot. The lights shining on the building revealed the completely graffitied brick walls. I turned off my car and got out. I walked up the steps and through the door. The lady behind the check-out desk looked like she was about to fall asleep.

I headed over to the poetry section when a book caught my eye. On the cover was a picture of a busy city street with people rushing by, except for a small girl who stood silent in all the commotion. It was titled Outcast. I slid into a chair and opened up the book.

In the world there are two kinds of people: Normal people who grow up get married and have a son, a daughter, and a dog. then there's the second type, the other type. The people who don't get married, or don't have children, or are just plain different. These people aren't usuall accepted by the first group of people, they're: outcasts.

Just by those few lines the book had me. I knew I would not be able to put it down. I continued to read.

Joseph Bravent was one of thouse outcasts. He had no friends, he had no wife. He had no kids, he had no pets. He was content all alone in his two room apartment. In the morning he would make coffee in his little kitchen, which was also a bathroom, and a sitting area. Then at night he would gotto bed on his little cot in his even smaller bedroom.

The clock ticked by and before I knew it the lady from the desk was tapping on my shoulder. She told me it was closing time. So I checked out the book and got back in my car. I started the car, but instead of driving off I opened up the book again.

One day Mr. Bravent was on his way to the store, like he does every Tuesday. Oh, it was not like normal Tuesdays, no today was special. As Joseph entered the store, he heard a voice. It was singing. And it was a little girl. A girl not more than three feet with wispy yellow hair. She was all alone. Her clothes were in tatters. The girl made him feel something he never'd felt before. She was like him, she didn't belong. She was too an outcast. An outcast from her family.

I put the book down, and looked at the clock, it was twelve. I decided to drive home.