Author's note: This is only a piece of the story, for I am still working on it. I was inspired by all the young... Show full author's note »
The ListNothing about me was normal. Not even my eye color- constant changing blue. The only normal thing was the clothes I wore, the humanistic characteristics, and the usual. I don't suck blood, nor do I change shapes. That's out of the question. I am a shy girl; quiet and always in my own little world. Others came to me and thought that everything about me was weird- they even pointed it out. Only, they said it in a more linguistic way.
I have all but one friend. That's considered "not normal", right? I mean, all the people at school have friends; someone to talk to, to lean on, to go to when you're sad, someone to eat lunch with. But I don't in a way.
I don't even have blond hair. I am stuck with orange hair that I was told looked like pizza grease, blue eyes that constantly change colors, and a body that wasn't all skinny. Not fat, but not skinny, you know?
So, life for me is hard. One friend, no one interested in me, and only one person I can talk to. My parents are always away somewhere, and I'm always dreaming or fantasizing about something.
Sometimes I wonder if people could fit themselves in my small shoes. I wonder if they'll live. I even wonder if they can ever know what it's like, to be like me, and have to deal with the inhumanly pain that I felt; that I have always felt.
Sitting at the creek behind our yard was calming, almost like it was some type of lullaby. The whoosh! Sound of the water as it rushed down the rocks at immense speed piqueted my interest. It made you want to sit on the rocks and look at the flow for hours upon end. My muscles relaxed listening to the sounds, smelling the smells, and feeling the cool touch of the water among my hot toes.
Summer time was the hardest time in life for me. Sure, it was fun, and often enjoyable. But I saw no point to it. The only point I saw was the part where it was a break from the year-long school terms. I often wondered why it couldn’t have just been a month and a half, or even the length of two weeks, like they did for Spring break. What made summer so much more special than the other seasons? Why couldn’t we have a longer break during the holidays, instead of having three months off for the summer, which barely had any holidays at all? I used to ask these questions to myself all of the time, but then I stopped when I realized that no one else cared to listen to my long ranting in my head. Of course they couldn’t, it was all in my head and I never even cared to share it out loud.
As I sat on the rocks of the creek, I pulled out my Invader Zim sketchbook and tried to sketch the smooth waves of the water as is sashayed its way down the bank. In the east, a bird called out for its mate. Frogs croaked their songs, and the trees made their wind. Everything was the way it always had been, for the outside life that is. Their lives were so simple, so easy, it seemed. We all have work to do, as do they, but they didn’t have to go to school, wait years and years to find your mate, get a job, and try to have a life while balancing it with the fun.
“Whiz” I said as I glanced down at my sketch book. I had messed up on the rocks and the landscaping. It was a bunch of meaningless scribbles. That’s what you get for spacing off. My parents always told me that if I kept up with dozing off, I wouldn’t ever get anywhere. They’re more right than they could’ve imagined. This drawing was horrible.
“October!” I heard someone call off in the distance. I grabbed my stuff, packed it back up in my coffin-shaped bag and ran off towards the voice, back to my boring life; back to the hectic, boring times.
“Coming!” I yelled in response. Coming out of the trees, I saw my brother, Chris, standing in the middle of our hayfield of a yard. His purple Mohawk gave him away. Well, that and his bright blue Cookie Monster shirt among the tall, yellowed grass. I ran through the hay-grass. It must have been quite a sight, because once I had reached Chris, he was almost dieing of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I asked him. I stared at him, laughing so hard. It almost made me start to laugh. Almost.
“You. You running through the grass. You looked so short compared to the grass and it just started making a trail as you ran.” He laughed hysterically. I looked at him like he was crazy. It must just be one of “those” days for him. You know, those days where nothing that’s normally funny to you becomes funny for no apparent reason, and then you can’t stop laughing? One of those days.
“Okay, Mr. Everything’s Funny To Me. What do you want?” I demanded. Chris stopped laughing, and started picking at his callused hands.
“Mom said she wants you to go to the store and pick up some stuff.” He said seriously.
“Why can’t she just get it herself? Oh, right. She’s too stoned?” I said sarcastically, even though it was probably true. Whenever she was like this, she would always send me and Chris to find something to do. Whether it was pointless or not, we had to do it.
“Yeah. Here’s the list. And I have some money you can have.” He responded, solemnly. He reached into his back pocket of his baggy jeans and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and the list of things she wanted.
“Why do I need fifty?” I asked, curiously.
“So you don’t have to come back for a while. She won’t notice you’re gone. You can go to lunch with Zeke or something. Then, go get the things she needs. You know what happens when she doesn’t get what she wants.” Chris said. Yeah, I knew all too well.
I looked up at my big brother, and gave him a hug. “Thanks, but what about you?”
“I’ll be okay. You know, I’ll be pretty preoccupied with my iPod and stuff.”
“Okay, thanks, Chris. A lot.” I said again.
