Spencer came by again. I used to not even remember his name and now I can't seem to recall a day that he wasn't stopping by to "check on me", as I assume you could call it. He took me out to get free waffles and wore those stupid dirty clothes of his. I know he's just trying to make me feel better about my clothes. I just wish he would realize that I chose this. I glance over at my box of things. Buried in that box you can find some decent clothes, a few torn up pictures, a blanket, and some extra cash. He just expects so little of me. He doesn't see that maybe I was sick of dressing up every day and pretending my family still cares about me. I'm trying to understand him but sometimes it's just not necessary. I appreciate the waffles and all of that. I just don't know what he's expecting in return from me. I guess we'll just see.
After the waffles and after Spencer walked me home, I crawled into my little corner and fell fast asleep. I haven't napped for that long in awhile. I had so many dreams that afternoon, I couldn't even remember who I was when I woke up. Then it all came back and I decided to get some air. By that I mean air that doesn't reek of the Castle Apartments dumpster.
I walked down the street and watched every one shouting about a little traffic jam. It was a little nippy outside, but I didn't mind. I liked the cold. I grew up in the north for awhile so it didn't really compare. It's always entertaining to watch everyone's judgmental faces as they scan me over. I'm sure I'm interesting to look at and I'm sure they have a million questions. How does a seventeen year old end up homeless? Where are her parents? Why doesn't she try? I chuckle at the thought. Maybe I should get a job. Maybe...
I walked by Johnny's and hear a radio playing. I think it was Radiohead but I couldn't decipher which song. I turned around, looked at my feet, and headed back for my cave.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Number 2
What will come will come.
Even if I shroud it all in silence.
What will come will come.
The sound of the words lingered in my head, replaying over and over again. I tried to think back into time, wondering if maybe these words could have helped me at some terrible point. I doubt it.
I walked almost a mile today, all around town. It started when some worker from the apartments next door threw out some old "quiche" that really did not do well over time. I've gotten used to bad smells considering I "live" right next to their dumpster in that forgotten, abandoned factory, but sometimes, it becomes unbearable. So I walked.
I passed the baseball guy and a little girl playing hopskotch, or something close to that. I passed the smell of food and cigarettes and I passed a forever 21, full of young idiots. It was then that I ran into that crazy old man, still listening to the same damn songs, still shouting the same shit. I made points to visit him at least once a week and we always have the same conversation: an exchange of names, although his is always different, and a wierd kind of lecture, where he shouts something into the air and I think about it for the rest of the day, whether I understand or not; whether I want to or not. I laughed at the one from today, just because of how unhelpful it was to any part of my life. I always find it ironic when his lectures seem to be one of my waysof living life. What will come will come. Doesn't it always? I walked back towards my "house", or rather, "space of living" with that quesiton repeating. It always does, right? Even if I shroud it all in silence. Don't we all? Is that just me? Who knows.
Even if I shroud it all in silence.
What will come will come.
The sound of the words lingered in my head, replaying over and over again. I tried to think back into time, wondering if maybe these words could have helped me at some terrible point. I doubt it.
I walked almost a mile today, all around town. It started when some worker from the apartments next door threw out some old "quiche" that really did not do well over time. I've gotten used to bad smells considering I "live" right next to their dumpster in that forgotten, abandoned factory, but sometimes, it becomes unbearable. So I walked.
I passed the baseball guy and a little girl playing hopskotch, or something close to that. I passed the smell of food and cigarettes and I passed a forever 21, full of young idiots. It was then that I ran into that crazy old man, still listening to the same damn songs, still shouting the same shit. I made points to visit him at least once a week and we always have the same conversation: an exchange of names, although his is always different, and a wierd kind of lecture, where he shouts something into the air and I think about it for the rest of the day, whether I understand or not; whether I want to or not. I laughed at the one from today, just because of how unhelpful it was to any part of my life. I always find it ironic when his lectures seem to be one of my waysof living life. What will come will come. Doesn't it always? I walked back towards my "house", or rather, "space of living" with that quesiton repeating. It always does, right? Even if I shroud it all in silence. Don't we all? Is that just me? Who knows.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The First Day
The day started with the usual. I guess you could say this wasn't the worst day. Certainly not the best, but not the worst. At this point, I think I've lost track of what should be a "good" day. The only person I feel might understand the slightest of this confusion is that old man, Spencer? I think that's his name. Maybe it's Harold. He just seems like he gets it. He's one of the only people in this hole of a town that doesn't feel the need to ask me how I am every day. I wonder how long it will take people to figure out that living behind an abandoned building with the constant aroma of the Castle Apartment's dumpster doesn't exactly allow for a good day.
Mmm, bananas. That was the aroma that woke me up this morning. It reminded me of that banana pudding my mom made me once. Eight years passed and I can still taste it. She never was a great chef, but that pudding was the best. That dumpster tends to bother me, not because of its smell or the fact that I have yet to see a truck empty it out this past month, but because of its increasing habit of nagging me with the nostalgia. That's what I hate most about this town, I think. It's just crawling with people, smells, smiles, laughter, happiness, and an endless need to communicate. The school I could have, should have gone to. The apartments I could have lived in. The families I could have been a part of. Well, I guess I'll just stick to my low maintenance lifestyle of nature. Besides, I've always got Spencer. Or Harold.
Mmm, bananas. That was the aroma that woke me up this morning. It reminded me of that banana pudding my mom made me once. Eight years passed and I can still taste it. She never was a great chef, but that pudding was the best. That dumpster tends to bother me, not because of its smell or the fact that I have yet to see a truck empty it out this past month, but because of its increasing habit of nagging me with the nostalgia. That's what I hate most about this town, I think. It's just crawling with people, smells, smiles, laughter, happiness, and an endless need to communicate. The school I could have, should have gone to. The apartments I could have lived in. The families I could have been a part of. Well, I guess I'll just stick to my low maintenance lifestyle of nature. Besides, I've always got Spencer. Or Harold.
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