Buddha's Angry Daughter

“Someone hand me a another Mickey’s” Scarlett’s slurred girlish voice giggled as she curled up on Madison’s bed. It was a crisp, fall night and this gathering of hedonists had been well under way since roughly 9:30 P.M. It was only 10:45, and already the girls were three sheets to the wind and showed no signs of stopping. It was, after all, a time for celebration, finals were nearly over and that meant that there would be no more 7AM classes or annoying fire drills in the middle of study group to deal with. One of the random “party” goers (that had no real place in this sacred circle of friends) tossed the slightly inebriated Scarlett another bright green 40 oz. tall boy, and plopped down next to her with a rakish grin. She simply looked at him with alcohol hazed eyes and pushed the side of his head before struggling to her feet, still grinning like a Cheshire Cat and moved to fiddle with the stereo.

“Ugh! Madins don’t you have anything besides this stupid Emo crap? Iss hic killing my buzz,” her voice had changed from slightly giddy to playfully whining as she awkwardly flipped through the stack of disks on Madison’s dresser. She stumbled slightly as she tried to slip a burned mix into the stereo.

“Tousin you’re not buzzed, we can’t even legally call you tipsy,” came the voice of the non-important partygoer beside her as he slipped an arm around her waist his free hand steadying hers.

Even in her slightly blinded stupor Scarlett knew this boy, this plebian, could lead to nothing productive. He was a townie, a loser, a pothead that hid behind the guise of political activism. He also seemingly had little understanding of what personal space was. He kept pawing at her, “accidentally” grabbing her as she tried to push away.

Now, to anyone else this might not have seemed so strange, a bunch of drunk college students, someone’s bound to get groped, right? However, Scarlett Tousin was not thin. She was not blonde, and she was not, under any circumstance, what one could, would, or should call buxom. In fact, had she not been "blessed" with such rounded hips, and plush pillowy arms, she might have resembled a prepubescent boy. Her dark brown, painfully straight hair often found itself dyed strange shades of red or pink and was forever falling into her heavily lined almond shaped eyes, eyes that could never decide to be blue, green, or brown. Her flushed, rosy lips created a slow playful smile quietly between two round dimpled cheeks. Her nose, like the rest of her, softly curved into a small peak that wrinkled often when she laughed.

In short she was not beautiful. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say she was not beautiful in the tragically typical, disgustingly anorexic, Hollywood standard worshiped by the Plebian masses. She was not an all around “Cali Gurl”. She wore strange clothes, gaudy jewelry, and believed life was like a movie; in particular her life was a bad “B” movie in which all the rest of the actors got better lines. She existed quietly, on the fringe of other more important lives, the lives of her family and friends. She lived in the room they allotted her and asked little more of anyone. She took up no space that was not predetermined and longed for the freedom of being a wild thing. She wanted to be Holly Golightly and Marilyn Monroe all rolled in to one. She longed for firm lines and tight clothes. She got round edges and baggy jeans.

That was then why this sudden interest of Random-Party-Boy was at once annoying and confusing. Scarlet was unused to attention from anyone. She liked being alone. Even in her alcoholic daze she knew that he was only after her because she was defenseless, and that made the normally pacifistic Scarlett more than a little angry. Giving him a hard shove, she stumbled back across the cluttered dorm room, past Madison (already zoned out in her chair), past Alicia (who had taken up drunkenly kissing her ex-boyfriend), past the tangle of legs that were Ema and Leigh (sprawled on the floor playing ancient video games). She didn’t know what she was moving toward, but it had to have been something, or maybe she was just moving away from the dipshit who didn’t understand she didn’t feel like being fondled. She couldn’t even decide in that moment as she stood there weaving slightly. Either way you looked at it, her mind wasn’t forming connected thoughts anymore; they were blips, quickly there and quickly gone. She was aware of the things around her, she could hear the sounds of Donkey Kong and Placebo in the background, “A friend in needs a friend indeed, a friend with weed is better, a friend with breasts and all the rest, a friend who's dressed in leather…”

She swayed on her feet (not because she loved the song but because she couldn’t keep her balance otherwise) a pair of strong hands gripping her upper arms as she nearly toppled to the floor. She turned to wail on the Random-Party-Boy but instead found herself glaring into the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. A slow smile of recognition spread across her dazed features as she turned fully finally, and flung her arms around the much taller male nearly squealing “Jamesie!”

