Dancin' with Myself
#4 of The Same Old Song and Dance
After that, I don't think his mother found out what happened for a good half-hour. He looked at me with the most... pained looked in his eyes. He questioned, "What?" to the insensitive beast in the doorway as he dropped the phone. I don't think either he or the pizza girl knew how to respond to the simple question... At least... I didn't. The girl didn't know what was going on at all, actually. Funny...
The phone rang a few times, but nobody paid any attention. The cougar stayed for a little bit, but he left after I had retrieved some information from him and assured him that I would take care of things. I tried to act like I knew what I was doing, though I didn't. I wanted to comfort him... I wanted to be there for him... but I felt like there was something keeping me from getting near him. He sat on the couch silently, staring into space. I didn't speak to him. I couldn't. I knew what he was thinking, somehow.
I picked up the phone and dialed the last received number, and swallowed dryly when his mother answered. How was I supposed to be frank? Maybe I should have let that cougar stay longer, I thought. No. She couldn't hear something like that from a stranger. I tell myself that, anyway. I try to tell myself it was easier hearing it from me. Was it, though?
Ah... I write as though he's already dead. The cougar did say it looked bad, but he could still be okay! I try to believe that, at least. I guess I just write how I feel. An artist should not let his emotions get in the way of his work, right? I will have to work on that... Hah! I'm not an artist. I'm just overemotional. Maybe that's what it takes to be an artist, though. I certainly can't be a writer with broken sentences like this. I'll take back up an instrument... maybe paint a little more.
Writing does help me get this off my chest. I can even write my most private feelings here... It's great. The best part, of course, is that nobody would be able to tell it was my writing from reading it. A person's writing really is a better window into their soul than their actions... I know.
I'm just rambling. Is that what I'm supposed to do?
He hasn't spoken to me since. To be fair, I haven't seen him enough to give him a chance, but when we do pass, he doesn't speak to me. I know what he's thinking. I think I do. It's arrogant to assume I know another's thoughts, but I know what I'd think in his position. I hate me. I mean... I would hate me. I certainly don't hate me, right?
After I called his mother, I sat next to him on the couch. I didn't touch himâ€"I couldn't. I tried to tell him that his mother would be in town in around an hour and that we should go to the hospital, but I couldn't. I just sat there, dumbfounded. I was useless.
I did eventually get him into my car, wordlessly, and drive to the hospital. His mother was at the reception desk when we walked in, and she threw herself on him. His little brother looked at me with a mix of confusion and depression. His eyes were redâ€"he had been crying. I noticed, then, that Alex hadn't cried. He had just sat in disbelief. His mother was crying, too. My eyes had even been wet when I heard...more out of sympathy than grief, maybe. Why...?
Maybe I knew why. I didn't want to say it. I don't, still.
I stayed for a little bit, listening to his mother's sobs. Nobody spoke. We sat in the waiting room until a nurse came to escort them to his father's room. I was allowed to go, but I didn't follow. Nobody looked back to see that I was following or really cared, I think. I let them turn a corner, then returned to my car and went home. There was no sign of Mom when I went in, so I retreated to my room for sleep. I didn't. I lay there for what seemed like hours, sleeplessly, before getting up and wandering around. I was quiet enough that I wouldn't wake my mother (she'd only worry), but I sighed almost continuously. I paced, I grabbed a drink from the fridge, and I sat on the couch. I had to think of something to get my mind off of this!
I saw, then, my planner lying on the table in front of me. I filled it out once in a great while when a project was due more than a week down the line and I figured I would forget. I flipped it open to the date and looked ahead. Nothing for a few weeks, but there was a creative writing paper due just over a month from now. I could start on that, I thought to myself. I picked up a pen from the table's drawer and fetched a piece of paper from the nearby printer. I set to work.
