Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

My first thought was she likes me! My second though wonders why she thought I was bad in the first place.
“What do you mean?” I finally decide to type. A second later her response comes.
“I was always thought you were such a badass. In my mind you’re the bulling type; the kid that skips class and cheats on tests and who doesn’t give a damn about the world and the people in it. Really though, you seem really sweet,” she says. I care about you, I type but then erase it. Do I care about her? I hardly know her; there is no way I actually care about her.
“If that’s what you want to believe then go ahead and believe that. In reality, I’m not sweet at all. I blow down brick houses,” I reply. Right then I heard a door slam downstairs, and I exit out of the internet.
“Hey Kristy, I’m home,” Kevin shouts from downstairs. I jog to where he is standing and pick up all of the books that are resting on his arms.
“What’s all this?” I ask. He set down his bag. Laughing, he sits down in a chair to take off his shoes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, setting the books on the table and sitting across from him. I rifle through the stack and freeze when a blue folder entitled geometry falls out.
“Oh no! This isn’t my homework, is it?” I groan, already knowing that this is going to fill up the rest of the week.
“Yep. Mr. Peters said that the teachers gave you a week of homework that he’s ‘sure you have been doing for the past two weeks’, and that he expects all of it to be done, including this. Oh, and he wanted me to give you this. It’s a list of everything you have to do,” he says reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small folded piece of paper. He slides it across the table to me. I pick it up and unfold it. There’s a list of more than twenty things to do. On the bottom of the list is a scribbled note.
Kristy,
When you come back to school on Monday, I do not want any of this nonsense. You didn’t seem to be much of a bother in previous years, but it seems you have changed over the summer. Drugs and vandalism are subjects upon which I do not wish to have to tolerate in my school. NO drugs and NO vandalism for now on. If another incident is reported like this again, the punishment won’t be as light. Have a good rest of your week.
Mr. Peters
I roll my eyes. He won’t have to worry about my “nonsense” anymore. I’ll get every single bit of my homework done just to show him that he’s wrong about me.
“Thanks Kev,” I say picking up the books and standing up. I begin to walk up the stairs, but then stop and shout down, “Hey, what do you want for dinner?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably just throw in a pizza later if that’s alright with you,” he shouts back.
I reply, “Sounds good,” and continue walking up the stairs. I dump the books on my bed then walk to Mom’s room to check on her. I walk in her room and stand by the bed.
“Hey mom, how are you feeling?” I ask. She turns her head to look at me but doesn’t say anything.
“Do you need anything? Water? Food? No response. “I miss you, Mom,” I say then walk out of her room. I go back to my own room to start on my homework.
I lay down on my bed with my geometry book open to the first problem. “If the measure of angle a is the same as measure of angle b and the measure of angle c is 90, solve for a and b. Then, name what kind of triangle is presented. Show all Work.” Huh? I flip back a few pages to the mathematical notes box and read the examples. Nothing. I sigh and close my book. That’s enough math for one day. On to science. “Define inertia.” Inertia, what the hell is inertia? I look at my watch. I’ve been studying science for five minutes; that’s five minutes too much. I close my science book and take out my civics sheet. “What type of government does the United States of America have? What about Germany?”
“I don’t give a ********,” I say aloud to myself. I push all of the books off the bed and close my eyes. I still have six more days to do my homework; it can wait.
I lay there waiting for sleep to come to me, but it doesn’t come. I glance at the clock. It’s only 5:45. I roll out of bed and go to my computer. Isabella may be on, and if she is, I’d rather talk to her than do my homework. I log on.
“You’ve got mail!” my computer sings enthusiastically. Smiling, I click the words.
“Kristy, you’re funny,” she says. I click reply.
“How?” I ask and click send. Moments later another message appears.
“I don’t know. You just make me laugh.” I smile and click reply.
“Well that good, I guess. How was your day?”
“My day was splendid, thank you. How was yours?” I groan then remember she can’t hear me.
“It was alright. Kevin brought me all my homework. I actually already looked at it, but I don’t understand any of it,” I reply.
“Want me to try to help?” she asks.
“Really? You would help me?”
“Yeah, sure, why not? Just send me a question, and I’ll try to figure it out.” I lean over and grab my geometry book off the floor. I flip open to the page I was on before and type out the question. Seconds later her message shows up.
“That’s easy; we’re doing that right now. A and B are both 45 degrees.” Amazed, I click reply and type, “How’d you solve that so fast?” This time she takes a little bit longer to reply.