The blonde laughed and gave her an equally exuberant hug, before holding her at arms-length again, “Tousin you are a complete alcoholic.” His voice was good-natured as he tugged on her thick braid, his other hand still steadying her.

“I am not!” she grinned, her nose wrinkling as she gave a small hiccup. She covered her mouth, her dark eyes wide for a moment before she gave a soft giggle and buried her face in his shoulder “Ok, maybe I am, but only a little.”

James rolled his eyes and kissed the top of her head in a brotherly fashion, letting her body’s weight sag into his sturdier frame. He had been friends with the girls for nearly a year. Technically he had met Madi first, but had taken little note of her. That was until one afternoon while hanging out at Java Jungle, when he’d been caught off guard by the other half of the dynamic duo. She had come bursting into the shop with a great laugh, throwing Milkduds over her shoulder at Madison and Alicia, her cheeks flushed from the cold outside. Her laugh seeming to take up the whole room as they ordered their lattes and Madison introduced them.

The second he’d met Scarlett she’d interested him in a strange way. While at first her blatant “men are idiots” attitude put him on the defensive, he found more and more as the months wore on he genuinely liked being around her. She was the sort of girl who had something and didn’t even see it. There were moments she would say things that could completely blow him away. She had a wicked sense of humor and could drink any number of Irishmen under the table. She argued over boxing matches and seemed to love the lamest movies ever. She wasn’t really the sort of girl James would date; she was too hard, too difficult. She was the sort of girl that you couldn’t ever define what you had when you had her.

James’ biggest problem was he couldn’t have her. She was, for all intents and purposes, not interested in anything from anyone. She told him often how much she despised happy couples. She had given long, painfully funny, and brutally honest diatribes about the idiocy known as dating. She had even confided in him once, while under the influence of Vodka, that the only time she felt whole was when she was on her own. This attitude made her unattainable, which was the only real reason he probably wanted her at all. Really he didn’t even want her it was a strange mix of loving everything about her, and never wanting to see her naked. With Scarlett he got the best of both worlds. She asked nothing of him and made no claim on his life. She was there when he needed her, and when he didn’t she had her own life.

As James kept the inebriated girl from landing squarely on her ass, Scarlett looked up at him with a sleepy smile, her eyelids drooping as she placed her hands on his shoulders “You know, Jamesie, if you walk me back to my room I might not get caught.” She was using her slightly pleading voice as she bit her lip. It would be a complete shame if they were to get caught now, at the end of term, doing what they had for the last year. Drinking on campus was prevalent but strictly against policy. With Scarlett’s luck she’d get half way down the stairs, fall, break her neck, and die. Those were the sort of things that happened to Scarlett, not the dying bit, but the rest of it. Everyone else could get away with anything a million times but the one time Scarlett did it, something was bound to go wrong. Her luck just worked like that.

James smiled and gave a small nod, “All right then, but I’m stealing a can of Beef Ravioli”.
Scarlett gave a small gasp, pretending to be offended, “No soup for you!”

“Not soup, Ravioli” He grinned and slipped an arm around her reminding whosoever was still among the sober, the door needed to be locked when they left. Leading her down the hallway he pushed her door open and helped the stumbling girl inside.

She gave a small grunt as she ran into her computer chair and then lumbered toward her bed. She didn’t bother changing simply fell on top of the blankets and closed her eyes with a little smile tugging on her lips. “Thank You Jamseie. Alysse, The Residence Life Nazi, never catches us when you’re around. I think you distract her with your devilishly good looks.”

“You think so Tousin?” James grinned and dropped onto the floor beside her bed, resting his head against her soft arm.

“Mmmhmm. She thinks you’re a Hawttie.” Scarlet didn’t even bother to open an eye as she bunched up the tattered teddy bear she kept on her bed and stuck it under her head. “She told Madison she thinks you’re interested.”

“Eh? In Aly? Not so much. She’s not…” his voice trailed off as he tried to find the right words.
“She’s not a size four and completely shtupid?” Though her voice was still heavy with drink, Scarlett had led them down a slippery road to a fight. They never talked about the sort of girls James dated because they were icky and Scarlett didn’t approve. Madison and Gina claimed it was because she was insanely jealous, but Scarlett insisted it was simply because he could have done so much better.

