Teenage Dirtbag
Snowing in Lake Michigan
The point? How was anything I said useless? You’re a real a dick, you know that? What? You’re mad at me? For what? Not confessing to the ACCIDENT that I had no part of? Whatever, you’re a piece of shit. Get a new investigator; I’m not going to talk to you anymore.
Who are you? Oh. I figured he’d just leave me to rot in here. Seemed like that sort of asshole. And you brought a camera. How nice. In case you miss my accidental confession?
No, that was sarcasm. Looks like we just started rolling anyway.
What happened that night? Nothing out of the ordinary. I didn’t have work. It was senior ditch day for Pascal—I’m nineteen, don’t freak out—
What did you just say to me?
Fuck yourself. I’m nineteen; she’s seventeen, almost eighteen. We did go to school together. She was in calculus her sophomore year, I was a senior. We hung out. We became friends, and I already knew the other people she befriended, since most of them were seniors too, so Fuck. You.
Do you want to hear what happened or not?
Good.
We were at the lake. Two shy kids were sitting on the bench, not talking to each other, the rest of us were sitting in the snow.
Yes, sitting, not throwing, stop trying to twist my story.
We didn’t mind the cold, and since it’s frozen, we didn’t have to worry about the wet. We were wearing layers upon layers of every garment, doing our best to keep warm while watching the lake respond to distant touches and staring at the mirror of the lights from across the way. It was an individual, yet bonding, experience. We sat all together, but we all had our different hopes, our different fantasies of what exactly would happen, of what would happen later. Or even if there was something underneath the surface of the lake; we never dared to touch the lake, not for fear of the cold, or even out of politeness, but to preserve our fantasies.
You mean what happened to Brute?
Interesting story, really. She wanted to go into the water. Which is stupid. It was at least negative fifteen degrees, and she wanted to go into a vast body of water? Frank stopped her, of course.
No it wasn’t about preserving our fantasies, you nitwit, it was about her not freezing to death. She tried to fight Frank, but he’s six foot five and like three hundred pounds of muscle. Obviously she really didn’t do anything to him. He eventually just picked her up and tossed her into the snow-hill that was a few feet back. That’s all we did to her. The rest she did to herself.
Who are you? Oh. I figured he’d just leave me to rot in here. Seemed like that sort of asshole. And you brought a camera. How nice. In case you miss my accidental confession?
No, that was sarcasm. Looks like we just started rolling anyway.
What happened that night? Nothing out of the ordinary. I didn’t have work. It was senior ditch day for Pascal—I’m nineteen, don’t freak out—
What did you just say to me?
Fuck yourself. I’m nineteen; she’s seventeen, almost eighteen. We did go to school together. She was in calculus her sophomore year, I was a senior. We hung out. We became friends, and I already knew the other people she befriended, since most of them were seniors too, so Fuck. You.
Do you want to hear what happened or not?
Good.
We were at the lake. Two shy kids were sitting on the bench, not talking to each other, the rest of us were sitting in the snow.
Yes, sitting, not throwing, stop trying to twist my story.
We didn’t mind the cold, and since it’s frozen, we didn’t have to worry about the wet. We were wearing layers upon layers of every garment, doing our best to keep warm while watching the lake respond to distant touches and staring at the mirror of the lights from across the way. It was an individual, yet bonding, experience. We sat all together, but we all had our different hopes, our different fantasies of what exactly would happen, of what would happen later. Or even if there was something underneath the surface of the lake; we never dared to touch the lake, not for fear of the cold, or even out of politeness, but to preserve our fantasies.
You mean what happened to Brute?
Interesting story, really. She wanted to go into the water. Which is stupid. It was at least negative fifteen degrees, and she wanted to go into a vast body of water? Frank stopped her, of course.
No it wasn’t about preserving our fantasies, you nitwit, it was about her not freezing to death. She tried to fight Frank, but he’s six foot five and like three hundred pounds of muscle. Obviously she really didn’t do anything to him. He eventually just picked her up and tossed her into the snow-hill that was a few feet back. That’s all we did to her. The rest she did to herself.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thoughts?