“If both a and b are the same and c is 90 then what you need to do is take 180 (because that’s how many degrees are in a triangle) and subtract 90. Your answer should be 90. Then divide that by two and that’s your answer for both angles.” I blink. Somehow I understood exactly what she said. I write that down then click reply.
“What kind of triangle is that?” I ask.
“Right isosceles because two of the sides have to be the same if the angles are,” she replies.
Thank you so much, Isabella! That really helped!”
“Anytime.”
After I finish all of my math homework from when I was gone, I get up out of my desk chair and strip from my clothes. Standing in front of the mirror, I study myself. Random ribs are poking out, and my breasts aren’t nearly as big as I want them to be, but I guess they’re fine. My legs don’t really have much shape to them, and they are all black-and-blue from falling all the time. I walk over to my dresser and slip on a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. Then, I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. When I walk back in my room, I send a goodnight message to Isabella. I crawl into bed and close my eyes. Sleep takes over my body within five minutes.
“Hey Kristy! Kristy, wake up!” I open my eyes and Kevin stops shaking me. He kisses my forehead and says, “I’m going to school now. Goodbye, I love you.”
“I love you too, Kevin. Have a good day.” I rub my eyes as he skips out of the room. Yes, he actually skips. I wonder what got him in such a good mood. Part of me wonders if he had a little fun with himself last night. Knowing my brother though, I really doubt it. He is really cute for a guy his age. He probably wouldn’t have any troubles getting a girl to do it with him.
I roll out of bed and walk to my computer. I hit the power button, and within seconds I can hear it coming to life. Walking into the bathroom, I strip from my clothes and step into the shower.

After I’m done showering and dressing, I sit down at my computer desk and log on. There is no reply from Isabella. I sigh and log off.
For the next couple of hours, I do my homework. After I can’t take anymore thinking, I put my books away and walk to my mom’s room.
“Hey mom,” I say sitting on her bed. “How are you?” She rolls over and smiles at me. I changer her water bag and make sure the tubes are in correctly.
“This is your last bag, Mom. The nurse says that they won’t give you anymore. She’s coming tomorrow to unhook your tubes. If you’re not better by then, they’re going to take you back to the hospital. Please, Mom, try to get better by then.” Tears are in my eyes which surprises me because my intention for coming in here was not to lecture her. Not this time. I’m done with telling her what to do. She is my mom, I’m not hers. From now on, if she wants to be stubborn, she can be stubborn.
“I… I,” I sob. Tears are running down my face, and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. Suddenly, I turn around and run out of the room. Once in my room, I sit down at my computer and log on. I start a new message to Isabella.
“This morning my brother woke me up. He was in such a good mood which made me happy because I like seeing my brother smile. I went into my mom’s room to change her water bag, and I started crying. I’ve been so angry and emotional lately. What’s wrong with me?” I type. Before clicking send, I read it over. Deciding I sound crazy, I exit out of the internet tab and go to YouTube, a large video site. I type “Evanescence” into the search box and click the first video. I wipe the tears from my face and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes. I let Amy Lee’s haunting voice take over me.
When she sings the last note, I sit back up in my chair and go back to yourlife.com.
“You’ve got mail” my computer announces, startling me. I blink a few times, to make sure I’m not just imagining the flashing words. I didn’t send the message, did I? No, I’m sure I exited out of it. I open the message.
“How are you doing?” Isabella asks. Thank god! She didn’t realize how crazy I was just being just a few minutes earlier.
“I’m alright, I guess,” I type. Moments later another message appears.
“Why only alright?” She asks.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s probably because I’m crazy. I have so many things wrong with my head,” I reply.
“I doubt that,” was her response.
“Isabella, I know you’re trying to be nice and all, but you don’t even know me. You don’t care about me because you don’t know a thing about me. I really, really want to believe that you were sent from God to do whatever it is you’re supposed to do, but if I believe that it will just prove that I am crazy. Every time I’m not talking to, I get all emotional and insane. My craziness has nothing to do with you, so why are you even trying to... I don’t even know what you’re trying to do. Save me? Rescue me from living eternity in hell, if there is such a place? Isabella, I’m sure you’re a great person, but you should really stop wasting your time on a worthless piece of s**t like me,” I type. After reading it over, I realize how true it all is. Seconds after I click send however, another message appears.
