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Tuesday, January 13th, 2004
4:46 pm - The innocent.

lostcherub
Crinkling a worn photograph of three children in a bed, I look out the rain spattered window. My youth seems something of a distant myth now. Some golden age where nothing was real and everything was important. I see myself on that yellowed piece of paper. Stuck there on the right side, the outside, nestled under a quilt two of my best friends. Best friends, friends that would some day go and come just as easily as aquantances. Two people that'd I always be tied at the bone to, but I'd never trust quite enough.

"After this photo was taken, a lot of things went down hill between Erin Jonny and myself. We took a weekend at the beach, on the surface everything was perfect."I said " Later I'd learn that brittnee, a friend from way back when, was running Megan, Jonny's girlfriend all around. She was lying about things I'd say and done and writen, so that she'd at least come out with one friend when lines were drawn. She was a sad girl, never really had anything to hold reself up with."

"That's you'th for ya, right?" The driver said.

"Yeah. Some time later, I'd get pushes out of the picture entirely. It was really no one's fault, but none the less I was sure it was."

By junior year of high school, Erin had joined a girl group called The Doodles. The group consisted of four girls, Erin, Emma, April and later on Maggie. They'd go out on their doodle adventures and have their doodle days and give each other silly little presents and all the while I watched my friendship with Erin die. Slowly I had to begin to find friends elsewhere and give up on trying to spend time with Erin. If I called, she was with the doodles, if I went over she was with the doodles, if I tried to make plans with her, she was with the doodles.
I remember once, April and I got into a screaming fight at the bowling alley. It was about something I mentioned to Emma about April. It was one of those things that bothers you, but not enough to confront the person about. April, hated it. So after our redneck display of cursing, I told Erin I was going to Denny's, she was welcome to come but don't bring April. She did come, and she did bring April, and Emma. Emma and April came in first and sat at the booth opposite mine, Erin filed inline into the both with them. There I sat, alone, wanting and needing a friend and there she went. To sit with her new friends.
I saw it as weak. Had it been me, I knew I sure wouldn't have gone to the restaurant and if I had to, I would have sat with the only person sitting a lone. Myself.
But that wasn't the last time Erin left me when I needed a friend. Sometime later I'd stop by her house one night, excited that her car was there and that maybe I could hang out with her. I opened the door to her room only to walk in on a threesum make out party. Jonny Emma and Erin. Understandably it died out when I entered to room, so we all just sat and stared at one another ackwardly. Until that is, Jonny announced "Well it was fun,until Carl came in." Erin, said nothing in my defence. After trying to save face, some dignity and a little cool, I left. I swore off Jonny Forever and promised to never allow Erin to be the only friend I had in the room, ever again. She simply wasn't good for it.

"I spent a lot of time without these two actualy, about a year really. We'd see one another at parties and school and what not, but you know how kids are when they hold a grudge..."

"It's for sure that I do, my friend, it's for sure."

By senior year, the theme of our lifes had changed a lot. For the most part we'd all been pulled into an automotive sub culture. Marked by an admiration for classic cars, hot rods and customs. This infatuation with classic decades like the 40's 50's and 60's would eventualy pull us back together. I;d finaly start driving my 65 chrysler on a regular basis, Jonny'd gain a 74 plymouth scamp for is 18th birthday, and erin a 67 amc ambassador for her's.
About the time the cars came into our lifes, I started to let Jonny back in. So long as we talked about cars, and only cars. He was no longer a best friend, he was a car buddy. An aquantance with knowledge that I might borrow now and then. Erin and I slowly started to drift back together the end of junior year, around the time I held a car show for my junior project at the school. She helped out by directing cars and passing out flyers.


"Thought things worked out, for the most part we came back together, but never with the same intensity."

I never did like the Doodles, nor did I ever really start talking with Megan again. Not after the wedge Brittnee would drive between us, She never believed I was telling the truth, I never believed how she always came out on top. With everything, with Jonny, With Brittnee, with every bump that ever came between us.

By the middle of high school, Erin and I had found a comfortable spot between us. Not unseperable, but not seperated. We began to understand things weren't the same. That on some fundemental basis our ability to be friends had shifted. We'd never be what we were, and we didn't try to be anything more than what came easiest to us. Simple, unattached, low obligation friends. We ran in the circles and often went to the same parties and occasionaly saw each other on a one on one basis, but our lives weren't as centered around our friendship anylonger.

Really in the year I'd registered to go to Wyoming Technical, She applied to a few art schools back east, and we could see something larger coming between us. Adulthood.

"Isn't it funny how things morph and change over time." I thought out loud.

"It's all in how you roll the dice." The Cabby muttered.

Outside, we'd been passing forest after forest all night long. It seemed the road would never end, as if Vancouver was forever the same distance away. The cab dripped with rain and the tires rushed against the road, but nothing changed.

"Isn't it funny." I whispered to myself.

