Madness Of Love (Revised)

Another day gone. Another one messed up somehow. No matter what I do, I still can't seem to be as "perfect" as everyone else. There's always something that someone disapproves of, whether it is my choice of attire or my overall attitude towards the new day. Someone always has a contradiction, usually brutal.

I slammed my books into my locker and pushed the metal door shut, glad that it was finally the weekend. I no longer had to deal with all of these people, my peers. At least not until Monday, anyway. High school. The best years of our lives? I beg to differ.

The hall was still very crowded and I tried to make my way through the endless sea of bodies, but was relatively unsuccessful. The most I managed to do was piss off a few jocks, get a few glares, and have someone cut me off, making me a little mad. I have better places to be than in this crowd. This crowd full of judgmental hypocrites.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was just as bad as them, but I tried to push that negative thought from my already overcrowded mind.

"MOVE!" someone shouted from up ahead of me and the crowd parted, revealing a very massive football player making his way towards me. He wasn't really heading to me, I just didn't want to move so that he could make his way to his destination. Mine was just as important, if not more so.

He stopped right in front of me and glared. "Move?" he asked, but it wasn't really a question, but more of a command.

Fed up and a little pissed, I stood my ground, planting my foot out to the side and cocking one eyebrow. "Nope." He just stared. Good. Dumb moron doesn't know what to do. I've confused him.

"Sorry?" he asked, like he didn't hear me.

Looking around like I was trying to find an answer, just to please the crowd, I wrinkled my nose. "I think I just told you no." Normally I would have moved out of his way, but I'd had a very difficult day and wasn't in the mood for stupid popularity contests and fear from the jocks.

You could tell that the Neanderthal was trying to figure out what to do. I was pretty sure that I saw smoke coming from his ears and I couldn't help but smile.

The crowd was still flowing around the small spat, but a few stood by, hoping to see a book worm get her butt kicked by walking testosterone.

His jaw clenched, as did his fists, and I thought I was going to die shortly. "Whatever," I mumbled. "You're not worth it. . ." I stepped out of his way and into the crowd, which immediately swept me away. Before being swept too far, I muttered, "Besides, you could lose your only chance at college if you miss your playoff."

I didn't turn around to see if he caught the menace in my voice, but I'm pretty sure he didn't. He had other 'more important' things to think about, like if he took his steroids that morning, or if he could possibly beat the bench press record.

I was swept out into the foyer and found that it was a little less crowded here. Finally. A place I could think a little. I pressed my back up against the cold stone wall and closed my eyes. I just need to breath a little... I told myself as I took a deep breath. In. Out.

There were far too many thoughts running wild in my head for me to even attempt to sort them out. People were passing in front of me, a few giving me odd looks, but I didn't care. I needed to relax a little.

"Hey," a deep voice muttered.

I opened one eye and looked at the guy standing in front of me. His brown hair was hanging in front of his green eyes a little and his rocker T was old and tattered like it'd seen too many rock concerts for it's own good.

"Huh?" I said, a little taken aback.

"Umm... I don't really know how to put this without. . . . you're standing on my jacket. . ."

A little embarrassed, I looked down. Sure enough, under my left sneaker there was a old leather jacket, a nice size eight shoe print on it.

"Oh. Uh. Sorry," I said, picking up my foot and taking a step to the side. I bent down and picked it up, trying to brush off the dirt and grime. I brushed my hair from my eyes and examined the jacket. "Hey, is this a 1950's jacket?" Intrigued I took a closer look.

"Yeah. . ." he said, raising one eyebrow. He looked around him and bit his lip. "Uhhh. . ." he trailed off a little for a second, "Can I have my jacket back. I've got a gig to go to."

I felt my cheeks going slightly pink and I chuckled a little. "Sorry." I held out the jacket, still intrigued. He grabbed it and smiled. "Hey, thanks."

"No problem. I guess the dirty footprint adds some character."

"Yeah. I guess. See ya," and with that he turned around and started walking away, only to rejoin his group of similarly dressed baboons, all with spiked, styled hair hanging in front of their eyes.

