Status: Finals are coming by and I need to get my grades up. I won't be updating this very much. I'm sorry. Bare with me.
We're Ghosts in a Hail of Bullets
Dark Like the Night with Stars to Match
I tried to shake the feeling those eyes gave me. During the car ride to Bed, Bath, and Beyond I forced myself to believe that I was tired. My mind was playing with me. It was punishing me for not sleeping last night. My mom talked about random nonsense beside me. I wanted to ignore her and stay in my mind, wandering around aimlessly in space, but she demanded a response. If I refused to nodded or make a tiny sound then she would become enraged and not talk to me for a few days. For a kind woman she has a short temper.
"Do you like the house so far? I find it amazing that it came with a maid. She's so sweet and polite," Mom rambled. I smiled and nodded, attempting to as few words as possibly. I didn't want to start a conversation with her and then accidentally escape my mind. Though I did want to discuss Moira.
I focused myself on those eyes. There was nothing to think about. I had explored every thought it my mind and had already decided on an explanation. I was tired and seeing whatever my head wanted to see. I sighed quietly to myself.
The trees passed by so quickly that different colors began to blend. I didn't know that leaves changed colors in California. I thought it was eternal summer all around. It was nice surprise to find something that didn't change with the move. Snow wouldn't come as winter passed by. I was happy about that. After sixteen years of snow, blizzards, and frosty windows, I needed a new perspective on winter. I wouldn't be able to stand another December cuddling up to blankets or wearing seven layers of clothes to stay warm. I would take heavy rain over heavy snow any day. Christmas would be odd though. How could you have Frosty the Snowman without snow?
Mom and I wandered our way through Bed, Bath, and Beyond. She yapped about the pretty place mats, the soft towels, the sweet scented candles, and all the amazing things that the store had to offer. She went down a mental list of all the things she wanted. We needed new picture frames, a small mirror to hang somewhere, lamps, centerpieces, candles, vases, and artificial flowers. My opinion was hardly absorbed. I would attempt to give her my idea of what would look good in the house, but she would continue to walk blissfully through the store, looking at all of it's objects.
It wasn't until later in our shopping experience that she really cared about what I had to say. It was only because she wasn't able to figure out what she liked. I talked her into buy a few maroon plate mats, a toothbrush holder, four dark colored, wooden picture frames, dark blue towels, three scented candles for my room, and a small, light, candle-like fountain for the dining room table. The rest of our day together was pretty pointless.
We went out to lunch at a McDonald's down the road. She complained that the food was too greasy and that she felt fat just by eating it. Her complaints weren't noted at all. I loved McDonald's. I ate my greasy Big Mac, without cheese, very joyfully. Between her bites of her hamburger she would say things like, "You think we could find a better place than McDonald's," or "I can't believe I moved to California and I'm still eating fast food,"
"We've only been here a day. I don't even know a way back home yet," I replied, licking secret sauce off of my finger.
"Well still," she said. She wrapped up the rest of her hamburger and threw it away.
Our ride home was quiet. I was a little thankful. I didn't hate my mother like most teenage girl. In fact I loved her. We had a bi-polar relationship in some ways. Sometimes we hated each other and other days we were best friends. I had a feeling that was normal though. In the back of my head I had this paranoid delusion that my mom secretly hated me. Giving birth to be almost killed her. I was ready to be delivered but I refused to come out. It put a lot of stress on her body and about two weeks after I was born, her organs began to rupture. She passed out during one dinner. My dad called the hospital, driving there immediately. She had some internal bleeding due to complications in during labor. Most of her reproductive organs had to be restored. Now she can no longer have kids and she was in the hospital for about a month. Besides the fact that she can't have anymore kids, there were no long term effects. I still blame myself and feel bad for what I did.
During my childhood I would bring it up often. One day I cried over it. But Mom would remind countless times that it was never my fault. It just something that happened. That was true. No one could have prevented it but it was still a lingering guilt. My parents showered me with love as a child and teenager. Mom would take me shopping almost every weekend, buying me clothes and toys. Dad would take me bowling every Sunday and then we would go to our favorite restaurant, Senate's. They never punished me because I never purposely got into trouble.
There were one or two times where I would act out in class and that one day in second grade where they wanted to put me on suicide watch. I drew a picture of a graveyard on the back of my homework. One of the tombstones had my name on it. That one childhood drawing scared my Elementary school so bad that they would warn my other schools about me. I wouldn't be surprised if my new school had a whole file on me.