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Tuesday, February 11th, 2003
12:20 am - I thought it was about time.

lostcherub
I feel like twelve-thousand things have been extracted from my chest all at once. Along with that is my will to try anymore. I've been to so many places and through so many things that I can't bring myself to be disappointed yet again. Who wants to feel themselves break down all over again. It's easier to lose everything you care about when you care about nothing. When you can't feel the people who are closest to you, because they are still your enimies. And you try for so long to reach that imfamous place of love, but you sorely find out it's a game you've already lost. You past your chance over at the starting line and have been fighting yourself the rest of the way. So now that I've got nothing left in me, no more reason to feel and no one else to bring me down I should be able to breathe easy right? Wrong. Now all I do is check my back and cover my tracks everywhere I go. Making sure I don't miss a chance to be heard. To be noticed. To be occupied with something besides these thoughts that never seem to wear out. Just when I thought I had life figured out I realise I've got it all wrong. I'm supposed to pull people close and cherish the ever lasting pain and degradation they so nice bestow upon me. I'm supposed to fight hard and lose quick, every, time, I, try. Because that's what I am right? Just the brittle little boy that everyone has to step lightly about. I'm the kid that's forever on his tip toes yet never seem to come out on top. Because, still, no one has volunteered to stay by my side. I scare off more people than I attract and give away the ones that make me feel alright. I've lost twelve-thousand reasons to smile yet I still can't stop laughing at the irony of it all. Taking everything from the kid that's had nothing. Cause that's really how life works. Some of us come out on top, and the rest of us hold everyone else up.


Lifes lost it's innocent gleam. I suddenly realise how so many people forget to notice the small things. It's all about keeping your head down and focusing on the small things that hurt less. If you dare to dream too big you dare to bite off more disappointment than you can handle. So you hop skip and jump around the pitfalls hoping that you can stay above long enough to accomplish something that you think might be concidered worth while. But in the end no one else cares. Another generation will come along and digest your name like another piece of fiction sprawled out in extinct books linging walls that no one walks past. Because that's who we are. Just the foundation that will eventual lead to the generation that matters. The last. When we are all finaly freed of the relentless cycle to be better people where no one ever thinks they are good enough and every things that everyone else is somehow better.

current mood: cynical

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Monday, September 9th, 2002
11:43 pm - The intro to my Lit Arts Special Project

eryn
The Diner (working title)

............


Her words are sticky and melting together, another drawn out story. I blink, slowly, with both eyes, an obvious sign of wanting to leave. She's oblivious to my blinking and the taste drains from my coffee. My mm-hmms are half-hearted and weak, you think she'd catch it by now. I think this is the fourth time I've heard this story anyway.
"So then Mel comes in and catches me kissing on Calvin and I'm like, oh shit. What now? You know Mel and that temper, so he grabs the lamp. You know the one my Ma bought at that yard-sale and claims it's from Nordys? And I stand up, and I'm like, go on asshole. Throw it. I'm sick of your lame jealous-ass anyways. You gonna hurt him for what you drove me to? And he's all like, 'You know I love you baby. Let me love you.' And I'm like, 'Ah, hell no.' This is like the third time we've been through this, ya know? And I know I deserve better than that. Shit, I know he's been sleeping with that secretary hoe from the office. I ain't dumb. Calvin's a real man anyways..."
I re-adjust my legs on the unforgiving vinyl of our familiar booth. Pulling my skin in all opposite directions, ripples of resentment shoot from my thighs up my spinal cord to the base of my head. I am not a pain person. Too much caffeine and a distinct lack of oxygen under the haze of thick cigarette smoke are my elements of torture presently. The pounding is subtle, rhythmic in my skull. If I borrowed her spoon, I could jam with my headache across my knees. I pull a sugar packet from the holder on my right, open it and let it's dirty contents slide down my throat. I glance around the diner, still nodding an understanding nod, half-expecting my mother to scold me about the sugar.
"Val? Val! Are you even paying attention anymore?"
I turn to her, "Of course. Calvin. Go on."
I don't even know why I bother to keep in touch with her. She should pay me for sessions like this. I should be working on my term papers, trying to scrounge up Cs in my classes so I won't have to forfeit my scholarship. I wonder how long I can look her in the eye while suppressing the urge to just punch her in the face. I know everything about her. From how her father left her when she was seven right down to the shade of Periwinkle on her toenails. I know I hate her, but I guess I'm a girl of obligations. And best friends from highschool living in the same new city should see each other every once in awhile to check up, right? I sigh, chugging back the last of my luke-warm coffee, and sinking back into the seat.
"..so I'm thinking about getting a boob job. I know Calvin would really love me then, and he'd probably help pay. Hell, 3,000 bucks for a nice rack isn?t too bad, and if Calvin leaves me I know I can snag a guy with real money then. I could work it as a trophy wife, doncha think? Hahaha. You know my Ma used to say that.. that she could be a trophy wife. Haaaahahaha."
Her laugh is one of those disgusting nasal laughs that seems to get stuck in the back of her throat and never gets fully released. She snorts when she thinks something is hilarious. I've learned to avoid good jokes around her. This laugh is her, "I'm hurting, but I'll play it off like it's funny and maybe that will subside the pain until I get back to my anti-depressants." She's on one of those water diets every-other week and yet confesses about her chocolate and cheetos binges. I hate her weaknesses, I hate her lack of strength, her dependency on false love and shallow vanity. I hate the way she plans out her life in Hollywood every night but she can't hold a minimum wage job for more that two weeks. I hate her Malibu sunset blue eyeliner and her peach fuzz kiss lipstick. I hate her tacky stick-on nails and the tiny tube dresses that ride up her ass like a hooker. I hate her #47 blond Clairol hair. I hate the way she managed to slink in-between every single one of almost-relationships in high school, and I hate her laugh.
I scanned the diner for something more entertaining to catch my interest. Sitting at the counter was a biker in full clad leather, helmet resting on the stool next to him, his head in his hands. I arched my neck back to get a better view, and realized that he was sobbing. His gloves were resting on his plate of waffles, and tears were streaming across his 5 o'clock shadow. I imagine myself getting up to console him or something, but I just sit, watching. The waitress was coming to hand him extra napkins anyways, she'd probably say something mechanical and comforting. I remember suddenly that staring is rude, and glance down quickly to study the patterns of the faux wood table.
I remember in our sophomore year, she threatened to kill herself by holding her breath. No one believed her, but she stood in the middle of the cafeteria, her cheeks puffed out and her fists clenched at her side, determined. I stood watching her from the other side of the room, leaning against a wall and trying to look concerned. She had a crowd of people around her as her cheeks turned red and she toppled onto the floor of the lunch room, passed out. Someone ran for a teacher, I walked out.
"Hey, do you remember that one time.." I start to say
She interrupts me without even blinking
"That one time? Oh yeah, that one time. No! Jesus Christ, Val, you really have to stop living in the past. It's kind of pathetic. Go find a man."
I look at her blankly. It's too ironic to even bother trying to say something back. My Mom used to always say to me that Veronica was "eccentric" and a "go-getter". That she was a keeper, because she had a heart the size of an ox and would never let me down. She never let me down because I didn't hold any expectations of her.
She tried out for cheerleading every year of highschool. She never made the first cut. Perhaps it was because they knew they would all be labeled sluts if they let a real one on the squad. Maybe they knew she would always look better than any of them in a little pleated skirt. And I'm sure they knew that should would "forget" to wear her bloomers on a regular basis. Either way, she never got a real set of pom-poms to call her own, but she memorized every cheer and would pick out their flaws in the stands.


