What If It All Means Something
A Novel By William Louison
I got down the stairs and headed for my room, my hands still clenched with anger. Now I was mad, and I was going to be thinking about this all night. What a way to ruin a night. I don’t get why she’s so concerned. It’s really none of her damn business who I want to talk to and who my friends are. We don’t run around murdering people, so I think we’re okay. She just doesn’t understand. I doubt she will.
When I got in my room, I shut the door behind me and started to play some music. After a minute or two of pacing, I threw myself on the bed and tried to clear my thoughts. What a stupid fight anyway. My friends in Washington weren’t that bad, were they? I wasn’t that bad, was I?
That’s when I remembered the look on Brett’s face this afternoon when I confirmed that yes, indeed I had smoked pot with my friends before. I shouted out a string of bad words. It felt good to curse out loud, and I accompanied it with slamming my fist into my bed. This was stupid.
I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and checked the time. Ten after ten. I wasn’t ready to go to bed yet, either, so I just laid there with my eyes open staring at the white ceiling. It was plain, flat and full of shadows from the lights. Almost like my life, I thought to myself – plain and boring. Except it wasn’t really like my life because at least the ceiling had some use for this house and this family. Me – not so much.
I’m not sure how long I laid there for; I didn’t checked the time when I got up.
My thoughts were a mess, covering a hundred different things all at once – mom, Brett, the divorce, the move, Washington, Gold Beach, my old friends, Alex, Laura and more. It was hard to follow and I couldn’t keep up with everything I was thinking. I finally decided to get off the bed and get ready for sleep.
I pulled my socks off and threw them the corner with the rest of my dirty clothes. My shirt was next and it went in the same pile. My jeans were still good to wear another day, so I tossed those to the other side of my room. My underwear went to the first pile and I was about to pull on a pair of pajama bottoms when I suddenly decided I wanted a shower. Maybe that would help relax.
I left the pajama pants on my bed and opened my door to the dark basement. A cool draft blew against my body, but it felt nice because I had gotten so worked up yelling with mom. That was another reason why I liked the basement. It was cooler than the rest of the house, and California was so freakin’ hot.
I headed across the floor, trying to think of anything but tonight. Before I got in the shower, I stopped to look in the mirror. I desperately wanted to reassure myself that everything was going to be okay, but I just couldn’t. Somehow I knew it wasn’t. I saw the empty look in my eyes and I had to turn away.
I made sure the water was hot and when I stepped inside, it felt good. My muscles were tense and this helped to relax them. I tried not to think about anything while showering. It worked, mostly, so it was nice just to relax. I didn’t bother actually washing myself or my hair because I knew I was going to have a shower in the morning before school. I just wanted to relax.
The water was steaming, probably hotter than I usually had it, but I didn’t notice too much. I mostly just stood there, letting the water do all the work. I really hadn’t had much time to relax like this. I also didn’t realize how much strain was on my body. Nearly all summer, I had done the bulk of the moving, carrying of heavy boxes, setting all the furniture in place and so on.
When we first moved here, I had to carry all of the boxes downstairs. One by one, as we were sorting through stuff and putting it in its new home, I had carry each of the boxes back upstairs. And there was the cleaning, also. When I wasn’t moving boxes I had to dust or vacuum or sweep. I felt like a maid or something, only I wasn’t getting paid so it was more like being a slave. Brett helped with stuff, he was a good duster, and Sherry did a little, too. But, it usually took less time if I just did it by myself.
I guess I hadn’t even realized how hard I had been working this summer. I had had no friends, so I didn’t notice because I was home all the time and I never had to miss going out to do housework. I’m hoping, though, that mom will get that receptionist job and be home more. Besides, now that I’m school, I can’t do everything either.
Here I am, thinking of all of this again, not sure of how much time has passed. I finally realized how tired I was, so I shut off the water, reached through the shower curtain and grabbed my towel. I felt a yawn coming, and realized my body was yearning for sleep. I really didn’t know how long I had spent in the shower, but it felt pretty late.
Towel wrapped around my waist, I headed back to my room. My music was still on, and I quickly turned it off. I didn’t want it to disturb anyone sleeping upstairs. I finished drying myself off in my room and was too lazy to take my towel back to the bathroom, so I just let it fall to the ground. Slipping into my pajama shorts, I collapsed onto the bed.
The last ten minutes of my evening I spent writing in my journal. It’s a good stress reliever, because I feel like I’m actually talking to someone, but I knew I could write whatever I wanted because no one was going to read it. That was the nice part. I thought it was weird that I had this journal, but it really helped me keep some things in order. The weight that was lifted from my mind every night I wrote was enough to make it worth it. I knew that if I didn’t have this journal, I would’ve probably been on edge all the time, and my and mom would’ve torn ourselves apart by now.
Finally I closed the journal and stuffed it back in my desk, under my clothes. I had a sudden flashback to me hiding those condoms in my room, and relieved my shock that mom knew about them. But a journal was different than condoms, though, and mom knew I wrote in my journal. Even if she ever found it, she respects me enough not to read it. That I knew for a fact.
I took another deep breath, turned the lamp beside my bed on and then flicked my ceiling lights off. I went back to my bed and pulled the covers back. They were soft and cool, just how I liked them. I climbed underneath, still shirtless. I always slept without a shirt. I switched the lamp off, and then darkness was around.
I took one more deep breath before I finally closed my eyes and went to sleep.
Not The End
Thanks for reading!
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