“Go, October. But be careful. There are some creepy people around.” He replied. I nodded and hopped onto my bike. I waved when I got to the gate and scurried off.
Zeke’s house was off the intersection in the middle of town. I stood in front of his big, green house. The grass was yellowing, which showed that his family must have been slacking off some recently. His mom was always the kind that you’d see on the front cover of a magazine for the perfect home and gardening. The front porch was decorated generously with red and coral Zinnias. Not that bad really, but it was just too flashy for my taste. I’d rather decorate my house with black roses surrounding the neon paint-splattered paint job. Zekes’ mom’s porch wrapped around their green outing. It was always too green, though. That’s why Zeke and I always spent time with each other. He was embarrassed by his mother, as was I. His mother was another version of a Corporate Kathy, and mines another version of Lindsay Lohan. He said mine was always cool, but he didn’t really know. Nobody ever does; she always puts on an act.
I knocked on their marble white door. “Why, hello, October. Looking dashing in black, as always, my dear.” Mrs. Osmun scrutinized. One of the many things I liked about Zeke’s mom- she never judged me on what I wore or how I acted. “Please, so come in, come in. Zeke’s just up in his room, as always. He’s got his stereo blasting, so just go ahead and walk right in.” Mrs. Osmun chimed cheerfully.
“Thanks, Mrs. Osmun.” I said, grateful.
“Oh, please call me Kitty,” she responded. I nodded and passed through the door that she was holding open for me.
It was still a shock for me to enter Mrs. Osmuns’ home. The grand marble-tiled floor, the great, big staircase that spiraled in the middle of the room and the set up. It all made me feel like I was entering some type of V.I.P. party for rich people. Zeke’s mom was an intern, and his dad a lawyer. Kitty had made the inside of the mansion-house look like it came straight out of an old Victorian movie, like it was the inside of a palace, where the Kind was Mr. Osmun, and the queen Kitty.
As I made my way up the staircase, I could hear the wailing guitar solo of Jake Pitts- from Black Veil Brides- coming from the hallway above. I smiled faintly to myself. Same old, safe Zeke. My Zeke the Cookie, Zeke of the night, my Zekers. As his mom pointed out, it would be too hard for him to hear me knocking on the door, so I opened it to see Zeke doing an impression of someone playing the electric guitar along with the music. I laughed out loud, with my head thrown back and my mouth wide open. This was exactly what I needed- a good laugh. Zeke saw me, eventually, and was dieing with laughter along with me. It must have been quite a scene, us two laughing like crazy, literally rolling on the floor laughing.
“Hey, Octo, what’s going on?” Zeke asked, still laughing. His long blue-black hair falling in his face, his eyeliner smudging under his eyes a little; it almost made him look like a big teddy-bear.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” I said. Zeke knew all about what went on in my life, because he was the only one I could trust. Because I didn’t want my mom to be taken away from Chris and I, no matter how messed up she is. She was our responsibility to take care of, and that was why I stuck around. She was like a child that needed to be taken care of and tamed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. If you want me to go over there and slug it to her, I will. She needs a good dose of that,” Zeke said, maybe too serious.
“Nah, I’m doing alright on my own,” I told him. I was serious, and he knew it. I watched his excitement leave his face a little. Zeke was always protective of me, and if one person tried to hurt me he would practically kill them, or give them a stern talking to. When I saw him do that, I almost died laughing. It’s always funny when Zeke gave someone a stern talking to, because he’s not always the serious type. And when he does get serious, you can’t take him seriously. Zeke’s eyebrows arched up slightly when I said that I was doing alright all on my own. He didn’t like the fact that I was the one taking care of my mother. Chris was just coming down to visit from college.
“Okay, whatever you say. Anyways, want to go to the park?” Zeke’s face lit up when he said park. He’d loved parks since he was three. You’d think that a fifteen-year-old would’ve grown out of parks, but not Zeke- never Zeke.
“And what are we going to do there? Sit on the swings and talk?” I teased him.
“No, silly, a picnic!” Zeke was practically jumping up and down. His eyes were brighter than before, and his body practically was screaming to go to the park. I never could get over Zeke’s obsession for parks. I don’t think I ever would.
“Okay,” I laughed, “but what are we going to have?”
“Hmm…Chili dogs!” Zeke squeaked out.
“Ewww. No, thanks! Why not tuna sandwiches?”
“Because tuna’s so overrated.” Zeke responded, wagging his finger at me. I giggled.
“Fine, then. Those hand-held soups and a sub sandwich.” I suggested.
“Yay!” Zeke cheered. His favorite food was those handheld soups.
Once Zeke and I parted ways after our picnic lunch, I hopped on my bike again and peddled away from the park. When I reached the store, it was near to its closing time; I had fifteen minutes. I parked my bike in the bike rack, and walked inside. I looked at the list that Chris gave me.