.........
I had to post under Eryn because for some reason theinnocent isn't listed as a possible journal to post in, although I'm listed as a member in the user info. Eh, oh well.
Okay, that's all I have for now. Feedback? Oh, feedback?

current mood: meh, a cherry explosion

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Friday, August 23rd, 2002
11:30 pm - Untitled.

lostcherub
The nights grew longer and longer. David sunk farther and farther into solitude. The pain in his chest larger with every day to Sulk by. An ever lasting cloud of misery growing over his head. The summer's nights grew long. The earth almost sinking into blackness with him. An on going string of pain. Like an I.V. line straight to his core.

David saw the horrid climax to his agony all too well. Another birthday gliding closer to corruption than ever. One more day for everyone else to forget. Everyone else to ignore. Especial Micheal. The only person to drag Davids emotions through hellfire and brim stone.

Each night consisted of bloodfilled tears. Pain leaking out across his pillows leaving salty stains. Reminders that life can always hurt more than death. Each moring another admittance that he has to move on. Stand up again and keep walking. Though his destination is clouded by misconception. His path manipulated by should haves and Wish I hadn't's.

On the finaly morning. The eve of his birthday. David woke up. He stepped out his front door to another bitterly sunshiny day. Find a small package on his step. Tiny. Wrapped with a bow. Inside was a note. Reading: I Love You.

That night David climbed to the eave of his house. Looking at the thousands of stars above him. He held the note and tiny box in one hand. Stretched his arms out like a bird and leaned forward.

On his way down David knew his life ended in perfection.

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Friday, August 16th, 2002
12:51 am - So far untitled and unfinished.

lostcherub
Chris' shoes slip in the tiled kitchen floor as Dad barrels through the swinging door after him. The kitchen is lit only by the light above the sink. Pale blue, nearly irrodesent, playing over the curtains and white baison. It's been nearly a month since Chris found himself running like this. Since his father found another bottle of gin hidden away in another annonymous closet. Though this isn't the first time, the look in Dad's eyes still scares chris. Almost a childish gleam hinting at fear.
Dad's in his usual mid-night attire. A dirty wife beater and a pair of stained boxer shorts. He likes to sit in the living room after supper reading his paper with his gin sitting along side him. Tonight his weight carries him through the door and around the table to chris. Dad knocks the of the table in his fluid motion sending it screatching acrossed the floor. Stumbling Chris works himself to his feet, breaking for the door. Dad catches him by the collar. On the way down Chris knows how the rest of the evening will play out. Luckily he's knocked unconcious when he hits the floor.
The house on 5th street isn't bad. It needs paint and a new front porch, but no one ever comes to visit so neither Chris nor his dad feel the need to fix it. Chris and his father, John, moved onto 5th street after his mother's death. She had died when Chris was 6. Now 16 Chris had lived in the shadow of his father for an entire decade. John started drinking the night after the funeral. Within a week he had begun to haunt his own son.
Chris is bright but he hasn't any friends. He attends South Portland High school where he excels in nothing more than going unnoticed. He lives his life by making each day last as long as possible and wishing each night would end as soon as possible. During the summer Chris spends his days linger around the old army bunkers near the edge of the river. sometimes when Dad is drinking he finds his way there at night, seeking refuge between the cold concrete walls. He usualy finds himself sitting atop the old look out tower. It sticks up only a few feet over the rest of the compound. It's open more than half way around and the roof is a shallow pyramid. Mostly Chris sits on the roof and watches the river pass him by.
this summer a family has moved into the house across the street. A mother, A father, and a son. The mother seems quiet. She is small and always in a dress. Her face is framed by tight dark curls. Though she hardly talks. She moves softly like she's afraid of being seen. The father is tall with dark hair and strong arms. Andrew, their son, his much the same. He has dark hair, broad shoulders and a strong back. At night Chris can see Andrew sitting on the roof line just out side his bedroom looking into the night. Chris watches from the shadows of his own bedroom until the other boy crawls back inside his house and shuts of his light.

current mood: pained.

