November 1, 2010

• nanowrimo, day one.

  [FAIR WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK - this is art for art's sake. No promises that it's any good. I'm just letting whatever wants to come out onto the page, come out, and whatever happens, does. ♥]

   

  

  So, here’s the skinny.

  I’m not really sure what God was thinking when He put me here, of all places. I mean, why not somewhere with less people? Less complications? Less messes that I think are my responsibility to clean?

  This doesn’t make any sense right now, but it will.

  When it does, will you let me know?

  I haven’t gotten there yet.

   

  I am twenty-one years old, I am a mess, and I have never been kissed.

  My name is Georgia Lynn Freebird, and this is my story.

   

  I wake up this morning to the chill of a new autumn day, and wonder just how cold it’s going to be when I put my shoes on and enter the outside world. It’s a typical day in the Southeast region of the United States, a place I wish I did not live, but am doomed to stay within for the time being. I tell everyone I’m having a great time in college, nearing the finish line, getting excited for graduation.

  If only they knew the truth.

  I yawn and stretch and do very typical things. I check the clock, and it’s 6:37 in the morning. Of all my friends here, I am the least remarkable. That’s not me self-deprecating or anything; it’s just a statement of fact. I roll out of bed and head for the bathroom in a zombie-like trance. Only, instead of brains, it’s definitely caffeine – probably coffee – my system is craving. I have to be in the mood for coffee, I’m not one of those people who are addicted and can’t survive without it, I just enjoy it in the mornings and on occasion, the afternoon. See? None of this is important or out of the norm. I’m wondering what I’m doing here for the thirty-thousandth time since I stepped through the huge front doors and tiptoed onto the gorgeous oak floors of the lobby in my crayon-yellow Converses.

  I hear the distinct sound of Nadia’s light snoring as it cuts the silence in half, and I take comfort in her presence. She, of all the people here, should understand me best – we did come from the same womb, around the same time – I was first, seven minutes and three seconds before Nadia appeared, I came into this strange world full of bizarre happenings. I remember this much clearer than most people would; my memory is flawless – an eerie video of all that has gone on before plays in my cluttered mind on a whim. I’m learning here – at “college” – how to pick out specific memoires whenever I need them. Like anyone else, I have things I would love to forget, but I do not possess the luxury of a weak mind. Things do not slip through the cracks for me – great for taking tests, keeping track of birthdays, and cooking without looking at a recipe, but really sucky for awkward childhood moments that are best left in the grubby hands of… well, my childhood.

  Things would certainly be easier if I were the textbook definition of “normal” – though I doubt they’ve actually decided on a solid one, yet.

  Maybe they’d be harder, who knows. But hey, the grass is always greener, right?

  I shuffle my stocking feet all the way to the cold tile floor of the bathroom attached to the room I share with Nadia and two other roommates. When my eyes hit the mirror, they are bluish-gray, the serene color of the morning sky, and I absentmindedly scratch my ivory cheek. Another yawn makes its way from my throat to the air surrounding me. Maybe if my stupid dreams weren’t so vivid, I’d sleep a smidge more peacefully.

  “You complain too much,” I scold my grungy reflection, who promptly shrugs – apathetic, as always.

  I hear Nadia’s motherly words as clearly as when they were spoken to me the day before: “Each day is a gift to be spent well, not suffered through. Remember, your words are significant.”

  I snort aloud as I mull over the last part – how could I possibly forget?

  I know she wasn’t mocking my steel trap of a psyche – Nadia Eve Freebird is the kindest, most compassionate and most empathetic human being on the planet. No sense in trying to blame her for my melancholy, because it would be false. Maybe it is the seclusion that’s getting to me. At  first, I had fallen in love with the huge, old hotel-turned-boarding-school that’s tucked quietly amongst the huge, old North Carolina trees – but after nine months, I am beginning to feel much like a baby in the womb: cramped, and ready to breath oxygen into my lungs for myself.

  I brush my offwhite teeth without fanfare, spitting into the sink without poise. I am not the classiest woman on this earth, but hopefully I possess enough social graces to get by out in the so-called “real world”. A tiny spark of glee pricks in my chest, and I imagine myself at the bottom of the front staircase. The sad part is, that’s about as far as I usually get before I realize I have no idea what is supposed to happen next. Am I walking toward a big, important career? A life of quiet, blessed servitude? A family of my own?

  A smile curves my thin lips upward as I linger on the fantasy of a husband and children. I am unsure if I am equipped to bring about such beautiful dreams… but they definitely are worth dreaming, all the same. An ache swells in my chest at the very real possibility that they may never come true. I cannot linger on them, it is way too easy to get depressed. As I bring a hot washcloth to my face, my eyes are as gray as the looming cumulonimbus before a great and terrible storm.