I wrote several pages before my wrist began cramping, and I then wrote several more. I gave up a little later and set off to my room. I suddenly realized just how tired I was. As I was falling to my bed, my eye caught a tattered blue book on my bookshelf, and I willed myself to investigate. I had noticed the book before, surely, but something about it caught my attention more vigorously this time. It was a simple blue journal I began writing in around the eighth grade. It was a shambles due to spending the year in my bag, I suppose. I flipped through a couple of pages to find that... that was all there was! A couple of pages of writing followed by so many pages of blank space.
I suddenly felt... As if I needed to write again.
My sleep schedule is fixed, I think. Resumed its natural course! I think it's made me a more upbeat person- ha ha! Exciting! Very much so!
Unfortunately, school has resumed its natural course as well. I'm doing well enough in every subject. On track to take advanced placement tests for college. Certainly exciting, yes yes yes! Everything's just puddles of joy right now (isn't it always?)! I have writing to do (other than in this!), so I'd better be jetting right about now. Certainly.
Certainly.
Writing to do. I wonder what I SHOULD be writing about for that creative writing assignment? I just glanced up at my last entry and thought of it again. I should pick that back up... but no! I have another essay to write right now. Write... right! Right. I'm genius. This essay's in the bag! Yes. I think so.
Meanwhile, socially, things are a little less bright. Of course, they're still bright. Sunshiny-bright. Just...less so. It's okay, though. Everything works out in the end. It always does.
Right?
_The ferret glanced up from the playbook to look at the wolf reciting his line. The wolf's hoary fur glistened like diamonds in the stage lightsâ€"he was sweating fiercely. Nerves, perhaps? The ferret thought that must be it. The wolf had such a beautiful voice... and such charisma! He just didn't have the courage to try out for these plays.
The ferret was glad that he did, though. The wolf recited the lines perfectly, with more emotion than half of the real drama aficionados of the school could ever hope to muster. The ferret was certainly glad he came... just not for the situation surrounding it. It must have been out of revenge. The wolf must be here to just make a better show of his anger toward the ferret; that must be it. He would never be here of his own volition.
It had been two weeks since the two had spoken to each other. It wasn't for lack of trying on the ferret's part, of course... only for lack of wanting on the part of the other._
Finally finished this damned essay. Ah, it's already midnight? Gosh, I should stop waiting until the last moment. Oh, what happened to working on it in my LAST entry? I guess I got carried away with other matters. Sleeping, I think. I don't really know what happened. The last few days have been a blur. Still... thank God tomorrow's Friday!
He still hasn't spoken to me... He, who, you might ask. You might wonder. Well if you're reading this and you're not me, I haven't done a good job of keeping it secret, have I? I don't care to restate whom I'm talking about. I guess if one were to read back a few pages, one would realize quickly. Maybe I'm just paranoid.
Anyway, I know to whom I'm referring.
He still hasn't spoken to me, I mentioned. Maybe I'm just paranoid. I wrote that already, didn't I? My handwriting is a little shaky, so I can't really tell. I really need to write on my computer more. Handwritten stuff may be more meaningful, but it certainly takes a toll on my wrist.
Man, she already graded the essays! Ms. Beagle is incredible. The little old lizard really knows what she's doing. I don't just say that because she gave me an A, of course. She really is a very clever teacher. Lily Beagle... Maybe I should get her to apply for the Teacher of the Year thing. There's a cash bonus there that she certainly deserves. Especially after... I shouldn't write down her personal life here, huh? This is my book. I'd hate her to find out I was saying things that are potentially... libelous. Slanderous? Whatever the term is. I'm not looking it up.
Creative writing is due in less than a month now I think. Maybe a little over a month. I'll get back to work on that. In the meantime, there's a play I've auditioned for. Good news: I made it! Bad news: I didn't get the lead. Oh well. It was never my intent to devote my life to the performing arts!
Nobody else of note made the play. Nobody I care for, anyway. For some reason, I don't get along with much of the drama department...
The ferret recoiled a little as the wolf shot him a look with an intent just short of murderous. In reality, it was more of a neutral look, but the ferret felt the daggers. He was being overemotional... he knew! He didn't know how much longer he could work on this play with the wolf. Being around him but not being able to speak to him... It was murder.