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Wednesday, May 1st, 2002
10:23 pm - four.

eryn
....

"Would you like a beverage?"

I looked up to the air flight attendant hovering over the old man to catch my attention. Her lip liner stretched beyond the bounds of any cosmetic intentions. I had to blink twice and drag my line of vision away from her deadly fushia lips.

"Um, yeah. I'll take a coffee. Two sugars."

Walter turned to me, " Two, eh?"

"It's an old habit."

"I perfer the tomato juice myself, but continue with your story."

"Well, The year soared on. High school is a flash, a millasecond of growing up fast. I didn't even know where the months went before I had realised how much had changed. Before I had even begun to understand who I was, and where I wanted to go, it's was flipping upside down on my head. Before I could stand up, breathe a little, and realize that he was gone. That I had new aquantinces, a new life, it was December. Enter Carl. I invited him and his then best friend, Britnee to my birthday party, but we didn't really hang out until a few days before Britnee's knee surgery. I remember singing Christmas Carols on the bus the way back home. I remember thinking that these were the people I wanted to be friends with, the people I wanted to care about. Some things work out.

Through December it was when the act of selflessness came into play. Jonny and Megan continued to get more serious. I continued to tell myself that by beign supportive to him, by making sure that he was happy, would in return make me happy. Unfortuntely, emotions like that aren't so easily maniulated. But, I went on telling him I was fine, and offering advice abotu her when he asked me for it. Lying to myself made lying to him easier. So, when asked me if it was okay to ask her out, of course I said yes. I said yes, because I knew that she could complete him in ways I was not capable of. And again, if in fact he loved me, he would return to me. Dec. 29th. The date still lingers as a bad taste in my mouth. Bitterness, more than anything. But, silence is key in fragile highschool relationhips, and I abused the power more than I ought to have. "

current mood: i'm not spell checking

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Tuesday, March 5th, 2002
8:43 pm

lostcherub
The worn tires groaned as they past over the gravel. The cab lerches to a halt in front of pump number five. The gas station looks desolate in the black of night. A glow of Orange and reg from the large sign floods the inside of the cab, illuminating the tan leather and shinning off the checkered paint. I concider climbing from the old 1956 chevy but I decide it's better to not disturb the thick atmosphere in the cab.
"Y'ant anything?" The cabby mumbles before she lifts her large body from the cab.
The gentle rocking anchors me even further into reality. This isn't just a stop for gas and snacks. It's a break for me, it's a resting spot, somewhere to hide from the thoughts this trip is digging from their long forgotten graves.
"I'll take a coffee if you don't mind." I answer while handing the kind lady a dollar fifty.
We're just a few hours away from vancouver and I can feel the same old butterflies flicker back into my stomach. Thousands of childish smiles flicker past my eyes accompanied by hails of laughter. Things were so simple back then. We were four children back then, we were all happy. I look back on the smiles and laughter and wonder how we lost sight of them. I see the four us Erin, Jonny, myself.... And Megan.
Megan. Megan was Jonny's. His untouchable angel. I only cought little bits of the story from Erin, tiny trailers that somehow led back to the main picture. Erin and Jonny were getting closer, pulling together. Erin was finaly getting her fairy tale relationship and Jonny was once again being warshipped by yet another girl. It seems to me, from what I know, that things were well between them. From the small little conversation Erin and I had, I picked up that neither of them were complaining. Until Megan walked in.
Jonny and Jerek (one of his best guy friends) had started a band but were looking for a singer to lead their youthful crusades toward stardom. Enter Megan. Erin didn't know what would happen. Why would she even suspect it? Needless to say Jonny and Megan hit it off pretty well. Instanlt, it seems, Erin was dropped like a dirty rag. Megan had managed to capture his attention. time went on and after one failed attempt they figured it out and held a pretty stable relationship. All ill feelings were dropped and life continued. I entered the scene about the time they were getting together after their first break up. I had yet to find the reason for hating their relationship. But I was working on it.

Life back then was happy. But how oftenly do smiles last forever?

"here ya go, nice 'n' hot!" The kind old lady says as the gingerly hands me the hot foam cup. "So what happens next in this lil fair tale of yers?"
"Well, I suppose This is where I fall in love."


It's short 'n' shitty, I will edit and add later when I feel like writing.

current mood: craptacular.

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Monday, March 4th, 2002
9:34 pm - Chapt. 3

eryn
(totally skipping the part where I tell Jonny I'm over him and let go of whatever we were building up. This will make no sense to someone who doesn't know the story, but screw them. I like this part better. I'll write the part that goes before this one later.)

.....