  I brush the blend of brown, blonde and red my over-dyed hair has become out of my face and up into a high, messy ponytail. Instantly, my head feels lighter and I feel like I can see more of the world around me. It’s strange what a simple hairdo can do to a person, even one as complicated as I am. I open the little bathroom window, breathing in the chilly air of the North Carolina morning, grateful for my senses. I can’t decide if I’m going to get a shower or not, when another warm body makes their presence known in the large, black-framed mirror.

  “Mornin’, sunshine,” I say, still half-awake, not yet experiencing the clarity of full consciousness. “You’re looking lovely as ever.”

  Louise turns to me and flashes a smile that is all full lips and perfect white teeth. “Darlin’, I know you ain’t usin’ pretty words to try ‘n get me outta this bathroom,” the dark-haired Southern belle answers me in her thick, pleasant accent.

  “You certainly would know that, wouldn’t you?” I smirk.

  Louise gives me a knowing look, and the pageant smile fades to a sarcastic, answering smirk. She reaches beyond a black-and-white patterned curtain to turn the hot water on for her shower, the one that I am contemplating, and the one that effectively makes my contemplating completely obsolete.

  I heave a sigh and hang up my washcloth before leaving Louise to her morning ritual, and silently wish I was a quicker thinker. When I reenter the bedroom, Nadia is pulling on her favorite socks, wearing a hoodie. She and I share an excited glance – it’s the first truly cold day of the year, and our hearts are beating in thrilled unison at the obvious heralding of winter and all its beauty, including Christmas.

  I close my eyes and breathe in deep; our window is open and I swear I can hear sleigh bells as my lungs draw in the smell of cold air and gray skies. When my lids retract, my sister shakes her head.

  “What?” I grin, already knowing the answer.

  “They’re currently this crazy shade of forest green,” she informs me, pulling down one of her own eyelids. “Why couldn’t I have gotten that talent?”

  I roll my freak-show eyes. “Because, instead, you can freaking read minds.”

  “So can Louise. What’s so special about that?” Nadia gives me a killer look, and I shrug.

  “I’m pretty jealous,” I tell her, and she laughs.

  “Whatever.” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “Even if I didn’t know that was true, it wouldn’t change the fact that you’re way cooler than you think you are.”

  “You’re not the only one who has noticed, either,” a hoarse voice greets us from the bottom bunk across the room.

  Nadia holds her hand out toward the voice, like, see? I frown.

  I can’t read minds, remember? I think toward her.

  She just grins. Infuriating!

  A bedraggled blonde head pops out from the constellation-covered comforter, glaring up at me with dark-circle-rimmed, honey-brown eyes.

  “The newest one of us, that Luke Browning kid – you know, the one sees the future? – he sure couldn’t take those sexy green eyes off you the second he walked in this place,” Charlotte – the zombie blonde – informs me with an evil glint in her wide, darkroom pupils. “Did you notice him noticin’ ya, gorgeous?”

  “Yeah, I definitely noticed,” I blurt, and then slap my shiny, pale forehead.

  That’s the other thing I forget to mention when introducing myself.

  I cannot lie.

  I’m serious.

  Not even when I try really, really hard.

  And definitely not when asked a direct question.

  “I knew it. Thank God, some dish. It’s ridiculous how boring this place has gotten these past few months. Not even the mind-invading tricks the Baxter boys pulled on Halloween did enough for me. Though, I still feel creeped out whenever I strip for a shower…” Charlotte shudders, obviously remembering something horrible.

  Nadia snickers, though I know it was probably a lot worse for her and Louise – considering they would’ve had to hear everyone’s thoughts being invaded all at once.

  All of a sudden raucous rap music is being blared down our hallway, and I know that our counselor is awake and getting “pumped” for the day.

  I swear, if I didn’t adore that woman with every fiber of my being, I would murder her in her sleep.

  “LYDIA, SERIOUSLY?” I swing the door open and scream against the incredible force of surround-sound bass pounding its way down to all of our rooms.

  “You slow down and you die, my love,” her shiny soprano voice shrills into my morning ears. In the afternoon, this sound would be welcome, pleasant.

  Right now it just makes me want to push her violently down the stairs.

  My imagination is very vivid, and I hear Louise and Nadia laugh out loud at the clean-glass-clear image of me taking my world-weary violence out on our beloved Lydia.

  Charlotte, who is five feet tall exactly, and about ninety pounds soaking wet, jumps up out of her bunk and gracefully twirls out into the hallway, breaking out a ridiculous combination of hip-hop moves that would make Fergie’s blood turn to acid with jealousy.

  

   

  If it's sucks and it's completely stupid, I can't apologize. I'm all up in this.

  If you wanna let me know what you think, that's cool. Just know I'm not supposed to edit. The purpose of NaNoWriMo is to just MAKE yourself write. It's about 50,000 words - not if they're even any good. I've been needing this challenge for a long time. So, here goes nothin'. <3 

  • 11:21 pm
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