We locked eyes in class today. I expected to feel his hatred for me from across the room... I knew he blamed me. I know. I know he blames me. He must. But... there wasn't any hatred. Just a distant, miserable sort of warmth. It wasn't as warm as it used to be, but it was certainly warm. He didn't smile, though... he never smiles these days. It's only been a couple of weeks since then. Still, a look is progress. I can't bring myself to try to speak to him. How pathetic I must seem!
Oh well. I haven't heard ANY news from that family, though. The way he's been moping, I can't assume the best. The way that monstrous cat spoke of the accident, I can't assume the best, either. With that much assuming the worst, I can only...assume...the worst.
Right?
Maybe I'm wrong. I hope I'm wrong.
Not for HIS sake. For his sake. I know what I mean.
And..
And for my sake, too.
_The ferret looked pathetically into the eyes of his dying friend, shivering despite the great heat he felt. "I thought all for the best." He said, holding back sobs but expressing tears. He barely heard the wolf's words as he was lifted pitifully by their friend. He caught the important part.
"A plague on both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me!"
A plague on my house, thought the ferret. He was never more emotionally involved than at that moment. Both of them were, though for different reasons. The ferret's eyes watered more, involuntarily. He knew the wolf meant it.
As the wolf and his companion moved away to allow the canine form to pass away in peace, the ferret commented on all that had happened to himself and to the greater cause. He let his voice resound powerfully his words, "Thy beauty hath made me effeminate!"... but he did not mean Juliet. He only hoped his words were heard._
I'm getting up the courage to go over there. Yet another week has passed since my last entry. I want to go over there. I don't want to go while he's there. I don't want him to know I've been there. He doesn't need to know that. He'd just hate me more. But I have to know what's happened. I have to know if what's in my mind has happened. I can't help but feel this is my fault... because I know he can't help but feel that.
_The ferret gave his bows alongside the rest of the group. The wolf was so close, but so distant. Distant not in a physical sense, of course. Distant in a far worse sense.
The ferret gathered his courage.
He rushed out into the parking lot after the wolf. He grabbed the canine arm tightly. The wolf pulled away. He looked the ferret over with a look of fear, then cool apathy. "Good performance, eh," He muttered, faking a smile, before walking away and climbing in his car. The ferret did not proceed. The exchange (or really receipt) of words told him all he needed to know._
I've decided. I'll go to his mom's work tomorrow after school. He won't be there. I can trust her to keep my visit a secret. She'll understand. I hope she will. She probably will.
I walked into her office mid-afternoon yesterday, Saturday. His mom's office, that is. Down at Key Realty. She smiled and jumped up, greeting me like a mother would her child and embracing me. It was all I could do not to collapse in her arms in sobs... she was being so kind. The older wolf beamed and motioned to the comfortable chair in the corner of the room that she saved for visitors rather than clients and took her place at her desk, shuffling some papers and finally questioning my presence.
I want to describe this woman before I go any further. I feel that emotionlessly describing this woman who is and has been so kind to me to be a crime, so I have to be thorough. She is not a faceless character in the story of my life.
She is a wolf. I said that already. She has the very sharp, keen face, the beautiful silver fur, and the beautiful tail that she lets hang neatly behind her. That is all that is wolf-like about her. I must say that she blends into human society better than most humans I know! Everything about her betrays her bestial maw. I always see her wearing a suit of some sort, usually red or black and always very flattering to her very feminine form. If not in a suit, she seems to have a soft spot for leather (wink!), I think, because she always wears a leather jacket. It's never a gaudy sort of jacket like some of these biker thug wolves like to wearâ€"on the contrary! It's always very business-like and on top of a white dressy sort of shirt. I've never caught her in a dress, but I've also never gone to church with her. There really is nothing bestial about her. She has a very nicely... developed pair of mammary glands on her chest (in the human sort of form, lucky animal! They're much more attractive than the mammalian traits I see some stuck with...), and even her face is less wolfish than it seems. She has these beautiful, chocolate-colored eyes that radiate warmth and a soothing voice to match. She's someone I could very easily fall in love with. It's no wonder I... well. You know.