Cue on the Mariah Carey ballad, right? Not exactly. For the rest of my highschool days at least I believed that it had been my best mistake. That letting him go, letting him be afraid of us was the worst choice I could have made. Choices are choices. You can't change the outcome once you've taken the steps, so why dwell on it? I know damned well Jonny and I would have never become the friends we did if we had continued with our relationship as it stood then. I would have never stepped out and had the ability to discover myself. I depended on him for too much, and I see that now. In his arms was the only time I would stop doubting myself and let my hesitations slide away, but that's not entirely healthy. I don't view it as a fuck-up now, just a decision. We make thousands of decisions everyday, right or left? To step into the office building or just keep walking? We choose our words and our actions with every person and situation to pass us by, who's to say where the mistakes lay in-between all of those choices. It is human habit to call the choices where we would have preferred diffrent outcomes mistakes.
So, I watched him walk away. I let him go, let him fly. In my young wisdom, I figured if things were really meant to be, he would come back to me. If he was truly in love with me, he would see the lies behind my words and the truth beyond my actions. I was wrong, at least about the last part. But it was what I believed. So, as it stood, I was alone again. I had three good friends who made music, while I sat and observed it. But, it was enough to keep me going. Enough to have faith in the week that Sunday would be waiting for me. It was when I could stare at Jonny with fingers flying over the delicate frets of his guitar without regrets. I could comment on what I pretended to know, organize sheets of lyrics, and watch my friends create art.
Reflecting, Sunday was my salvation. I could have never made it through the first semester at Columbia River High without it. High school was this dark abyss where I could once again recreate my image, start over with a fresh canvas and paint myself up to be the person I wanted to be. Going in with expectations like that, you'll never be satisfied. High school is like rubbing the tip of your finger over a swollen tastebud, it hurts just enough to notice. It like when you cut your nails too short and all you can do is wait for them to grow back. For that dull pain to stop. It's something everyone has to go through, social skills are sharpened, teeth are grinded down, routines and hard work morals are set into your bones. By the time you graduate it's in their high hopes they have put together a good human. Someone who can balance a budget and do strings of algebraic equasions when the occasion arrises. Someone who can tell you exactly how to write a five paragraph essay and what elements make up your table salt. The person will have a career planned out and a list of good colleges to seek and conquer. God knows that no teenager can put together an original thought without the pushing and prodding of a dozen eccentric middle aged teachers. It is with this definition of high school that made me leave River. I wanted the freedom to spread my wings in my youth and pick up a degree at the same time. I was not a 4.0 academic scholar nor your athletic wonder girl. I was in that common rift in-between, and not being able to find my place there, I seeked a new location. Be hold, the Vancouver School of Arts and Academics.
Somewhere in me was an artist screaming to get out. I used to draw when I was a little girl, but had long since given up the drive to improve it. I had written horrible poetry on my own since about the 5th grade, but most of it was weak and flimsy. It was freshman year that whatever had been building up in me, crested and exploded into a million lines all splattered in 4 notebooks I now refer to as the freshman chronicles. Every drip of emotion that ran through me was filtered into those pages. Anyone that hurt me, made me smile, made me think has a place in those stretched out sentences. I broke down and for the first time in my life, I just let it all go. I let it pour and drizzle and flood out in every direction I could. And when it wasn't enough, I would make other people read it and tell me what they thought.

current mood: creative

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Sunday, February 17th, 2002
9:32 pm

lostcherub
Time flies when your alone. You sink into this little shell where no one can see you, or help you. You simply live in your pain and block out the rest of humanity. In that hole you seem to find yourself, you learn who you are through the pain of feeling alone. It's simple to get lost in that darkness and never once look beyond your scars and realise that someone could help, understand. That's what I did. I sat inside my self for years. Days would pass without any definition between one another. Everything seemed the same because I never changed. But I did change. I sank deeper and deeper into myself and found places in my where I could feel safe. I discovered that even though I was sad, no one had to know.
So it came about that I would run off and put happy little smiles on my face. By day I would pass myself off as a perpetualy happy person. Night time would come and I would sink into my little place. I would crawl far back into my head and sit on the windy edge of a cliff that existed only in my imagination. I would spend all night slamming my head into things so I could pass out and forget how alone I felt. three years, every last day of middle school I live in this place. No one knew what was going on. I grew my hair long to cover the bruises and I smile even bigger to hide the tears. On my little cliff I could run from the thoughts of suicide and the dreams of a happy accident. But all of that preasure builds up and some times it explodes.

I remember the first time I talked with Erin. She had thrown a party of sorts, movies, food, drama. That night everything built up and there was no place for me to run to, and she was looking for something to grasp of me. We hid in her sisters room for hours. I told her about my family, my parents, my brothers, our decay. We talked about my child hood and how it was suddenly distrupted by divorce and cruel fall from my upper-class craddle. I told her everything that I could. In long strings of jumbled words I spelled out for her my entire existance. As she did for me.
By the time we left that room I knew more about myself then I had learned in all three years of living inside my own head. Somehow it took the audimation of my angst to make me understand that it was really me. I discovered little pains that were never healed, just numbed. Somewhere in the darkness I located a space and time where feeling was not betrayel, but simply an exception. We are oftenly tought that pain and saddness is also weakness. But I learned that it's the ultimate bravery. I lived through my head trying to destroy, I came out on top, and in the end I knew myself better. Erin unlocked the part of my mind that allowed my feelings to be felt, rather then just bleeding. I learned a lesson that night.

