Short Story with No Ending (from 2016)
I don’t know what to write, my thoughts are jumbled up and I have nasty cramps. I just want the day to be over but I know that I still have 16 minutes left before the seventh period bell rings and it’s annoying the shit out of me. I just want to go back to before, when things smelled sweeter and didn’t hurt as much. Back to Ky and back to our long summer nights fading in and out of reality. Back to Br and making out with him by the porch on the cabin, while inside intoxicated people danced and laughed, making the night seem endless and fun. Back to piling into the back of Tr’s car, driving up the long bumpy dirt road with Ev driving, Tr in the front seat next to him smoking a joint and sitting in the back with Le and Ky while some rap song played. I wish all of these things back because those things make me feel like who I really am. Here (Boise, Idaho) I don’t miss anything. I have cool moments I guess but none of them make me sad when they are over. Even now, sitting in class with only 11 minutes remaining I still don’t feel anything but the pain in my lower back and the intense urge to throw up.
That’s been happening a lot, the vomiting thing. My psych is worried about me and I suppose that’s okay because I don’t really act on it most of the time. I feel like she thinks I will which is where the worry comes in. I don’t plan on it though, not most of the time anyway. I really don’t to be that girl who pukes after every meal because there isn’t anything beautiful about it.
That’s my whole thing in life, to be beautiful. I don’t know if I’ve ever really wanted anything else to be completely honest. Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand how vain that is but at a certain point you have to stop giving a shit. You have to realize that no matter who you are or what you do, say or believe in, people are always going to find something to give you shit about. So that basically means that you should do whatever the fuck you want to do because life is too short and it doesn’t need to be wasted on people who judge you.
In all honesty, I don’t want to sit here and talk about vanity and social pressures and all that other bullshit. I just want to talk about my memories and other pieces of myself that I have tried to forget and cover up for so long. I think that an effective method of therapy is just speaking, or in this case typing until you have nothing left to speak or type about. So I’m going to start telling you about June 21st, 2015.
Exactly 20 days after my birthday in 2015, right after I finished my first year of high school, we (being my mother and brother) drove back to my hometown and place of origin. Winthrop, Washington. Now Winthrop is a small place, a little over 1,000 people live there and it is full of racists and bigots and homophobes and people who still use the term “ain’t.” I don’t mean to glamorize it in any way, shape or form. I really do find pieces of myself there though, every time I go back. The pieces of it like the sprawling hills and the lush forests and the glazing rivers. Those places and some of the souls that inhabit it are the reason I hold such a fondness. I have decided to leave out names, only using first letters, maybe the first two to make people identifiable. The reason why I do this is because I want the chance to be honest. If I just came out and said the truth with full names it could land me in some shit, and I think I’ve dealt with enough of that for now. Also, the other beauty of it is that the people that I’m talking about will be the only ones that know the truth and I find a bit of pleasure in knowing that also.
Anyways, back to June 21st. It was fucking hot. Also chilly, but in more of an internal way. It felt unwelcoming and harsh back in Winthrop and it still does to this day. I think that summer was the last good chance I had of visiting and not looking back on it in regret. During that trip I spent a lot of time with Ky and I’m so glad that I did. We became so close that summer and I am so grateful for that.
