Misfits

Chapter 1

There were many things about life that I don’t understand. Why fathers abuse their daughters. Why girls hide under pounds of make up. And why some people don’t belong anywhere. I would suspect that everyone wants to belong to something. The only people you see smiling in school are the ones surrounded by friends. Everyone else looks dull, mindless, frustrated. But then again, who am I to judge?

My name is Todd, in case you were curious. I’m your typical teenage boy. Actually, I’m not that typical at all. For example, I prefer to wear my pants the way they were created to be worn. I can’t imagine it’d be comfortable to expose yourself like that. I’ve also never done drugs or gotten with a girl at a party. Mostly because I don’t go to parties but also because I don’t feel like catching herpes at the age of seventeen. Or any age for that matter.

I don’t have many friends, but I don’t need a lot. I have one, and her name is Alex. We’ve been friends since we were in elementary school. She was the only other person who chose to sit on the bench instead of playing with the other kids during recess. We were alone, but together at the same time, if that makes any sense. Her house is across the street from mine so it made easier for us to hang out. By the time we reached high school we were inseparable. We knew more about each other than we knew about ourselves, and that bond was a special one. But we aren’t interested in each other the way you’re most likely thinking. It’s more of a “Brother and Sister” bond. It’s not because she’s ugly, because she’s gorgeous. She has green eyes and a deep black color hair. The color black you imagine when you think of a black hole. She’s very outspoken though so boys don’t really talk to her too much. Occasionally a boy would get enough courage to say something to her, a compliment, pick-up line, even a hello. Immediately they would regret it. Many people don’t understand, or accept the way Alex acts. And I probably wouldn’t either if I don’t know about what she’s through. That’s a story for another time though.

Everyday since the sixth grade Alex and I would walk home together from school. People would tease us but Alex would always put them in their place. I’m a little quieter than Alex. Maybe because school is the only place she could voice her opinion. I handle my stress by writing. Alex never understood why. “Why do you spend so much time writing?” She would ask. “It calms me down,” I would reply, scribbling furiously. “Why write down other people doing adventurous things, instead of doing adventurous things yourself?” She said standing over my shoulder. “I simply have nothing adventurous to do,” I replied attempting to focus on keeping my writing legible. “Well of course you do!” She exclaimed as she grabbed my hand and dragged me out of my room. “Hi Mrs. O’Connell!” She yelled still dragging me out the door. “Where are you going sweetie?” My mother asked looking confused. I shrugged my shoulders as I followed Alex. Before I knew it we had passed three ‘Do Not Trespass’ signs and we were climbing a giant tree. Alex had climbed way faster than I did, but when I finally reached her she was staring into space, a glassy look in her eyes, like she wasn’t all there. She does that a lot. I looked out into the sky and saw the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. I decided when we returned home that I would write a poem about it for my creative writing class. I received and A.

My father is in the Army. He writes letters to my mother, but I haven’t received one in a long time. I think it’s because he’s disappointed in me. My father’s really into sports, and I’m not interested. I’d rather write poems about the people watching the sports instead of playing them. He made me play football in seventh grade. By the end of the season I was on the bench with a broken leg. All my father talked about was the way the other boys played. “John scored four touchdowns. His father must be so proud. You should hang out with him more often. Maybe he could teach you how to play better.” He was obsessed with it. Little did he know John and the other boys constantly bullied me. One of the worst things was when I put on my football helmet and It was filled with dirt, worms, and I’m pretty positive there was urine in it as well. So when my father got shipped out I was able to do what I wanted. Which was to practice my writing, instead of getting tackled by sweaty boys. It’s not that I don’t love my father because I do, and I was very sad when he left, but I looked at the bright side. Which was the fact that I didn’t have to wake up at five in the morning on Saturday to go practice on the football field.

My father could also ever grasp the fact that Alex and I were just friends. “That Alex sure is pretty,” He would say while tossing the football to me. “I guess,” I’d reply while trying to receive the ball that was bouncing all around me. “You should go on a date with her. I’ll drive you guys to the movies if you want.” When I’d decline his offers, he would question my sexuality. It’s not that I was gay, (Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I have an uncle who’s gay and he’s hilarious and always dresses very well.) girls are just really obnoxious. Well, most girls. I hate the girls who cake on makeup and then call the girls who don’t wear pounds of makeup ugly. It just shows how insecure they are about themselves. I believe that every girl has natural beauty, some just smother themselves with manufactured goo and a shitty attitude.