Pain saves you. Those who live outside of society know better what is going on within it. Outsiders have a better advantage point and in the end they live more, because they are constantly remind that they are still alive.

That night I discovered what a friend can be. I am reminded of that feeling, now, watching as all the reminence of my youth slip back to me in this musty cab. The wetness outside has caused the windows to fog at the edges, blurring my vision of the past. There is something waiting for me at the end of this road. We were three children who, for one reason or another, couldn't let go. But we did. We abandoned one another out of pain, or love, or frustration. Feelings I have fought for 8 years. Now I will return to the place where I once died and was brought back to life again. I will come back to where I felt love, and was broken because of it.

There is something waiting in Vancouver for me. Some that has been waiting to be finished since I ran away from it. Things that need to be said and emotions that need to be rectified.




Ok guys, this is my rought entry, I am not very into writing right now, but I wanted to give Erin something to show here the direction I am going. So just be patiant. I will put a date and time on it later.

current mood: uninspired

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Monday, February 4th, 2002
8:29 pm - II

eryn
I was ignoring the fact that Jonny was really away from me. We talked online, I wrote him letters I never sent. The usual teenager in lust thing. We met about a year and a half earlier, in middle school. We became good friends, then best friends. He swept me off my feet and never let go. He was the first boy to care, and keep caring. To hold my hand without hesitation, to listen to me. I couldn't even fathom the amount that he meant to me. We had a few attempts at starting something before that summer, but nothing got serious. Either I thought he was just doing it for me, which most of the time was true or I wasn't ready, he had other obligations. One way or another, it never really got to the point where we were actually seeing each other. We were close, but I wasn't capable or willing to really open up to him. To anyone, really. I was trapped in the illusions that no one understood, no one cared, and things were easier if I was quiet. I was battling depression with silence and a pen. I wrote bad poem after bad poem and hid them in boxes and notebooks in my room. It came to the point where my closest friends had no idea who I was anymore, and either did I. So instead of turning to someone for help, I turned to cutting. It as my release for the pain I didn't know how to displace otherwise. I sliced, I smiled. I bled, I felt okay. It was my secret, another reason to keep my lips sealed and my eyes open.

I remember when he told me the first time. That he thought he was in love with me, I mean. He told me that he wanted to make things official when he got home. That he was ready for it, that he had really thought about it and I held all the things that made up his perfect girl. I still can't find the words for my reaction emotionally. I was terrified. I was overjoyed. Here were all my dreams coming at me full force and I had only two hands to catch them all. He coming home to me, to love me. I laugh now, looking back at the tales he spun out for me. He thought it meant forever, I just wanted him to love me as long as we were both capable of. I just wanted someone to hold me tight, whisper to me that it would be okay, and there were other options. He thought it meant a chained commitment. He was ready to find love, and I was the closet to it. That was ok with me though, I needed it just as badly as he.

He came home, I think the first day of August. We met at our friend, Jarek's house a couple days after he got back in Vancouver. I'm not sure the reason anymore. Inside, I couldn't have been more scared, sitting on Jarek's couch in the basement, waiting for him to arrive. I was afraid that it wouldn't happen, that it would, that I'd get hurt, that I'd hurt him. Every fierce hesitation that normally would have held me back. He walked into the room, and every lingering fear melted instantaniously. I knew that it was right. He sat next to me, slid his arm around me and we talked. Just talked. Not ripped each other's clothes off. Jarek went upstairs for something and we moved into the other room where we layed on Jarek's bottom bunk bed and continued our conversation. I don't remember the content, but whatever it was put complete faith into what I was doing. In a pause, he looked at me and kissed me. Just a peck on the lips, but enough to make me believe. The last element of proof that it was really happening. We spent the next few days together, but never really alone. We cuddled, we held hands, we kissed, we were overly affectionate and I soaked up every piece anxiously. I could not get enough of his touch, his scent, his taste. It was my real first love, my first real chance at something real, and I was taking it for all it was worth. It was overwhelming, and I was drowning, a euphoric girl.

Before Jonny had left for California, him and Jarek decided to form a band. Jarek would be drummer boy, Jonny as lead guitar. They recruited me as the manager, with the task of discovering a singer. I called my friend Megan, and asked her if she was interested. We agreed to get together after Jonny got home and see how things went.










there.
I haven't even gotten to break up point.
I'm trying for chronological order, emphasis on important parts.
feed back?