“Kristy, Kristy, Kristy, you are a unique one. Let me guess, you deserve to die because no one cares about you? Actually, send me a chat box. This will go a lot faster if we IM instead of message.” I click the chat icon. When the box pops up, I type in, “you reply so quickly, anyway; I don’t see why we have to use IM.
Angelbaby911: You reply so slowly!
TheLostOne: Well sorry if I type slowly!
Angelbaby911: Kristy, you are funny. Anyway, why do you think you’re crazy?
TheLostOne: I told you. I’m so emotional all the time.
Angelbaby911: What do you get emotional over?
TheLostOne: Everything! I cry whenever I talk to my mom. I cry every time I get mad. My tears are uncontrollable. There’s something wrong with me.
Angelbaby911: No, there isn’t. You’re a girl. All girls are emotional.
TheLostOne: Are you?
Angelbaby911: I have nothing to cry about, but when something does go wrong, I cry. It’s natural to cry.
TheLostOne: Not all the time.
Angelbaby911: That may be true, Kristy, but maybe that’s the only way you can let your feelings out. If you want to talk about the things that make you cry, it may help.
TheLostOne: I have no one to talk to.
Angelbaby911: That’s not true; you have me.
TheLostOne: You don’t really care about my problems. You don’t care about me.
Angelbaby911: Yes I do! I care about you, Kristy; I want you to be happy.
TheLostOne: I’ll never be happy.
Angelbaby911: What are you feeling now?

I lean back in my chair. What am I feeling now? I’m not sad, not anymore, but I’m not exactly happy. I’m not mad or glad, and I don’t want to scream, cry, or laugh. Am I even feeling anything? Or am I just a teddy bear or a doll, stuck in a body that cannot feel? That couldn’t be though because I cry. I cry all the time, but I don’t know why. Maybe I’m not feeling anything, and that’s why I don’t know why. Or maybe Isabella is wrong, and I am crazy. Am I just like my mom, a zombie? I don’t want to tell any of this to Isabella so instead, I sit back up in my chair.
Angelbaby911: Well, I’m happy.
TheLostOne: How come?
Angelbaby911: I’m talking to you.
I laugh at that like the thought of someone actually wanting to talk to me was the funniest thing in the world. The truth is though, I can feel myself blushing, and I believe her. I believe she really wants to know about me and my life, and I feel as if she really does care about me and this isn’t all just a lie. I don’t even see why I care though. She’s just a girl, and that’s all she ever will be. It’s not like she’s going to come here and hug me tight when I cry. It’s not like she’ll wipe the tears away. She lives in Nebraska, far away from me.
Angelbaby911: Kristy, are you alright?
I look at the clock. Five minutes have passed since I last sent her an IM, but I don’t really feel like talking to her anymore. I type, “I have to go. Bye.”
“Oh, okay. Bye,” she replies. I log off and get up from my chair. I dress in a pair of blue jeans and black hooded sweatshirt with a skull on the back.
“Mom, I’m going out,” I call running down the steps. Stepping out into the September air, I start to jog. Then I run. Without even knowing where my feet were taking me, I keep putting one foot in front of the other and am not surprised when I end up outside of the diner.
Opening the door, I walk inside. The place is more lit up today. I don’t know if it’s because he turned on more lights or if the sun from outside is shining in through the windows unlike all the other times I was here. I can Gramps in the kitchen doing something, so I walk over to the jukebox, and try to figure out how to use it. After finding the coin slot, I grab a few quarters out of my pocket and put them in. I flip through the songs until I land on “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles. As the music fills the room, Grandpa must’ve heard it because he comes out of the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist.
“Grandpa!” I yell excitedly. I run to him and wrap my arms around him.
“Well, hello darling,” he replies hugging me. “What would you like to try today?”
“What do you want to make for me?” I ask him. He grabs out a menu.
“Well, let’s see. Do you want breakfast, lunch or dinner?”
“Not dinner because it’s not time yet, but I don’t really want breakfast or lunch either. Do you have desserts?” I ask already feeling my mouth tingle with joy at how his mother’s recipe for homemade chocolate toppings taste, if you can even make homemade chocolate toppings. He flips a page in the menu and hands it to me.
“What makes your taste buds go wild?” he asks me, and I laugh. Scanning through the menu, my mouth begins to water. The deserts are on the same page with appetizers and beverages. I guess—because most people have either both or one of those two with their main meal—he wanted more people to see the desserts and try one.
