Weaver appears slowly, looking tired. Her hair is faded orange and she has deep long gouges on one of her arms.
Voice: Good gracious. What in the world happened to you?
Weaver: Life. It's getting me down.
Voice: Does this 'life' have anything to do with the Serial Killer?
Weaver: How did you know that he's called-- Nevermind. Yes, it does have a bit to do with Tristan, but only in a general (paranoid) sense.
Voice: Ah.
Weaver: Don't "Ah." me. Before I begin my tale of the past few weeks, let me first state that I am on my period.
Voice: And this is significant... why?
Weaver: Just so that you know that I'm hormonal and crampy. Which probably has a lot to do with my mood.
Voice: And now that you've enlightened us all...
Weaver: Yes. The past few weeks. First of all, I went to Invermere a few weekends ago.
Voice: And Inveremere is...?
Weaver: A lakeside vacation spot in BC. The SK and his parents and such have a cabin there.
Voice: Ah... I see where this is going, I think. You spent a weekend, alone, with him and his family. Does he have siblings?
Weaver: A younger brother and a younger sister. Andrew's in grade 9 at our school and an obnoxious dick. I love him. I kissed him on the cheek and he blushed. Heh heh heh. Samantha's in... Grade 7 I believe. And she was mean at first. But we kind of bonded. It was funky chickens. All in all, his family rocks. Or at least I thought so at first.
Voice: Living with them for a weekend changed your mind?
Weaver: His siblings rock. But his parents were... Well, they weren't the nicest to me. Nothing obvious. But a lot of subtle comments, especially after they found out my age. All in all, it was an amazing weekend. I had a wonderful time and would do it again in an instant.
But anyways. This was years ago. Or at least a week or two. Let's move onto the present. Sunday night, to be precise. Sunday night was dinner with Dear Ol' Dad.
Voice: Fil. We haven't heard about him in a while. Do tell.
Weaver: Ugh. You haven't heard about him because he (very thankfully) has not been in my life at all. Not since the last therapist appointment, where I told him I wanted nothing to do with him.
Voice: Why dinner, then?
Weaver: I'm not sure. I'd say it was a guilt thing, but I've long stopped feeling guilt or remorse when it comes to him. I think it was more of a 'wanting Tristan to meet Fil' type of thing. Except that it backfired.
Voice: Backfired? You don't mean to say--
Weaver: Yeah. He liked him.
Voice: Wait wait wait. Who liked who?
Weaver: They each liked the other. Except for the whole thing about how my dad doesn't truly like anyone, of course. But he played up to Tristan like no tomorrow. Showing him things from all the different countries he's been to... Mentioning the prices of everything... Asking questions, doing the whole mano-a-mano thing. And never let it be forgotten that my father is a very suave, handsome, sophisticated individual. On the surface, of course. Even I wonder sometimes. Am I crazy? Is he really just a good guy who's been wronged?
And see, that's why I jeep a journal. And a blog.
Words appear, shining in the mist, hanging is the air. Weaver turns, reads them aloud.
Weaver: "Lest we forget". My motto. Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. I'm sure I have at least one blog entry dedicated to this ideal. And everytime Tristan tells me "you know, he didn't seem all that bad. You should give him another chance", I sway. Then remember. Remember him breaking into the house, remember him hurting the dog, remember him losing his temper and whacking us, etc. The manipulations, the mental hurts, the fear of going home, the hiding just so I wouldn't have to communicate with him...
Wow. This sounds melodramatic. But it's true, I guess. And I feel like everything I said about all of that just... ceased to matter once he met my dad. Like the first therapist. The truth couldn't stand up to his facade. It makes me know how my mom feels, kinda. Crazy, almost.
Voice: So this is the cause of your current crappy moodness?
Weaver: No, that's just the past few weeks. Right now... I feel lost. Like all I do is take. Because really, all of my friends are much better friends with each other than with me. It's always been like that... and I've never minded because I've always had at least one friend who I was uber close to. But now... I watch them always talk to each other, chill with each other, and to be perfectly honest, I feel left out. It's stupid, since I don't want to become 'mainstream' as a friend put it. But I've been feeling thoroughly unattractive in every way lately. And I never know how to act around anyone. Not my family, not even my teachers. I feel like I'm constantly inserting myself into other people's lives, and I don't really feel like anyone particularly enjoys it. I feel like I'm trying to attract attention (by scratching my arms, and then not allowing them to heal and continually picking at them, for example), even though I don't like it when people notice. But really... I don't know whether I want people to leave me alone, or whether I want to be included. I know that I feel like I'm sitting on my ass, living in my mind, alone. Human contact I'd like, but it confuses me. And like I said, I feel like I'm being a burden on everyone. But I don't know what to do, or--
I just don't know.
Screw this.
Weaver fades out.
No comments:
Post a Comment