Wow, I think I doubled the length of this journal with that description... she deserves it, though. She's wonderful. Where was I? I'll read up and find out.
Oh right. She asked me why I was there, though she was "very glad to see" me. I opened my mouth to respond, but I let out some kind of incredibly boorish squeak and quickly closed my mouth, my eyes watering slightly. She saw immediately through my trying to stay happy and trotted to her door, closing it. She dragged her chair to me and took my hand, trying to calm me but instead making me sob harder. She was being too nice.
She was such a clever wolf. She didn't guess what was wrong. She knew. She asked why I hadn't been at their house recently. She missed seeing me, she said. Were her son and I having a fight? She'd beat him up if he was being stupid.
Haven't had time, I said. We aren't fighting, I said. Why, I asked, has he said anything?
"No, he hasn't mentioned you at all, actually." She replied, putting a finger to her mouth pensively. That, to me, was worse than fighting, but I didn't say so.
I asked how her husband was faring. "Fine," she replied. He was still alive. He was getting better. She said I should go by and visit him. He always talked so highly of me and he'd love to see me.
He always talked so highly of me... Why does everything go wrong?
I couldn't tell her why I was really down. I just wanted to see how everyone was, and I had accomplished that. I pulled my phone from my jacket and claimed that I had to get home and help mom wrap presents.
"Please come visit," the wolf said softly as she led me out of the room, "I'm sure Alex would like it. I don't know what happened between you two, but I'm sure it's nothing that's worth ending a relationship over. You two are so close."
I smiled weakly and hugged her, telling her I would be sure to stop by. As I walked out of the building and gathered my coat more closely around me, as I got into my car, and as I drove past the busy wolf's window and gave her a half-hearted wave, one completely inconsequential word danced around my mind. Something she said but probably did not mean in the way that I meant it. An infinitesimal detail.
"Relationship."
_The ferret would not be deterred. His vigor was renewed. He tried again to talk with the wolf. He tried again and again. He sometimes even got a conversation out of the uninterested boy. It was never an actual conversation, of course. A "how's-the-weather?" and "fair to partly cloudy" sort of conversation, always. But it was progress.
The progress did not last long.
The ferret gathered his books as the last bell rang on a Friday afternoon. He was relieved that the day was finally over. He took off to the parking lot at a slow gallop, jumping in his car after throwing his bag into the trunk. He had a mission today. He wasn't going to let the wolf avoid the subject any longer. He drove to the wolf's house and waited outside for half an hour before the wolf finally arrived.
The wolf looked startled when he got out of his vehicle, but kept his cool, distant look as he approached the ferret. "What are you doing here?"
The ferret opened his mouth, but he may as well have stuck a paw in it instead of speaking._
She was right. Alex's mom, I mean. This WAS nothing worth ending a relationship over. I went over to his house today. He was surprised to see me, but he let me into the house without a word. We just sat in silence for a while. I opened my mouth to speak a few times, but I closed it quickly. It was only weeks and weeks ago that we were in this very room doing this very thing. I couldn't go through that again.
"How's Dad?" I ventured. I usually referred to his parents in such a way. His mom found it endearing. I don't think his father ever commented.
"Better." He smiled weakly, looking up. It was good to hear his voice.
"That's good..." I tried to beam at him, but I think my nerves were showing pretty greatly. "And how are you?"
"Just getting what karma brought to me, I guess." He looked down again.
I was hoping to get a little farther into the conversation before talking about anything heavy. "Don't say that," I said, and before I knew what I was doing, I was on the couch next to him. "You have done nothing to warrant this, and none of this is your fault."
"I knew you'd say that," he said, his voice breaking a bit. He scooted as far away as the couch would allow. "Don't. I've tried telling myself that, too."
"It's the truth!"
"It's not. This isn't random. You can't believe that."
"I can't believe you're doing this to yourself!"
"I can't believe I've done it to myself, either." He looked up at me once more. This time, his face wasn't trying to fake a smile. He looked very somber. Very hateful. "I think you should go."