current mood: remembering

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Sunday, January 20th, 2002
10:36 pm - 11:05, December 21, 2012

lostcherub
The engine continued to drone on, and I sit here surrounded by the idea of my life. I can't help but remember all those happy times, all the moments I thought would never end. I find it funny now, thinking about it all, we were so young and nave. Everything allways seemed so much bigger then us, somehow it all ment more then we could imagine. For the most part everything did dig deeper into our emotions then we could comprehend, maybe that's why it hurt so badly so oftenly, it was too much for us. No one could ever really put a finger on what it was between us, I say it was loyalty.
"I remember the first time Jonny hugged me; Erin's birthday. It was so odd to me, it was only the second time I had ever seen him and he wanted a hug. He was on his way out the door and to be honest it was just a quick one. I couldn't begin to imagine how normal that would become, and how much I would crave it after a while. I never hugged anyone before I met Erin and Jonny. I don't ever remember hugging any of my other friends, let alone my family. And I never said 'I love you' before I met them either. As it stands now I have only said it to Jonny, I think it's because my family always thought it wasn't necessary, so now it just sounds so fake to me, like an act."
"Brittnee was there too, she had been my best friend for years. I met her before middle school and we had been connected at the hip ever since. I never really told her anything though. Brittnee never knew about my unbeliavable pain through out middle school. I never told her about beating my head on the slate entry hall until I passed out, I never told her about my many suicide plots, or when I would just cry for hours. I was lonely back then, I allways wanted someone to hug or to show me they honestly cared. I hid behind a plastic smile then. And no one ever knew the difference.Suddenly there we were having the most eventful evening of our lives, sitting in a room of incredible people and someone wanted my hug. I could not explain the feeling, someone actualy wanting to hold me for a fraction of a sigh."
The thought consumes me. Someone wanting to hug me. For years I had wished for this, for years I had dreamed about someone actualy asking me and wanting it. And here I am having the most wonderous night of my life sitting in a room full of people I never wanted to forget, hugging the first person to treat me as something beyond a sexuality. I still remember the way it felt, the way it smelled, how happy it made me. I see that night now, as the beginning of me being free. It was the night I tore my plastic smile from my face and shattered my porceline image, that was the night I finaly let someone see my sadness.
"So.... He hugged you. I don't understand."
"I don't suppose you would. How could you. It was the idea of it. That for years I had wished for it, and I had cried for it, and I had bleed for it. There it was. Thrown at my feet so simply and so earnistly, just laying there for me to grab up in my trembling hands. The one thing I wanted more then anything, more then my own life I wanted it. Jonny gave it to me, the first dream he would hand to me."
Silence stirs uneasily in this cab. I know that kind lady is playing over stories of her love lost, fighting to relate to me, to understand. But I have lost all hope in making her understand. "
The tension and unsaid vows between the three of us were unbearable. Sometimes the air could inspire an audible sigh, even an unknowing stare. No one could imagine what lingered in that air, or all the things that could have been, or could not have been.



I will do some more later.

current mood: bitchy

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Friday, January 18th, 2002
1:39 am - part II

eryn
I shift uneasily in the rough material on the airplane seat. My gaze is set on a distant point beyond the double layered plexiglass window, and just over the horizon. Feeling the eyes of the old man sitting next to me, I ignore his heavy stare in my direction that I can barely catch in my perifial vision. My trembling fingers grip to worn plastic of the arm rests, fumbling with the cord of my headphones, wrapped loosely around my neck. He cleared his throat casually and said to me,
"Why so sad?"
I turn to him, catching the sincere concern in his deep blue eyes. A few strands of his white hair drift across his wrinkled forehead in the breeze of the air blower. His face peers out at me in a sympathy I can't quite grasp.
"Sad?" I ask, Not quite. Just.. thinking." My voice trails off, and I attempt a half smile as his look of concern faded into one of question.
"Heading west?"
"Yeah, Portland. Final destination Vancouver."
"Home?"
I could barely form my lips around the word before flood of lost memories overtook my conscious and pressed me far back into my rigid seat. Spirally into what I was actually doing to myself, I swallow.
"Something like that." I replied, turning towards the repetitive blue skyline.
"Family?"
"The best kind." I said, realizing he wouldn't let me slip back into my blank stare.
"Parents?"
I shook my head, digging for the right words to explain my destination.
"My boys." I said suddenly, mostly to myself but he caught the words as they fell out of my mouth and raised an eyebrow, notcing my empty ring finger. I stared just past the ridge of his freckled nose, and let that subtle grin slip onto my lips.
"Look hon. We've got 10 more hours of sitting next to each other. I don't get to hear many new stories. Enlighten me." I caught his eyes again. A transcending sapphire. I let a deep breath glide out of my lips and sunk back into my chair, realizing I had nothing to lose.
"Jonny and Carl. My best friends through highschool. It was always more then that though. They were my life support, my promises, my love and my driving force. The term best friend cannot even begin to contain the capacity of my love for the both of them. I'm still not sure how things ended up this way. After graduation, everything fell apart. I needed to see the world, they needed other things. The miles grew too long, the hurt too much. We parted and made our own ways towards self-discovery. But really, I think all I ever needed to know lied right between the,. What devotion truly meant. What selflessness feels like. Heartbreak, euphoria, happiness, depression, empathy, growth, it was all there. All the things it takes a lifetime for people to capture I had between my fingertips the whole time." I paused, trying to find the next thing to express.
"My name's Walter." Perfect old man name. He offers a weathered hand out for mine. I shake it. He hesitates before pulling away his hand to resting his lap. Something like a memory clouded his eyes for a moment, but he turned his attention back towards me.
"Erin."
"The best way to start a story, is at the beginning." He said, noticing my struggle with the tale.
I smiled sheepishly.
"Summer before freshman year. That's when things got complicated. I was 14 and my idea of love was 2,000 miles away, spending his summer in California with his Dad...

current mood: That took forever.

