Solo - unfinished.

Clean jeans. My head is between my knees and I focus on that, taking in breaths as deep as I can. The placement of the steering wheel makes this position uncomfortable and difficult to hold, but if I move I'm afraid I won't be able to hold my stomach down. Fireworks explode outside my window and inside my head, deafening and bright. Prescription drugs give me a buzz, but make my body feel heavy, like lead; my car fits in with all the others on the side of the road, but I don't care about the celebration.

An hour ago I left Ruby's apartment. She was high. "It's Independence Day, babe," was her reason. I told her I'd stay overnight, since there was no way she could drive me home. I didn't want to get pulled over for driving with just a permit; my parents don't have any idea about these trips to Ruby's. At least, to my knowledge. I don't know what they think it is I'm doing everytime my car disappears from the garage.

Ruby's been my dirty little secret for the past year and a half. We met online; sounds ridiculous, I know. I live in Alabama, where nobody knows I'm gay. It isn't that I'm so afraid of being disowned or ostracized by my peers; in fact, most of my classmates wouldn't be that surprised, and would even be supportive. It'd be superficial, honestly, because none of them even know a thing about me, but they don't care. It's a status symbol. "How many gay friends do you have? Bonus points for drag queens." My parents would love me either way, but they'd be upset, I know. They'd hope that I was confused, and when they finally accepted the truth, they'd still want me to hide it from the world; I'm doing that anyway, but I'd rather do it on my own terms.

I was nervous the first time I came to Ruby's apartment, four months into our seeing each other. She lives in Columbus, Mississippi, and it took a good three hours to get there. I convinced one of the only local friends I have to drive me the first couple of times - I'm sure he was suspicious, but he said nothing. I'm lucky to have him; since the first trips were during school hours, he was the only person who I could ask. Ruby introduced me to her two room mates, Parker and Allison, and then gave me a tour.

The living room walls were beige, contrasting against the chocolate-colored carpet. It felt cozy, even though it didn't have much furniture - there was a light colored couch that always had a blanket thrown over the back, a coffee table that didn't quite match the rest of the room, two endtables at separate ends of the couch, and a TV; the living room bled into the kitchen, where the carpet dropped off into white tile. They had one bathroom and three bedrooms - a master bedroom that belonged to Parker, and two smaller rooms. The first day I only got to see Ruby's - it had the same carpet and wall color as the living room, but it was obvious that she tried to decorate in mostly purple. Here the furniture was as sparse; at the time, it consisted of an air bed, a computer desk, an endtable, a mirror, and a bookshelf.

I always thought it was sort of funny that Ruby wanted to go into nursing. After all, she drugged up regularly, and was less than caring and considerate. "It's not like they're going to test me yet," she argued. "I just graduated." I didn't mind so much when she got a little high, but it frustrated me when she went overboard, like tonight. It was about six o'clock when she passed out on the couch. Parker and Allison left two days ago with some other friends for a celebration upstate, but I didn't mind being alone.

I pulled a blanket from her room and wrapped myself in it, sitting on the floor against the couch. I turned the TV on low, and flipped through the channels. Most seemed to be coverage of Fourth of July celebrations across the country, but I finally found a station that was airing a Get Smart marathon. About an hour in, Ruby began getting restless behind me; afraid she'd wake up in a bad mood, I put the TV on mute.

It wasn't like this was such a bad Fourth of July, really. At least, up until then. Say what you will, but when I saw her cell phone laying on the coffee table in front of me, I got a little curious. After all, there wasn't much else to do. I looked through the photos first; most were of her, and looked like she took them in a bathroom. MySpace photos. Of course. There were a few of us; we don't look like much of a pair. She's confident, with sleek auburn hair; she's tall, and a little heavy, but her curves are beautiful. I'm shorter, and mousy, and pale; I have long blonde hair, and I like to wear grey, in contrast to the bright colors she loves.

Most people would have started with the texts, most likely. But I didn't until last. She had no music saved on her phone - why should she, when she has a music player? - and most of her calls were to her roommates, parents, and myself. Her texts seemed to start out innocent, and I wasn't really that suspicious anyway. She'd been a little distant lately, but I assumed it was just because she was so stressed out with making college plans.

I guess it's obvious what I found next. Frankly there's not much to say about it except this: This Ruby was a stranger to me. The Ruby I know and the Ruby I love would not be cheating on me.

The incriminating messages were to and from a girl - or, worse, a guy - named Jamie. While I won't divulge the raunchier texts, the bottom line is that last night, Jamie slept over with Ruby, and it was not the first time. What stung the most was the use of the word 'love.'