“I can’t choose,” I say hanging the menu back to him, “Can you just surprise me?”
“Of course, I can,” Gramps says smiling. He goes into the kitchen but returns a moment later with a few rolls of toilet paper. When he sees me looking at him he says, “There was someone in here earlier who said the ladies bathroom as run out. I’m going to change it before I forget.” I get up from where I was sitting.
“Here, let me,” I reply, taking the rolls from him. As I’m walking away, I can hear him chuckling.
“Must really want some chocolate,” he laughs mainly to himself, but it makes me smile.
I push open the bathroom door and the first thing I see is piles and piles of toilet paper. He didn’t run out of toilet paper, someone ripped it off of their rolls. I just don’t understand who would do something like that. Gramps is one of the nicest people I know. Who could have such a cold heart to hurt this man. Rage bubbles up inside of me. Whoever did this is going to pay. I gather up all the toilet paper and shove it in the garbage bag, and then I go into the stalls and put the new rolls on. When I finally come out of the bathroom, I’m holding a bag full of toilet.
“Hey Gramps,” I yell, “Do you have a dumpster outside? The garbage was also full.” I don’t have the heart to tell him that people are vandalizing his diner. He comes from out of the kitchen with a new bag.
“I swear I just changed both the rolls and the garbage bags this morning. Must’ve imagined it, that’s what old age does to you,” he chuckles, “There’s a dumpster out back. I’ll go put this bag in the bathroom.”
I walk outside and go around the building. The dumpster has a lot of graffiti on it, but that’s to be expected. I throw the bag in and walk back around the building. When I get inside, the aroma of chocolate and sweets hits me. On the counter is the most delicious looking piece of cake. My mouth waters.
“Hey darling, have a seat. I hope you enjoy my mother’s volcano chocolate cake.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will,” I say sitting down on the stool and picking up the fork. I cut a little piece off and stick it in my mouth. Immediately, my taste buds tingle with pleasure. “Oh my God!” I say, “This is amazing!”
“I thought you’d like it,” he replies with a huge grin on his face. I try to eat the rest in little bites because I don’t want to seem like a pig, but I just can’t do it. I want all of it now, and then I want some more when I’m done, but I don’t ask. I have to go home and make dinner anyway, and Kevin won’t think it’s fair if I make him eat a healthy meal when I fill up on desert. I thank him and take out my wallet. I try to get away with paying the full price, but he won’t let me, so I stand up and pick up my plate and fork.
“Will you let me wash my own dishes then?” I ask. He laughs.
“If I say no, it looks like you’ll just do it anyway, so sure. Go ahead. I’ll show you where the sink is.” I follow him into the kitchen, which is a lot smaller than I was expecting. How is it possible that this amazing food is all cooked on a stove that doesn’t look like it cost more than $300? Grandpa really must have some skills; his food tastes like it’s from the heavens. I walk over to the sink and turn on the water. There are already a pile of dishes sitting there waiting to be washed, so once the sink if full, I drop the dishes in and grab a rag. While scrubbing and rinsing the plates, Gramps dries.
“So, Kristy, do you have any grandparents that are still alive or am I your only one.” I turn and smile at him.
“I have others; they just never come to visit me. I don’t think they really care; I don’t think anybody cares. I don’t see why you’re being so nice to me when I haven’t done anything nice to you.” It’s quiet for a few minutes after I say that, the only sound coming from the splash of the water as I take a plate out and run the dishcloth over its surface.
Finally Gramps says, “Kristy, you are a beautiful, intelligent, friendly young women. There are probably more people than you can count who care about you.” I turn my head away form his gaze, forcing all my attention on scrubbing an already clean bowl.
“No one cares,” I murmur quietly, thinking about my parents. If my mom cared she wouldn’t have tried to commit suicide, and if my dad cared, he would quit his drugs and drinking and be home more to help me with homework and anything else I would need help with.
“Kristy, oh Kristy, here give that to me,” Gramps says trying to pry the bowl out of my hands. “We need to get you cleaned up, Kristy. They’re going to thyink I cut you.” I look down at my hands through blurry eyes. Seeing blood drip from gashes on my hands, I drop the bowl, and Grandpa catches it as it falls in fragments. He drops the pieces into a nearby trashcan, then grabs a clean towel and comes over to me. Gently, he wraps my crimson hands into the towel.
“I have band-aids upstairs. You can wait down here and I’ll go get them if you don’t want to follow me up.”