"Don't say that," I moved closer. "What happened to your father wasn't anyone's fault but the driver of the other car."
"There was no other car." He looked more seriously at me. "His brakes failed. That is not random. It was the same day as..." He looked down and repeated, "I think you should go."
The ferret stood in the florist's shop thinking to himself. It was a last-ditch romantic effort, buying flowers, but he was on the end of his rope. Desperate was he as he moved to the counter to ask the advice of the small old hare who owned the place. She recommended roses for matters of love. Very cliché. He liked it. He bought a dozen and a small, ornate glass vase. He smiled brightly as he left the shop. He knew this was his last attempt. He was perfectly happy with that. Why would he care what life he should miss without the one for whom his life was meant?
A week later, and he still hasn't shown up to school. Rumor started that he had the flu. I suppose that was better than the truth. We sat there talking for a while after my last entry. We didn't get anywhere. I left after his fifth suggestion. I could see that my being there was only hurting him. He probably hadn't voiced his concerns to anyone. Voicing them to me must have been so difficult. I can't believe I've been feeling sorry for myself all this time. I have to do something for him. I had to. That's why I took my next step: confronting his father.
I called his mother at her office to ask which hospital the big bad wolf was in. I went the same day. My stomach was in a knot as I walked down the hallway. I didn't feel any better when I walked into his room. His first words to me were "Nurse, God damn it, there you are. I've been yelling myself hoarse fâ€"oh." His eyes shone with recognition. "It's you."
He looked terrible. I felt more than a twinge of sympathy for the wolf. Both of his arms and one of his legs were in casts. He had a bandage over one of his eyes and around his head, and he had a neck brace unflatteringly sitting on his throat. Hadn't it been a few weeks now? Shouldn't he be better?
"Brian!" He laughed merrily, coughing a bit, "Good to see you, boy!" He was very happy for someone in his state, I remember thinking. "Should've known that fucking nurse wouldn't be coming in to check on me." I walked in.
"Hey, pops," I smiled. "If I knew you were still in this bad of a state, I would've brought flowers or something." I joked, walking further into the room.
"Hell, you know I'd just die quicker of those allergies," He chortled. "Gimme a hand here, will ya? The nurse turned off the television a year ago and I need to see the game. It's probably over by now."
I felt a sort of light pleasure as I helped the older wolf adjust his bed and fetched the remote for him. He could barely operate it with the state of his arms, so I controlled the television as well. All the while he chatted with me as if I were his own. I don't know why I disliked him so much. Well, I know why.
"So why haven't I seen you in a while, Brian?" He smiled toothily, glancing over at me sitting in a chair next to him. He managed to keep one eye on the television at all time. An enviable skill. "Alex's been in here every day. You'd think I'd see you in here with him once or twice. What's the matter, forget about your old man?"
I'd never heard him refer to himself as my "old man" before. Maybe the crash had knocked some sense out of him. Maybe he really thought I was his son. Hmm. Nah.
"Well," I replied, "We're sort of at odds right now."
"What about?" He sounded mildly concerned. "He hasn't mentioned anything to me."
"Ah, it's nothing important." I'm a terrible liar, so I tried to be believable with how I elaborated.
"And?"
"Relationship crap," I started, "He blames himself for some stuff that I'm trying to convince him isn't his fault."
"Yeah, well," his dad laughed, "You know how we get when we think with our dicks, eh? Can't think straight."
"Yeah, I guess." I smiled. I certainly hoped he wasn't thinking with THAT... if he were, he wouldn't be thinking the way he was. I sniffed the sterile air, rubbing at my nose.
"Well, he'll get over it. You're there to help him out, eh?" The wolf chortled, "And after aâ€"GOD DAMNIT!"
I jumped up, nearly knocking over the chair I was in. I thought for a brief second that he was going to fly into a bipolar rage and destroy me, but his anger was only directed toward the small television set. I glanced at it, and noticed that the team that the family of wolves often cheered on in football games was behind in points. The announcer was yelling into the microphone obnoxiously, his cheery voice commenting on the team's fumble. I wondered briefly how the announcers could stay so impartial. Must be something to do with the money.
