Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

 
 

View User's Journal

~~~do you know the muffin man~~~
Rosemary Is Fat: Chapter Two
Chapter Two


I hate my neighborhood.

It's not like it's in a high crime area or anything, rather, we have a housing association that keeps that sort of riffraff out. I hate housing associations, they're like the Hitler Youth of middle class suburbia.

My dad is a teacher at the middle school close too here, and is also one of those highly generous types, giving to others in need, taking in problem students, and generally just trusting others way too much. I love my dad, he's all I have in the world, but sometimes I wish he was just slightly more cynical and bitter.

Either way, we never have any money, not that we really need it for anything. The house is small, only two bedrooms, and our yard is in as much disarray as the mini-Fuhrers at the "association" will allow it to be without issuing one of their bogus little fines. It's cozy, and today it was empty. Dad was still at the school, of course, it was still the middle of the day, and I welcomed the solace of the silent house.

After stopping off at the bathroom for some long overdue Tylenol, and of course wrapping and bandaging my poor ankle just like I promised Baron Hunky Von-I-Dreamed-Him-Up, I limped pathetically over to the couch, which was big and fluffy and awesome, and flipped on the television with the aid of my trusty remote control. I channel surfed mind numbingly for a few minutes, before setting on some rerun of a prime-time drama that focused on the cases and love lives of New York City District Attorneys. It wasn't long, of course, before I felt myself falling asleep for real.

I had terrible dreams.

They were the kind of dreams that bring out the true terrors of the subconscious, the ones that frighten the mind with psychological tortures and insecurities. Coming to the forefront of the darkened images were realizations about what a truly twisted person I was, torn apart with doubt and low self-esteem, full of petty judgments of myself and others, lost in a pit of unjustified depression.

"Hot Pocket?"

"Uwah?" I blinked one eye open as the delicious smell of microwaved cheese and processed meat stuffed inside a flaky crust overloaded my olfactory senses.

My dad lowered the plate a little and asked again. "Hot Pocket, Rose?"

"Dad, wha-- Don't wake me up with Hot Pockets!"

"I figured if I woke you up empty handed, you might lash out at me violently." Feigning a look of hurt, he sat down in his recliner and pouted, poking at the remaining Hot Pockets with a sad little index finger.

I sighed. "Dad, I had a long day."

"I know, Helen from your office called me. How's your ankle feeling?"

"It's all right." This was a dirty lie, but only little girls and old people can't take pain, so I didn't mention that all I wanted right now was to down a bottle of Ibuprofen with about nine shots of vodka to destroy the pain in the offending appendage.

My dad smiled. He's in his early forties and actually looks his age. His hair was once red, like mine, but is now more than half gray. His glasses are incredibly old-fashioned and thick-rimmed, making his small eyes appear even more tired than they usually do. It's just been me and him since my mom died when I was eleven. "I'll get you some more ice, Rose." He took the plastic baggy I had filled with ice and wrapped around my leg with a towel and headed into the kitchen, handing me the plate with two Hot Pockets left on it.

I gobbled them down eagerly, realizing I hadn't eaten all day. "How was work, Dad?" I called out to him.

"Okay," he answered from the other room. "But you know how me and Principal Jenkins are still at war over this new science program?"

"Yeah, he doesn't want the kids to go on a field trip to the Living Museum, right?"

"Right." My dad re-entered the living room and handed me a new bag of ice and a fresh towel. "And he's cut back on our funding so much we can't do any of the experiments the state requires us to do as part of the curriculum!"

"What's his deal? Is he one of those intelligent design groupies?"

"No, I dont' think so." Dad sighed and sat down. "He's just always had a weird grudge against the science department, and no one has ever discovered why."

"How odd." I took an eager bite of my food and added excitedly, "Does this mean I can solve a mystery?"

"When have you ever solved a mystery before, Rosemary?"

"I am exceptionally good at finding the remote!"

"Um . . . I think I'll just take a nap." And with that, my dutiful father leaned back in his chair and fell asleep.

"Poop." I muttered and turned my attention to the television, which was still on. The scratches on my back had started to heal, but it itched like hell and I squirmed against the couch cushions violently. This whole business with Principal Jenkins was strange, but hardly a riveting spy thriller. He might just have lost one too many science fairs when he was younger, and could only now exact his vengeance against the instructors he held under his thumb.

I reached out and grabbed the phone from the end table as my dad started to snore loudly. Rolling my eyes, I dialed the number of my best friend Celia.