A rocker. Not bad. I picked up my bag which I'd dropped in my mad flight from the crowd and slung it over my shoulder. I fumbled in my bag for my keys, which had sunk to the very bottom of the pit, and headed towards the door. As I got closer, the air grew denser and colder. Damn. It's snowing. And sure enough. Big flakes the size of my fist were floating down. I pulled my jacket closer to my body and stepped out into the white atmosphere, hoping it would just swallow me up.

Later that night, as I sat on my bed, feet tucked under me, doing what little homework I'd procrastinated on, I couldn't help but think of one thing. Why was his jacket just sitting there?

I tapped my pen on my lower lip as I pondered this. A guy doesn't just leave his vintage jacket lying on the ground unattended. Someone might steal it. It was weird, but I figured it wasn't really my place to question what other people did. Look at me. I wasn't exactly cream of the crop.

I drew my attention back to my work. Chemistry. If there ever was a worse subject in high school I had yet to find it. Who really cared about chemicals and how they reacted when combine? Other than chemistry majors. Sure, it was cool to watch them fizz, bubble, and occasionally blow up, but other than that it was all formulas. Yuck.

Finding I could no longer concentrate, I dumped my books onto the floor and plopped down onto my back. "Now it's time to contemplate the meaning of the universe. . ." I mumbled to myself. "Gravity. . . Money. . . love?" The last one struck home. Love. Was that what everyone yearned for, searched all their lives in hopes of finding that one special person?

Whoa.. I need to go to bed. I swung my arm blindly out, hoping to find my lamp near enough so that I wouldn't have to get my lazy butt off my nice and warm blanket. Unfortunately I'd migrated to the end of my bed while I'd been struggling with my assignments and wasn't in reach of my stupid lamp. Groaning because I actually had to do some work, I rolled off the side, landing very ungracefully on my floor with a thump that I was sure woke my parents the floor below. [i]Ouch. Rug burn.[/i]

Now grumbling, I stood up, pulled my shirt down over my pale stomach,and sauntered over to my light source. Clicking it off, I plopped back down on my bed and just lay there on top of the blankets, staring at the ceiling fan go round and round.

As I drifted off to sleep, knowing the next day was Saturday, my mind wandered back to the day I'd had. To the Principal's office, to the jock, and to the jacket. What a day, but it was finally the weekend. Two days of pure bliss and relaxation.

********

Negative.

"Amy! Amy! Wake up!"

Damn. I was hoping the munchkin would forget, but I have no such luck. I pulled the pillow closer to my ears and rolled onto my stomach. "It's Saturday, Ray. Let me sleep."

He sighed and I could feel his weight sinking onto my mattress. "But it's nine. Even mom and dad are awake. They even made breakfast."

Whoa. Mom and Dad cooking? And our house isn't on fire or smoked out? I peeled open one eye and stared him down. The Death Glare. "And since I'm the oldest capable of thought I have to cater to their every whim and fancy? Negative. Go wake James and let me sleep!" I groaned, pressing my face closer to the nice warm sheet.

He sighed and slid off the edge of my bed. "Fine. At least James has personality. You're no fun anyway. Always reading, preening yourself in the mirror, or having a seance, or something."

"For your information," I grumbled, "I don't worship Satan.... Only on Tuesdays..."

"Whatever..." he mumbled, walking out my door. Good. Leave you little. . .

I tossed and turned, dozing on and off, for the next half hour or so. Finally, deciding that it was doing me absolutely no good at all to be entangling myself even more in my navy sheets, I peeled open one eye. Whoa. It's bright.

When I'd freed my lower body from my bed, I sauntered over to my second story window. My first thought was that someone had toilet papered my house, yet again, and left the remaining tissue all over our neighborhood, but I knew that no one would bother creating that much havoc, especially since my father was a general in the United States Navy and our neighbor was one of those neighborhood watch guys. Snow... yuck. Snow in January. Never a welcome sight. Actually, snow in general, not a welcome sight.

I leaned against the frame for a few minutes, just staring. There goes my exciting plans for the day. Reading for a few hours, maybe repainting my long overdue toenails, and quite possibly cleaning my room. Now I have to shovel my driveway. I wrinkled my nose, but continued to stare blindly out into the sea of white.