"God damn that quarterback can't do anything right. If I had my way..." The wolf went into a speech that I had heard him give many times to his wife and youngest son while I was around. He went on to explain how his choice of quarterback for that team was the right choice, and he noted how if he were coaching it, things would be much different. Why, in his day...
_The ferret left the flower shop with a vase full of roses, a card full of love, and a mind full of hope. He entered his small car and started the engine, breathing in the smell of gasoline and old leather before he put the car in drive and took off out of the parking lot. He buckled the vase in to the passenger seat as he waited to pull on the main road. "Be safe," he whispered to it, "You're my trump card."
The old hare looked out the window, scratching lazily at her ear as she watched the ferret drive away. Her daughter approached unnoticed, coming with a freshly-cut batch of lavender from the garden. The smell caught the attention of the elder, who turned and smiled as the younger took a bit and hung it to dry, setting the rest on the counter haphazardly._
"Mama, who was that?" The young hare questioned while working.
"Just a young boy facing his first real rejection, I think, dear." The old hare frowned, taking a bit of the lavender to tie and hang. "I hope I'm wrong, though. He seemed like a nice boy."
"Me too, mama," the littler hare smiled naively. As she spoke, the head of one of the lavender blossoms fell to the desk from its hanging spot. The door to the small shop opened very suddenly, creating a draft that knocked the small blossom to the ground. The hares looked up, startled at the number of customers in the usually-empty shop, and the younger stepped on the unnoticed lavender flower while inquiring, "How can we help you?"
"Yellow roses. A dozen, please. In a nice vase."
The young hare smiled and nodded to the gray customer, turning quickly away to the greenhouse to fulfill his request. The elder looked at the new customer up and down, and after a moment, she spoke shortly:
"I think red would more suit your wants."
I apologize to myself and this journal for cutting off my last entry. Dinner time comes around more and more quickly these days. Maybe writing just takes up so much time that I don't notice. Oh well.
There isn't much more to tell about my visit to the old wolf. We sat, watching sports and talking idly, until the nurse finally arrived with a meal and a message. After being berated for her absence by the wolf, she made a fair excuse for her absence and said, "Your son called to tell you he'll be here within the hour. He's bringing the magazine you wanted, he said."
"Great!" shouted the old wolf.
I gulped softly, standing from my seat and announcing, "I just noticed what time it is. I need to get going."
The wolf looked truly sorry to hear the news of my departure, and said between bites of his meal (and complaints about the same), "Are you sure you can't stay? We could have a relationship intervention. That'd sure brighten the day!"
"No," I tried to laugh, but let out a cough instead. "No, thank you. I'd rather you not mention it, actually. I'm sure he doesn't want anyone knowing."
"Ah, I see," winked the grinning wolf, "The secret's safe with me."
With that, I bid him and the nurse (for whom I suddenly felt very sorry) goodbye, and left to the melody of a song that I like to call "What's This Stuff, Some Kind of Shit Casserole!" I worried about meeting Alex in the parking lot, but I was fortunate enough to make it to my car without any confrontations. I drove home rather quickly, but my heart felt a little lighter after that conversation. I suppose Alex didn't tell his father about anything of real importance to me. I didn't really assume he had, I guess. I wouldn't have gone if I really thought there would be a confrontation.
On the way out of the parking lot, I thought I saw Alex in a little car I didn't recognize, being driven by a young, pretty leopard that I knew from calculus class. They weren't very close, so I assume I was mistaken. Nonetheless, my heart sort of dropped when I saw them together. Er, thought I saw them together. Whatever I did.
_The ferret knocked on the big wooden door, his heart fluttering in his chest. The older female wolf answered, smiling her pleasant smile. She ushered him inside kindly, commenting on the vase of roses that he carried. "Delivery," he said simply, grinning. She nodded and walked to the kitchen as the ferret climbed the stairs in the living room. At the top he took a left; he knew this path well. The door to the wolf's room was closed.
He knocked.