I asked one girl for her phone number a long time ago. She was very smart and loved to read books. Sometimes she would turn around and talk to me about school things, like the essay she wrote for history. I decided I liked this girl. I liked how her hair bounced when she walked and the way her lips moved when she talked. So one day I saw her talking to her friends in the hallway (This was my downfall I think. I’ve noticed girls are much nicer when they’re alone.) and I decided to confront her. “Hi Patty,” I said approaching her. “Oh, hi Tedd,” She said smiling awkwardly. It bothered me a little that she got my name wrong. It should’ve been a warning sign to me because typically any girl who can’t remember your name probably doesn’t want to be your girlfriend, but I shrugged it off. “Do you have a phone?” I asked. All the girls laughed when Patty answered “Yes.” I asked her for her phone number and after writing it on a piece of paper she walked away while her friends giggled and whispered behind her. I looked down at the piece of paper and saw the number of the pizza place my mother owned. That’s when I stopped trying to get girls numbers. When I told Alex, she was pissed. Later that night when I was working at the pizza shop, Alex came in the back and filled a bag with anchovies. I didn’t ask why, but I didn’t have to. I found out the next day at school. Alex got into Patty’s gym locker and filled her sneakers with the anchovies. She poured the leftover ones in Patty’s bag when no one was looking. You should’ve seen Patty’s face when she reached in her bag to find a pencil and ended up with a handful of anchovies instead. I couldn’t help but crack a smile. She smelled like fish for the rest of the day, and later I bought Alex some ice cream for her marvelous work.

It was Friday night and I could already hear yelling and screaming. I looked out my window across the street. The curtains were closed, but you could see the shadow of two people. A male figure and a female figure. Alex’s parents. You could see her mother begging him. He grabs her and swings at her. She falls to the ground and he walks away. There’s a deathly silence and I open up my bedroom window. The screaming and the yelling go on again for about ten minutes and then a door slams. A few seconds later Alex crawls through my bedroom window. “Is it bad?” She asked me turning around. Her eye was a little swollen, and I was furious. I hugged her and she said “Stop being so sympathetic and get me your mom’s makeup,” She said. I hate when this happens, and it happens all the time. There’s no excuse to hit women. Especially your daughter, the girl you’re supposed to protect and make sure no one ever hurts her. It breaks my heart. I go into the bath room and grab my mother’s cover-up. When I walk back into my room I see Alex sitting by the window looking out at her house. I went and sat next to her. “You know my dad wasn’t always like this,” She whispered. I could tell she was crying. She had that glassy look in her eyes again. “I know Alex,” I said looking out noticing that the figures were fighting again. “My dad used to play with me all the time. He’d bring me home toys when he’d work too late to read me a book before bed. He used to slow dance with my mother. Then one day he came home from work and I just remember him smelling so bad. It wasn’t a familiar smell, but it was disgusting. My mother and I were sitting at the table, eating meatloaf, and my dad sits down at the table at the opposite end from my mother and I. That was strange to me. “Meatloaf? Seriously? You’re feeding us this shit?” My father said shoving his dinner away. My mother looked startled. “I’m sorry sweetheart. There’s leftover raviolis in the fridge. I’ll get you some of that,” She said and she got up and grabbed his plate. “God dammit Megan! I just want you to make me a nice fucking dinner! Is that so hard to ask?” He said as he threw the plate on the ground. I can’t imagine what my face looked like at that point, but my mom noticed it. “Honey, you’re scaring Alex,” My mother said backing slowly towards me. “Well she’s not the problem, you are. Look at how mad you make me! Why Megan, why do you do this to me god dammit!” He said as he grabbed my mother and pushed her into a wall. And I was just frozen there. He walked up to my mother and kneeled down to her and said “Maybe if you knew how to take care of your family you wouldn’t be on the floor right now. Think about that tomorrow when you’re thinking about making dinner.” And then he got up and went upstairs. The next day he brought my mom a dozen white roses. I remember everything from that night. I was ten. I was twelve when I got my first roses. But I know somewhere inside my dad’s still there, the one that used to read me stories. Is that stupid?” Alex is such a strong person. She goes through so much. “Not at all,” I said and I hugged her as the lights across the street turned off.