I was a good kid. I never touched drugs or smoked. I grew up with alcoholics so I refused to drink. There were a fist full of times that I took my fist to another student's face, but I always had a reason.
We arrived at the house with our two bags. I had to carry them.
"Give them to Moira when we get inside. I want to see if she takes direction well," Mom ordered me as she turned her key, "My first unlocking the door to our new house. Oh my god!" she squealed.
"Did you grab Miss Langdon's muffins?" I asked. We stuck the basket of muffins in the backseat so we wouldn't forget them. How ironic. She gasped, running to the car and grabbing them.
"Thank you so much," she smiled sweetly before opening the door. Moira was on her hands and knees, washing the floors with a bucket of soap and water by her side. "Oh wow. I didn't expect you to start working this fast," A little shocked by our sudden arrival, Moira sat straight up, resting herself on her legs.
"Well, I love my work," Moira smiled politely.
She wouldn't look us in the eye though. She must have been self conscious of her bad eye. I wanted to see Moira in her youth. She must have been a beautiful girl. It's a pity that age had to wear her down so bad. Working as a housekeeper must have fought with her beauty. Looking at her hands you could see she had to have been working like this for a long time. Her bones appeared brittle and her flesh just hung on them like wet cloth.
"You can stop if you want and help put our new things away, please," Mom suggested. Without question, Moira took the bags from my hands and began to take them into the kitchen.
"Hold on," I stopped her to take my candles out of one bag, "Thanks," she bowed slightly before continuing on. Mom complimented on our housekeepers good work and then I ran up into my bedroom. I shut the door quietly and then set the candles around my room. I didn't have a nightstand yet so they resided on the floor. I only lit one with my mom's lighter. It smelled like vanilla birthday cake. How appropriate because that was the name on the label. It instantly surrounded my room with the fresh, sweet, and cozy scent of freshly baked vanilla cake. The old smell of the house disappeared and would hopefully stay away.
My parents would need an arsenal of frebreze for this place until I got use to the old person smell. I let the candle burn and flicker as I began to open up other boxes in my rooms.
The blank walls were boring me. I needed to look at my posters and pictures in order to claim this room as mine.
The light of the sun was directly in my face; I looked up to shield my eyes when I caught a glimpse of a boy wandering around our yard. He was in motion but his eyes caught mine. They were familiar eyes. Dark like coals but brilliantly bright and beautifully terrifying. I rushed out my room and out of the house. I had to meet him because his eyes gave me chills and butterflies.
"Do you like the house so far? I find it amazing that it came with a maid. She's so sweet and polite," Mom rambled. I smiled and nodded, attempting to as few words as possibly. I didn't want to start a conversation with her and then accidentally escape my mind. Though I did want to discuss Moira.
I focused myself on those eyes. There was nothing to think about. I had explored every thought it my mind and had already decided on an explanation. I was tired and seeing whatever my head wanted to see. I sighed quietly to myself.
The trees passed by so quickly that different colors began to blend. I didn't know that leaves changed colors in California. I thought it was eternal summer all around. It was nice surprise to find something that didn't change with the move. Snow wouldn't come as winter passed by. I was happy about that. After sixteen years of snow, blizzards, and frosty windows, I needed a new perspective on winter. I wouldn't be able to stand another December cuddling up to blankets or wearing seven layers of clothes to stay warm. I would take heavy rain over heavy snow any day. Christmas would be odd though. How could you have Frosty the Snowman without snow?
Mom and I wandered our way through Bed, Bath, and Beyond. She yapped about the pretty place mats, the soft towels, the sweet scented candles, and all the amazing things that the store had to offer. She went down a mental list of all the things she wanted. We needed new picture frames, a small mirror to hang somewhere, lamps, centerpieces, candles, vases, and artificial flowers. My opinion was hardly absorbed. I would attempt to give her my idea of what would look good in the house, but she would continue to walk blissfully through the store, looking at all of it's objects.
It wasn't until later in our shopping experience that she really cared about what I had to say. It was only because she wasn't able to figure out what she liked. I talked her into buy a few maroon plate mats, a toothbrush holder, four dark colored, wooden picture frames, dark blue towels, three scented candles for my room, and a small, light, candle-like fountain for the dining room table. The rest of our day together was pretty pointless.