It set in slowly, I suppose. I managed to get through about half the texts before I had to lean back and breathe in. The sound that came out was a bit of a choked whimper; even though she was a whore, I didn't want to wake Ruby up. I needed a moment.

Wasn't I good enough for her? Was she bored with me? Did I do something wrong? I dropped the phone on the ground and stood, still holding everything back; I headed for the bathroom, out of habit. At home, the bathroom was the only place I could cry without being heard. I turned the shower on and slipped out of my clothes; the warm water was almost a relief. I'd noticed that whenever Ruby and I argued, I felt cold, and I guess this was no different, or maybe it was in anticipation.

I have two options, I thought, my back against the tiled wall, I could break up with her, or we could work it out. I moved back under the water. Ruby changed my life. I turned my face up, letting it run over my cheeks and down my neck. I don't know what to do. I didn't know how long I'd been in the shower, but I'd stopped crying. My chest still burned with betrayal.

"Solo?" Her voice was slurred with sleep and drugs. She pulled on the doorknob from the outside, but it was locked. "Solooo. You left me alone." On another day, I'd think that was cute; I'd unlock the door for her, and she'd come and sit on the rug or on the edge of the sink and talk to me, or she'd join me in the shower. But now her whine just made me want to hate her. Bitch.

"Babe. Open up. Solo. Are you angry at me for passing out on you? C'mon, it's not that big of a deal." Not that big of a deal my ass, I thought. Now that the original crying jag had mostly passed, my thoughts were turning bitter.

"Give me a second, Ruby," I called, slipping out of the shower. I pulled my clothes back on, but the long sleeves didn't help the cold that returned. "I'll be out in just a second." In the mirror it was less obvious that I had been crying than I had expected, but puffiness still lingered in my face, and my eyes and nose were still pink. I opened the door, but the hall was empty.

I found her on the couch again, this time sitting up. She was watching television; surprisingly, another episode of Get Smart was on. It felt like I had been in the bathroom for forever, and I had expected the marathon to be long over. She looked up at me; her brown eyes were ringed with shadows, emphasized by the sole lighting coming from the television. She smiled. "You should have gotten me up to join you."

I tried to smile back but I couldn't; what was I supposed to say? 'You're cheating on me, you slut.' That would be perfect, wouldn't it? I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go through with this, but I knew I had to say something. She was still looking at me, and her expression started to grow worried.

"What's with those texts?" I asked. God I wished I could be anywhere else when I saw her face; preferably curled up beside her in a nice, dry bed, rather than standing there in the dark with the back of my shirt growing wet from my hair. She shook her head, as if she was about to deny it. "Dammit, Ruby, you know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, I do. But I don't know what to say about it, Solomon."

"What? What do you mean you don't know what to say? I guess you're right. They say it all for you."

"Don't be like that. Do you realize how detached you are, Solo? When I met you, you were a shell of a person. You'd still be like that if I hadn't come around. And you know it, I know you have to."

"Excuse me? You did not make me who I am." Ruby was standing now, pacing. She passed by Agent 99 on the TV screen; they walked almost in unison, and in a normal situation I would have found that funny.

"I didn't say that. Don't twist my words. Fuck, I don't want to talk about this right now. Look - she's just some girl I met at the movies, okay?" She pushed her hair back, staring at me.

"How many times?"

"A few."

DAY 9: The South

.. is a beautiful thing.

And I love movies like Fried Green Tomatoes, The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, and The Secret Life of Bees that remind me of that. Unfortunately, while reflecting on what exactly defines a southern girl, I realized that even the most expert lexicographer (Google it; play Pac-Man while you're at it) would have a problem answering that.

See, when I think of the (typical) south today, I can't help but to picture overly-obnoxious cheerleader girls wearing Auburn face-paint and carrying around silly polka-dot purses from their nearest "bow-teeque." And this seriously conflicts with the mental picture of a strong, fiery steel magnolia reigning from the Bible Belt, facing adversity without a fear in the world.

I can't help but be frustrated by how that ideal has become outdated. I would never hesitate to say that my mother is undeniably a southern belle. She's taught me every damned thing I know. But the girls of today? They make me sad.

On another note, today was my last Friday as a middle-schooler, and I spent it here, at home. Yesterday, I had double gym, so I spent sixth period with the Kids. Actually, we, the girls, were separated and sat outside on the bleachers, while the guys stayed inside and played basketball (or tetherball). So naturally we snuck inside when nobody was looking (the computer teacher saw, but she didn't care; she was hoola-hooping), but we did eventually get caught.. ten minutes before the bell rang.

