make it stop

Last Friday was Beth's birthday. After school I swung my backpack into the trunk of her car and we drove to Nick's, winding roads blanketed with crunchy leaves. We watched Comedy Central in Nick's room and downloaded porn to laugh at, because we're too young for strip clubs.

When I was young - younger (how many people reading this are younger than me?) - I was scared. Scared of standing up straight, wearing brightly-colored clothing, riding rollercoasters ("the rollercoaster ride's a lonely one"). Now I'm trying to catch up with everyone. I'm looking forward to visiting Japan again next year. I like when people talk about me behind my back. Resa and I go to carnivals and climb onto rickety rollercoasters and jump in inflatable castles in our socks. Last summer a little girl crinkled her nose and said I was too old to play on a swingset, and I wanted to ask her why she was in such a hurry to grow up ("fields of butterflies, reality escapes her"). I like talking about things that make people uncomfortable.

So we downloaded a flick with Asia Carrera (it wasn't a vibrator, it was a dildo), and another one with a pool of students speaking German and pounding each other on a wrestling mat in some gymnasium, and plaid socks and combat boots. Di and Matt stopped by after play practice and dinner, and we watched a fifteen minute clip filled with drunk women showing off their boobs for shiny beads. I never want to see boobs again. I think everyone enjoyed the part where some woman did cartwheels naked, though.

Afterwards we piled into Beth's car and drove to Noodles & Co. and listened to rap. I ordered Japanese pan noodles and Beth ate a big bowl of macaroni and cheese and pocket bread with butter. Nick and Matt and Di weren't hungry, but Matt downed my ice water and Di picked at our dinners with chopsticks.

I don't really want to talk about this. Pat doesn't want to see me until next month ("I'm running out of room, don't make me say it"). I try not to think about it. Today I spent two hours in a coffee shop after school slaving over genetics problems, and I came home ("time to take her home, her dizzy head is conscious-laden") and ate donuts and watched Oprah. I'm lonely and angry and frustrated.

I've been sitting here an hour and I don't know how to articulate any of this.

I feel so used and worthless and ignored and I'm not even the one who was cheated on. He sounded so exhasperated ("painfully spelled out?"), I don't understand why it will take a month to know whether life is better with or without me. Before he left he touched my hair and I wanted to swat his hand away, and I didn't watch him leave. Every time he said he was okay, every time he wouldn't listen, "forget it," it was a lie.

What is there to look forward to? He'll come back a month from now, realize everything hasn't evaporated like a glass of water, impatience, another month.

This is all so cowardly. The only thing that will be different next month is that I won't want to try anymore.