“Upstairs?” I ask, wondering why I’ve never seen any stairs.
“My house is upstairs. I’m too old to be traveling great distances to my work,” he chuckles.
“I’ll go up with you!” I say. He leads me to the back of the kitchen and up the flight of stairs that were hiding back there. When we reach the top, I look around. Because of the couch and television set, I figure this is his living room.
“The bathroom is over here,” Grandpa calls from down the hallway. I walk to where he is standing.
“You should really rinse your cuts off.” I go over to the sink, and he takes the towel from me and turns on the faucet. I stick my hands underneath the water and wait for the sting. It doesn’t come. Sitting on the toilet seat, Gramps turns off the water and gets some bandages out from under the sink. He takes my hands in both of his and looks at them.
“These are really deep and long. I don’t think band-aids cover them,” he says.
“Come on, they can’t be that bad,” I reply. He ignores me.
“You may need stitches,” he continues.
“It doesn’t even hurt!” I exclaim. I want to add that it feels good, the cuts wiped away all the pain on the inside, but somehow that doesn’t seem right.
“I’ll see what I can do to wrap them up now, but you might want to have a doctor look at them.”
“I can’t go to the doctor!” I scream.
“Why not?” he asks, looking under his sink for something else.
“I… I hate going to the doctors,” I stammer. I can’t tell him the real reason I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t tell him that the doctor will see the healing wounds on my neck, and then, he’ll send me to the crazy house for trying to kill myself.
Grandpa takes some gauze from underneath the sink and begins to wrap my hands with it.
“This will stop the bleeding and keep the cuts clean, but you have to change it at least once every two days. I would take some Advil or Tylenol for the pain.” I laugh. “What’s so funny?” he asks.
“You sound exactly like a doctor.” Helooks confused for a few seconds as if he’s wondering how he sounds like one, but then he chuckles.
“I thought you were afraid of doctors. Shouldn’t you be running away?” he says.
“Oh, I am. I just can’t be afraid of you.”

When I finally decide it’s time to leave the diner, I thank Grandpa for everything and begin to run home. It’s surprising how much today has gotten me in such a good mood. Maybe the spirits finally decided that my brother and I deserve at least one good day in our lives. Smiling, I open the door and walk into the house.
“Kevin, I’m home! Sorry I didn’t leave a note or anything. I hope you didn’t worry!” I shout hearing voices in the next room. Moments later Kevin comes running into the room with a huge grin on his face.
“Kristy, I’m so glad you’re home! You’re never going to believe what happened today!” he exclaimed.
“Does it have anything to do with a cute girl that you like?” I ask him.
“No! It has to do with Mom,” he replies. Automatically, I start to worry. What about Mom? Did she get hurt? Did she die? Kevin seemed like he was in a good mood, but could I be mistaking that with worry? I really doubt it. Plus, if anything bad happened to Mom, Kevin would be crying. He loves her and doesn’t care about how much she hurt us. I wish I was more like him in that way, but I will never be. I can’t forgive as easily as him. If I have any love in me at all, it would not be unconditional.
“What about Mom?” I ask, faking the best smile I could.
“Follow the voices,” is all he says. I listen for a moment and decide that the voices are coming from the living room. Wiping sweat off my forehead, I go into the living room and automatically freeze.
“Mom!” I scream, running toward her and throwing my arms around her. “You’re all better!” She wraps her arms around me slowly.
“Not quite yet, Kris, but I’m getting there. I don’t know how I could have done any of this without you,” she replies. I lean back from her, so I can see her face. She has a smile that stretches all the way up to her eyes.
“But how did this happen? You wouldn’t even talk to me this morning.”
“It’s a long story, Kristy. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Right now, I just want to lie down. My head is killing me. I called the nurse, and she said it’ll take a while before I can work properly again, but I will very soon. I promise.” She smiles, and I can feel tears of joy streaming down my face. Then I remember the other voice I heard, and I look around the room for the owner of it. After I scan the room and still can’t see anybody else, I decide the person must’ve stepped out of the room when I came in.
“Who else was in here?” I ask my mom confused. Right then, a man steps through the doorway holding a glass of water and walks toward my mom with it.
“Hello, Kristy,” he says in his familiar voice that makes me want to puke. “How have you been?” I stand up and look him right in the eye.
“I was very good up until this moment, thank you,” I reply, getting ready for a fight.