Neighbor kids were out, rolling around and having a gay old time. Gay meaning the literal term, not the aphorism that everyone has taken to using. There was a rousing snowball fight going on across the street between Mrs. Johansan, an elderly retired woman who was still kicking, and the paperboy. . . only instead of both throwing snowballs, he was throwing excess papers at her. I could faintly make out his mouth moving, and could tell that he was irking her on by the way she bent and scooped up that snow.

Next door, Dr. Reynolds was gathering up his precious lawn ornaments from his snow covered lawn. He had on his black slippers and navy blue bath robe, hopefully with something on under it, but I didn't want to think about that. I cringed at just the brief thought, which was almost a mental picture.

Hearing the front door slam, I pressed my forehead and nose up against the cold glass. Dad. He had on his good winter coat. The one that when he pulled up the hood, he looked like an Eskimo. His hands were covered in his mittens and his boots reached all the way up to his knees. Good ole Dad. Embarrassing, but still lovable.

Speaking of embarrassing... It's like my mother has perfect timing. Almost like she knows what I'm thinking and takes it upon herself to do everything to upset my fragile train of thought. Either that or she's just clueless. I, personally, think it's a mixture of both.

"Amy, dear. You really should go out and help your father..." She strolled into the room, wearing her favorite maternity looking gown. Pale blue with buttons all the way up. I'm pretty sure she bought it way back when she was pregnant with me. Seventeen years ago. She wasn't even pregnant now. At least I hoped not. That would just be disgusting.

She scrutinized me for a minute before sighing. The sigh... You know, the one all mothers have. It basically says "you are so difficult and don't understand how much I really do for you. Listen to what wisdom I'm trying to bestow upon you. You might learn something."

I hate that sigh.

"You are a mess. What if we were to have company?"

It wasn't me I was worried about if we had company.... That hairstyle went out the window twenty-five years ago... Layers and volume to each. Curly layers starting at her part line and making their way down. It almost looked like a mullet....

I ripped my mind away from her and looked back out the window. "It's Saturday. I don't need to look nice."

"What if your brothers decide to have friends over?"

"Ray has friends?" I laughed at my own joke, leaving out my oldest brother, but she apparently didn't think it was funny. I then got the glare. I don't even need to explain that one. We've all seen it.

"Really, Amy. Be supportive of your brother. At least he has a social life."

She sighed once again and left the room, gathering up my dirty clothes in the process.

Ouch. I do so have a social life.... I do plenty of things with my... Crap. How long ago had I grown into such an outcast? When did I lose all my friends? I wanted answers. I frantically searched my brain, excavating into the deep recesses that hadn't been sought out in years.

Ninth grade. That's when it happened. We'd gone to a party and I left early. Which, at the time, was so uncool. There was alcohol and that really wasn't my scene. Those girls were shallow anyway. To hell with them.

I shut that mental book and slammed it randomly into the bookshelf. Things hadn't been the same since. Three years later, a senior in High school, ready to graduate, and I didn't have anyone. Pathetic.

Pulling myself out of a growing depression, I slipped on some socks and skipped down the hall. I'll fix it later. I slid down the banister and landed with a soft plunk on the wood flooring. I cringed, hearing something that sounded like our cat being shoved down the garbage disposal.

Ray was eating cold pizza, no doubt having eaten all of what was left for breakfast. He was reading the comic section of the newspaper, feet propped up on the table, dirty socks included, and Mom was cleaning the microwave, for the third time since Thursday. She was singing along to the radio. I found what the noise was.... James was nowhere to be see. Surprise there.

Great. I can already tell what type of day I'm going to have. I slipped on my oh-so-attractive fur-lined boots, my mother's hot pink snow jacket ("It's still in style..." In your own little world...), and my own black gloves. No mittens for me, please.

I casually avoided looking in the mirror by our front door, deciding it'd just be better if I didn't care so much as to what I looked like, and opened the door. The brisk winter air hit me full force in the face and I staggered back a step.

"Close the door!" Ray shouted, no doubt between mouthfuls of cheese and pepperoni.

"I'm going. I'm going," I yelled back, tightening the straps of the hood around my chin. Here goes nothing.... Some quality time with Dad.... Joy..