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Thursday, January 17th, 2002
9:15 pm - Hope this gets to the length and detail I want it to.

lostcherub
10:45, December 21, 2012. (remember in mine I have been gone 8 years. In yours we all skipped after graduation [2004])

The high way stretched out for miles beyond the solomn glow of the old cabs head lights. Rain drifted lightly against the window, minutes marked by the skretch of worn whipers lazily clearing the glass. The night was long, and the sky was filled with gentle grey clouds, just heavy enough to release the right amount of rain to blur out the edges of the road. Miles slipped away in the form of yellow reflecters and evenly spaced phone poles. There wasn't much to see anyways. On either side of the cab, woods stretched on for acres, tree after tree, hour after hour. Mid Washington was nice in the fall, the air was crisp, the hills turned orange, the earth smelled ripe. Winter however left the woods a skeleton, desolate and rather gloomy, the tree tops stood out like black fingers agains the sky.
The thought of going home was overwhelming for me. There were things in the streets of Vancouver I couldn't describe. Faces lost on street corners that I never wanted to revisit. Memories still stashed away in musty shoe boxes and darkened holes. Scars left in plain sight, wounds left untended to. The slow and monotonous ride seems like a cheriot wisking me away to face a child I long abandoned. For reasons untold I ran from vancouver, from my childhood, and my security. I ran to forget the things I'd felt, the things I'd wanted, I ran to forget it ever hurt. For eight years now I've been hiding. Eight years I have been ducking birthdays, holidays, and hurtfull aniversaries.
The cab driver was an older lady with almost irodescent eyes. Her eyes appear soft thought all too deep, and her skin is slightly wrinkled. She cheaks are loose and show a hint of red in then. She has a tiny nose that sits nicely above her mouth that is almost lost to the bulk of her face. Her head is crowned with an almost transluscent red waft of hair. Her voice was soft but had a slight rasp to it, a smoker maybe. In general her presence is neither noticable nor avoidable.
"So what's this trip all 'bout?" The cabby asked in an almost sarcastic tone. "You going home to find the love of your life?"
"Something like that..." I replied.
More like going home to save the last bit of my past I can still hold onto, I thought as we slipped deeper into the night.
"So what is it that you are going back to find?" I rolled the question over in my head for minutes. The air in the cab took another feel, a suspencion fell between us. What am I going hom for? Why now? Why this christmas? Why me, why carl? And suddenly I the thought crossed my head.
"My life..." Yes I think to myself, MY LIFE.
"Your life? I should hope you had it on you, if not this trips gonna cost you some extra."
"I am actualy going home to meet two friends, two people I ran from. Erin and Jonny. They were my friends all through out high school. More then just friends, our lives were near promised to one another. We would have done anything for one another."
I say this last sentence with a chuckle ended with a short sigh. Wanting to do anything for one another, and doing anything for one another are two incredibly different things. Sometimes the thought doesn't out weight the action, sometimes people bleed even though you try. More often then not that's what happened.
Sitting bathed in darkness I begin to dive deeper into my memory then I have dared the entire I have been gone. Not even the invite for this reunion of sorts had such a recoil. Silently I sit there, knowing that cab driver wouldn't hear a thing I'd say anyways.
"I remember my freshmen year was like walking through hell. Everyday I would wake up and wonder my way through glares and almost unheard insults. No one took kindly to the poor queer boy, no one even knew my real name. Weeks went by and I slowly slipped farther and farther away. I could feel my eyes caving into my head, I wanted nothing more then to be dead. I could see no end to it all. Not only was I forced to walk through hallways that hated me, but I was forced to go home and not see another face until I entered that school again. For months it went on..."
"Over the summer I had met someone. I had just come home from my uncles house in Harrisburge oregon, where the only recreation was the sluggish river carrying cotton blooms down stream. I had worked for him all summer and was overly excited to go home. The last night I slept in the spair bedroom among the boxes and dusty relics I made a wish on a star that burnt faintly over the neightbor's house. It seemed silly, childish even, but it was hope. I wished for someone I could love, someone I could talk to. I wanted someone to keep my company. I found him. The first night I was back I walked into my sexual minority youth group and stumbled upon my wish. I tripped over and fell into a 5'7 blonde with amazing blue eyes and a skittish way about him. I tripped into love."
I could almost see Jesse's face in the darkness of the back seat. I remember the way he first looked at me, like he wanted to know something, anything. I sit surrounded by recollections of how his clothes folded and drapped from him. I remember sitting closely as the group played a game and ate pizza.
"soon after I left for my cousins house in Port Townsend Washington, ever summer I spent sleeping on her worn italian leather couch. I would waste my free days away resting in the sun, beside a lake surrounded by beautiful evergreen forests. The sent of pine was overwhelming and I knew this was were I wanted to be."
"But that wasn't true for long. Jesse and I began to talk on the phone. Phone cards became expensive, and I wanted to be closer. I wanted to be home. I jumped on the first train bound for vancouver and the next morning I stood on a plat form waiting for my way back to civilation, back to the city. Once I was there it didn't last long anyways. A month or so really. Jesse found himself an adorable 17 year-old kid with a red honda, who was willing to drive him where ever he could imagine. I never talked to him again. I vowed I would love anyone again, I wouldn't hurt again."
The idea of not being hurt again seems funny now. Pain is one thing no one can conrol, no one can predict.

current mood: anxious

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