" . . . is not available. Please leave a message after the tone. To leave a callback number, press two. To send a fax, press three. When you are done recording, press one, or press four for more options." Internally screaming at her stupid unskippable voice mail message ("Send a fax?" To her cell phone?!), I erupted into an almost endless babble as soon as the high pitched tone sounded.

"OHMIGOD CELIA YOU'RENOTGONNABELIEVEWHATHAPPENED-- The floor broke, Celia, it BROKE, and I fell THROUGH it, Celia, I FELL THROUGH THE FLOOR, Ce-li-a, and I hurt my ankle and I fell on this guy---and I'm not even sure this guy is real, I'm pretty sure I completely imagined him-- and scratched the living ******** out of my back, Celia, and it itches, Celia, it itches, CELIA, and my ankle is KILLING me, and oh my God answer your phone every once in a blue moon, would ya, Cel, I can't take it, I hate you, you never pick up and your stupid voice mail is like ten minutes long and I have had the worst day ever and my stupid best friend -- that means you, Cel-- won't even answer the phone when I call I know you do it on purpose, I KNOW you do it on purpose, don't lie to me, I hate you, you're the worst friend ever in the entire world ever in the history of time ever and I hate you, you suck, and call me back, like immediately, I mean it, call me back, I have to talk to you. I love you so much Celiaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

I hung up the phone, satisfied.

Ba-rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring.

I let it ring for a minute.

Ba-rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring.

Just once more--

Ba-rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-
"Yello?"

" . . . Hello, Rosemary." The voice on the other end was exquisitely dull sounding. I do so love annoying Celia, she reacts so well.

"Celia, you won't believe it--"

"Yeah, you fell through the floor, I heard."

"No, Celia, you dont' believe me, do you?"

"No, I don't, Rose. I don't believe you would call me and when I don't pick up my phone, because I'm in class, by the way, you get all ticked and leave this stupidly long message that I have to waste my daytimes minutes listening to just so I can hear you tell me I'm, apparently, the worst friend in the history of time ever. That's what I don't believe, Rose, I don't believe you!"

"Hey, look--" Cel's kind of self-centered. Actually, she's the most horribly selfish woman on the face of the planet. I have no idea why we're friends. Best friends, at that. For seven years. Seven long, long years. "I FELL through the FLOOR!"

"What are you talking about?"

"There was a weak spot in the floor and it gave out and I fell through it and twisted the hell out of my ankle, you rotten whore!"

"Oh my God, Rose, are you okay?" Her voice softened immediately.

"No, my ankle has swollen to the size of-- of something really ridiculously huge! Jeez, Cel, it hurts so bad I can't even be clever!"

"What happened, now?"

"I told you, the floor just gave out." I softened my own tone, it wasn't her fault.

"Was it water damage, or--?"

"I have no idea. The guy I fell on said something about the building inspector--"

"Wait, wait, you fell on a guy?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he was real." I squirmed on the couch again.

"So he was fictional?" I heard her in the background talking to a cashier.

"Cel, that's so rude!"

"Falling on fictional people? I should say."

"No, getting something rung up while you're on the phone! I hated that when I was a cashier!"

"Sorry, Rose, I guess I could just hang up on you--"

"No, no, ugh, never mind. But yeah, this guy was so hot, he doesn't exist, I'm telling you. Like a ghost, or a secret agent or something."

"A secret agent?" She replied cynically, and I heard her whisper a "thank you"
to the cashier on her end.

"Yeah, like in a video game, oh man, how awesome if I'm actually stuck inside a video game, or something, and I'm the target he has to protect--"

"Rose, look--" I heard her drop something and scream in frustration. "Look, I'll come over tomorrow and we can talk about your mystery landing cushion, but right now I have to beat several small children to death with their dead puppy."

"Oh my god, Cel, did a puppy die?"

"Not yet, but I'm going to kill it."

She didn't even say goodbye before hanging up.

Oh Lord Celia's gonna kill a puppy.

I sighed and turned my attention back to the television, which was showing yet another rerun of the same primetime drama concerning New York City district attorneys, their cases, and their love lives.






User Comments: [1] [add]
Kirosu
Community Member
avatar
commentCommented on: Sat Nov 11, 2006 @ 09:49am
Cel = Kat ...... srsly rofl


User Comments: [1] [add]
 
 
Manage Your Items
Other Stuff
Get GCash
Offers
Get Items
More Items
Where Everyone Hangs Out
Other Community Areas
Virtual Spaces
Fun Stuff
Gaia's Games
Mini-Games
Play with GCash
Play with Platinum