We went out to lunch at a McDonald's down the road. She complained that the food was too greasy and that she felt fat just by eating it. Her complaints weren't noted at all. I loved McDonald's. I ate my greasy Big Mac, without cheese, very joyfully. Between her bites of her hamburger she would say things like, "You think we could find a better place than McDonald's," or "I can't believe I moved to California and I'm still eating fast food,"
"We've only been here a day. I don't even know a way back home yet," I replied, licking secret sauce off of my finger.
"Well still," she said. She wrapped up the rest of her hamburger and threw it away.
Our ride home was quiet. I was a little thankful. I didn't hate my mother like most teenage girl. In fact I loved her. We had a bi-polar relationship in some ways. Sometimes we hated each other and other days we were best friends. I had a feeling that was normal though. In the back of my head I had this paranoid delusion that my mom secretly hated me. Giving birth to be almost killed her. I was ready to be delivered but I refused to come out. It put a lot of stress on her body and about two weeks after I was born, her organs began to rupture. She passed out during one dinner. My dad called the hospital, driving there immediately. She had some internal bleeding due to complications in during labor. Most of her reproductive organs had to be restored. Now she can no longer have kids and she was in the hospital for about a month. Besides the fact that she can't have anymore kids, there were no long term effects. I still blame myself and feel bad for what I did.
During my childhood I would bring it up often. One day I cried over it. But Mom would remind countless times that it was never my fault. It just something that happened. That was true. No one could have prevented it but it was still a lingering guilt. My parents showered me with love as a child and teenager. Mom would take me shopping almost every weekend, buying me clothes and toys. Dad would take me bowling every Sunday and then we would go to our favorite restaurant, Senate's. They never punished me because I never purposely got into trouble.
There were one or two times where I would act out in class and that one day in second grade where they wanted to put me on suicide watch. I drew a picture of a graveyard on the back of my homework. One of the tombstones had my name on it. That one childhood drawing scared my Elementary school so bad that they would warn my other schools about me. I wouldn't be surprised if my new school had a whole file on me.
I was a good kid. I never touched drugs or smoked. I grew up with alcoholics so I refused to drink. There were a fist full of times that I took my fist to another student's face, but I always had a reason.
We arrived at the house with our two bags. I had to carry them.
"Give them to Moira when we get inside. I want to see if she takes direction well," Mom ordered me as she turned her key, "My first unlocking the door to our new house. Oh my god!" she squealed.
"Did you grab Miss Langdon's muffins?" I asked. We stuck the basket of muffins in the backseat so we wouldn't forget them. How ironic. She gasped, running to the car and grabbing them.
"Thank you so much," she smiled sweetly before opening the door. Moira was on her hands and knees, washing the floors with a bucket of soap and water by her side. "Oh wow. I didn't expect you to start working this fast," A little shocked by our sudden arrival, Moira sat straight up, resting herself on her legs.
"Well, I love my work," Moira smiled politely.
She wouldn't look us in the eye though. She must have been self conscious of her bad eye. I wanted to see Moira in her youth. She must have been a beautiful girl. It's a pity that age had to wear her down so bad. Working as a housekeeper must have fought with her beauty. Looking at her hands you could see she had to have been working like this for a long time. Her bones appeared brittle and her flesh just hung on them like wet cloth.
"You can stop if you want and help put our new things away, please," Mom suggested. Without question, Moira took the bags from my hands and began to take them into the kitchen.
"Hold on," I stopped her to take my candles out of one bag, "Thanks," she bowed slightly before continuing on. Mom complimented on our housekeepers good work and then I ran up into my bedroom. I shut the door quietly and then set the candles around my room. I didn't have a nightstand yet so they resided on the floor. I only lit one with my mom's lighter. It smelled like vanilla birthday cake. How appropriate because that was the name on the label. It instantly surrounded my room with the fresh, sweet, and cozy scent of freshly baked vanilla cake. The old smell of the house disappeared and would hopefully stay away.
My parents would need an arsenal of frebreze for this place until I got use to the old person smell. I let the candle burn and flicker as I began to open up other boxes in my rooms.
The blank walls were boring me. I needed to look at my posters and pictures in order to claim this room as mine.
The light of the sun was directly in my face; I looked up to shield my eyes when I caught a glimpse of a boy wandering around our yard. He was in motion but his eyes caught mine. They were familiar eyes. Dark like coals but brilliantly bright and beautifully terrifying. I rushed out my room and out of the house. I had to meet him because his eyes gave me chills and butterflies.