He waited.
The wolf opened the door violently, expecting his mother or other relative to be hassling him. Instead, the ferret smiled happily at him. The wolf blushed, but he politely invited the other into his room. The ferret declined, instead handing him the vase of roses and the card. "For you," he breathed, brushing the wolf's hand as he let go of the vase. The wolf seemed confused._
He shut the door in the ferret's face.
The ferret was not surprised, however. He had expected such a reception. He turned away, crestfallen, and silently exited the house. He climbed into his car, not bothering with the seatbelt and only barely remembering his headlights as he drove away. He had tried. That was the important thing.
Meanwhile, the female wolf knocked at her son's door, inquiring, "Who were the roses from, Romeo?"
The wolf was only inches away, sitting with his back against the door on the other side, holding the vase of roses between his legs and gazing at them introspectively.
"Someone special, Mom."
It's always good when a story has a happy ending, I think. Of course, sometimes a sad ending is really the way to go. Turned in my creative writing project today. It took a long time to decide how to end it. Of course, it was good that I did finally end it; it was about 12 pages too long for the assignment. I don't think my teacher will mind.
I'm going to drop off a gift at Alex's house today. Something that I hope will brighten his mood some. I have realized something in the past days. At first, I was sitting moodily and reflecting on this situation. I was thinking only of myself. Then I started thinking about him. Or so I thought. I was really still thinking of myself. This will not be my only love. This will not be my only boyfriend. I guess I could go back to girls if I wanted. I know there are a few in the school who would love to date me.
It's just... I guess it's cliché. But. First love really does seem like the only love.
But. As I said. I have realized something. I realize that I do love him. That doesn't mean I need to think of myself. I want him to be happy. I want him to be happy with who he is and what he does, and I want him to be loved and appreciated by his family. I want him to feel normal. That's what he wants. That's what I want.
If he is happier without me... if he is really happier... if he's GOING to be happier...
I have to let that happen, don't I?
Again, as I said, I'm giving him a gift. It's nothing much. I don't know that I want to write down what it was. I am a ferret of clichés, I suppose... I have to learn to avoid them like the plague (ha ha!). C'est la vie. Que sera sera.
I really hope he's happier with me than without though.
I guess I can't stop being selfish, after all. If he rejects me... I don't know what I'll do.
The road to the ferret's home was a long and winding one. As unhappy as he was, the ferret was trying not to speed. There was always a hidden police car around here somewhere. He didn't need to be heartbroken AND ticketed. He checked the speedometer again, then kept his eyes focused on the road. A figure stepped out into the road in front of him.
He swerved.
The figure did not move, and the car easily drifted around it. The ferret looked in his rearview mirror and just barely made out the shape of a deer before his lights no longer illuminated it. He was lucky, and the deer was lucky.
But he didn't feel lucky.
I am in the throes of depression once more, my dear book. I don't want to go into what happened. Let us just say that school and life are not longer going quite as well. Life, especially. Also, I'm running out of room. In case you can't feel it, your yellowing pages are left with few blank now. I think I count six from here. Eleven if I use front and back and save the last page for a doodle. I think the next entry will be my last. I think I write too big for my own good. Maybe I live too big for my own good too. Understand? I don't, either. I'm just not feeling artsy-fartsy today. No pleasant metaphors to speak of. And few clichés.
I have a drive to begin. I pulled over so I could write, but now I'm all written out. It's too dark to write, anyway. This car doesn't have very good lighting. I'll write that last entry when I get home maybe. Or tomorrow... there's always tomorrow.
_"Damn," he muttered, looking at the glaring lights in his mirror. The ferret looked down at his speedometer. 55 miles per hour. The speed limit here was 60... why was the cop unhappy with him? He must have seen the lack of seat belt. He reached for his seat belt, in the off chance that the officer did not notice. Maybe a tail light was out. Maybe...
He looked up and only had a moment to recognize the bend in the road he was missing and the telephone pole that he was not. The ferret slammed on the brakes futilely.