While we were in there, this guy I never talk to (I'll call him Violet, because his hair looks purple) who my elementary school best friend was leaning on (I shall call her Had) happened to remember my name, and then told me, "Your yearbook picture was really nice. Everybody else's was.. but yours looked good." Had agreed. It made my day.

Speaking of yearbooks, we got ours Wednesday.. they're horrible. They really are. I can't even believe the Yearbook Staff didn't put more effort into it. All of them are eighth graders, so you'd think they'd give a damn about their last yearbook. And the paper they used for the inside front/back pages? Silver. Fucking silver. All the signatures faded. It was like using disappearing ink. I'm seriously disappointed with the end of this year.. I thought there'd be more fanfare than this.

I completely forgot Tuesday. Sorry. I didn't go to school Monday, and I was completely siked for Wednesday due to the yearbooks, so it just sort of blended in.

Tomorrow night I'm going to Sugar's party, but that's not her name. I just like the idea of codenames. I'm dragging Jonesy with me, too. Christ. I haven't seen him in over half a year, but he's pretty much my brother in every sense.

Next week is our last week of school. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Thursday, get out at 1 PM. And then I shall relax for a few days, because I hurt like a bitch. Actually, I'm really tired even now. So.. night.

DAY

VIEWS ON: Blog2Print

Oh my god.

This is so brilliant.

To continue Blogger's 10th anniversary celebration, I’m delighted to announce that Blog2Print has now partnered with Blogger. Blog2Print lets you publish some or all of your posts and photos as a professionally-printed, full-color book. Since 2007, thousands of Blogger users have become Blog2Print fans, using our easy and quick service to save and share all their favorite writings with friends and family or to keep a hard-copy version of their work. You can make books by season, by year, by event or even by theme, and you can choose from soft cover or hard cover versions of your book.
Read more>>

I'm lovin' this. Totally. The only thing I've seen about it that I don't like is that you have to choose a pre-made book cover. Still, though. It's amazing. I wonder what the inner layout looks like? Like the printed comments?

And you know what else? You can legally resale your copies of your blog-book, as long as you don't mention anything copyrighted in your entries. I FIND THIS SO AWESOME.

If this blog picks up, as in actually gathering followers, I might eventually print a book. I still have all of my older posts saved - from last year - but that's an old chapter, and a really shitty one at that. I just think this is so amazing.

DAY 5: The Con

Oh, man. I love how my writing mojo just completely vanished.

Let's start off with Saturday? Not that I did much. In fact, I did a lot of lazing about this entire weekend. At least, physically. I came up with buttloads of ideas that I've already started putting in place.

For instance, I let my online life sort of go down the gutter. Ouch. So.. I'm going to start by posting to here and Twitter daily, and then start gussying up my old deviantART. Oh man, I totally stopped uploading art. So, yeah, I gotta do that.

And.. today I'm just sort of exhausted. I'd love to talk more, but I can't think at all. Sorry.

Enjoy iScribble art, kay.

LIFE: is a stage

My role: Loving, gifted daughter.
My role:

LESSON ONE: Letting Go

The first step in achieving absolute enlightenment through the Why Not Philosophy is to let go.

This, unfortunately, can take a while.

Take, for instance, my situation - or, if you'd rather, situations. For exactly 1.5 non-consecutive years, I have been hopeless. How do I figure that? Well, for some inexplicable reason, every November for the past three years, my heart has been "broken." And then every following May, I finally got over myself. Really, I can't explain this. It's just how the dice rolls.

BUT NOT ANYMORE.

See, I've now devoted myself to a lifestyle of not giving a fuck. This leaves me free to care about more important things, like myself. I realized recently that some of my favorite characters are the ones who do what they need to, and don't linger around waiting for things to turn in their favor: they MAKE them turn in their favor.

Thus I've come to the conclusion: I must make my choices based not on how it will affect others, but on whether it will better my own situation or not; and in turn, this allows me to remain pleasantly free - because if I should feel the need to change direction, I won't have to worry about inflicting emotional pain; and therefore will be able to let go much, much more easily.

And as for the letting go itself - why is it so important? Picture an ocean; you've got weights tied to your legs. Tell me. How do you plan on swimming up for air without untying yourself first?

Exactly.

In my experience, I have always resigned myself to waiting around patiently for that breaking point, the point where you finally realize you're better than this. And it's always come. Sometimes sooner. Sometimes later. (Always in May.) And what I love so much about that it the feeling of release and a new start.

But what some people need is something else. A push, from themselves. Some people have to throw away everything that reminds them of what they left behind and cut faces out of photos, or they burn diaries, etc. etc. I can't tell you what you need. You find that out on your own.

But, by God, it's so worth it.