The next second was actually a large series of events. The first tenth of a second found the grill and front bumper of his tiny Honda collapsing, accompanied by a loud crash. The second tenth of a second brought the crumpling hood back to the windshield as the rear wheels, still spinning, lifted from the ground. Simultaneously, the fenders began wrapping themselves around the pole. Although the frame of the car was indeed halted at this point, the rest of the car is still traveling at its previous speed. Instinctually, the ferret stiffens his legs, and they snap at the knee joint._
During the third tenth of a second, the steering wheel began to disintegrate and the steering column began its journey toward the ferret's chest. The fourth tenth of a second found the car's front two feet destroyed while the rear end is still moving. The ferret's body was still moving at 55 miles per hour. In the fifth tenth of a second, the ferret was impaled on the steering column, and blood rushed into his lungs.
The sixth tenth of a second consisted of a cacophony of screeching metal and shattering glass. The brake pedal broke off, the car frame buckled in the middle, and the ferret's head smashed into the windshield. The rear wheels, still spinning, fall back to earth. In the seventh tenth of a second, the doors flew open and the seats broke free, striking the ferret from behind.
The seats striking from behind did not matter. The last three tenths of that second meant nothing to the ferret. He never heard the police officer running forward, radioing for an ambulance. He never again witnessed the wolf playing football or even shooting him an icy glare. He did not notice the ornate vase falling from its special place on the wolf's bedroom shelf, nor did he see the wolf later pass the wreckage on his way to deliver a vase of red roses that he had bought earlier that day. That next hour found much activity on that road, but...
The first seven tenths of that second found the ferret dead.
In the spirit of writing, I think I'm going to get another journal to replace this one. I will miss your yellowing pages and friendly binding, dear one. I am much saddened by your passing.
In the same spirit, I got a 100 percent on my creative writing. As a bonus, I got an invitation to the school psychiatrist's office. How funny. I was just going to see her on my own. I wonder what she wants of me?
Thank you for listening to my little story. I know I'm not the clearest author sometimes, but I hope that you, my journal, had no problem understanding me. I assure you that you are the only one that matters in this. You are the only one who will ever see these words. I am hiding this journal in a box and never showing it to anyone. Maybe I will find it someday and share it with someone, actually.
Who knows? Life brings many little surprises, doesn't it? And life is for the living. I should go out and live mine.
Thanks sincerely,
Your friend forever,
B.
Addendum and Epilogue:
I guess this last page isn't for doodling after all. I think I have a suitable epilogue to this book. I hope that you, my journal who is so emotionally invested in me, can appreciate it. And I hope that you will still keep my secrets for many years to come. And I hope... well. I hope a lot of things. I digress! I get off subject. Sorry. I just keep drawing this out. Every word with my pen probably drives you more crazy, my little book. I'll keep this brief. I think I can sum up my epilogue in one sentence. Four words. Twelve letters. Five vowels and seven consonants. Oh shit, I'm out of room. I'll fit it in:
He took me back.
Author: I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I'll leave a lot of the details of this chapter to you to sort out and discuss. I hope I've written something worth a little discussion. I tried very hard to. I've never written a story in first person or in journal perspective before. I think it was a fun challenge for me. If there's anything I can improve on for you all or any suggestions you can make toward the continuation of the story, I'd love to hear them. I decided not to end this one with a cliffhanger, because although I do intend to add a finishing chapter (or two), I want it to have some sort of miniature conclusion. Lest I die before I finish. Or lest I don't finish. School work keeps me busy.
Also one mistake I assume is happening but I cannot find for myself is timeline errors. If any of you spot some, leave a message. I will love you forever and rectify them.
Peace and love, everyone. Criticize away. And let's talk sometime. I have too few friends. You can send me an e-mail for messenger information or something. I'll stop rambling now. I have far too much in common with all of my characters, you notice.
Citation: Information about what happens in a car crash was yanked from a pamphlet I received on campus. A lot of what was there was definitely detail I added, but the basis was this pamphlet. I have since lost the pamphlet, however... If I find it, I'll update this to be a proper citation. No plagiarism, folks.