James just looked at her for a moment, eyes narrowing a bit “Is that what you think Tou? That I only date bimbos?”

Scarlett gave a small laugh, opening one eye to look down at him. Drinking cheap alcohol made her tongue loose. She said things in those moments she never would have otherwise. “Jamseie, Honey, Darling Sweetness, and Light of my life,” She paused giving a small scoffing laugh “Did you ever actually speak to the last girl you dated?”

She paused again as he gave her a look mixed with sheepishness and slight distaste “If you had you would understand where these judgments come from.” She giggled, resting her head against his shoulder, her breath smelling very much like a disturbing mix of cherries and cheap beer

He looked at her for a moment longer before looking away, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Oh come on Tou! Candi wasn’t as bad as Mason”

Scarlett sat up then, arms bracing her weight. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to form some sort of drunken argument. Ten minutes ago she’d been giddy, now she was just getting plain old annoyed. “That isn’t even a fair comparison Bucko. Mason had serious issues I was helping him work through. Candi doesn’t have enough brain to have issues that need to be worked through.”

Though he didn’t know why, James felt himself become defensive. “Mason was a drug addict who cheated on you with some girl he met at Art School. Those aren’t ‘issues’ Scarlett, those are major fuckups.”

“That is not fair.” Scarlett’s cry was completely indignant as she hit him with her pillow. “You don’t know! You came into the situation late. He was my best friend before we got together.” Sitting up completely she let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed, and James rested his head against her knee. Even when they were fighting they weren’t really fighting, at least not the way either of them was used to. She would get angry, tell him he was a jackass, and then they would keep talk like nothing ever happened. She never just stormed away. Likewise he could pick her apart, but never seemed to tire of her speeches and sarcastic nature.

“I think it’s a pretty damn accurate judgment, besides I was with Candi before I met you,” he spoke carefully, although a bit smugly, as he toyed with the frayed cuff of her jeans. His eyes wandered over the small daisies he had watched her carefully stitch into the faded material not a week before.

Scarlett scoffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest “You met Candi two days before you met me, hooked up with her in a bathroom stall, and called yourself a ‘couple’ the next day. That isn’t a relationship, James. She was a sweet girl, but she had nothing to offer anyone who wasn’t into T and A.” She pressed her lips together and fell into a strange sort of silence. Finally, she exhaled slowly and reached out to toy with his hair as she tried to clear her head. In the back of her mind she knew this conversation would not end happily, but she didn’t know how to stop it. They both pushed hard subjects. Sometimes she felt like it was a competition to see who could say what to get under whose skin first.

“At least she was cool with me spending time with you and the girls. Mason was just a jackass. He tried to sequester you from everyone.” His voice was slightly indignant as he tilted his head to look up at her. She was frowning, deep lined furrowed in her brow as her hand hovered above his head.

“And I broke up with him, didn’t I? You just lost interest in Candi. So, I’m sorry if it’s a little hard for me to compare the two, or believe you would want anything to do with Alysse. She’s a strong personality James; you don’t deal well with women who have strong personalities”

“I deal with you.” He turned then to look at her, almost laughing as he spoke though a sort of guilty feeling tugged at the back of his mind. He didn’t understand fully himself why he felt compelled to drive home what a waste of space her last boyfriend had been. He knew how hard she’d taken the breakup, how lost and crazy and unhealthy she felt after it happened. Actually he’d been the one to finally force her from bed after she missed nearly a week of classes. He was the one that had crawled into bed and listened to her question her worth, not only as a girlfriend, but as a person. He was the one that had watched her tear herself apart with guilt over leaving the jackass, who, at least in James’ mind, had never been good enough for her. He knew how badly her trust had been marred, how battered and broken her faith in her own worth had been. So why then did he feel the need to remind her of what a gigantic failure her last relationship had been?

“I am not difficult!” Scarlett’s voice rose slightly in indignant pitch as it broke through his thoughts.. She, in her own mind, went out of her way not to be difficult, not to force herself upon others and found it highly offensive he would imply otherwise.

“Oh come on Scarlett!” James rolled his eyes and shook his head before continuing “You are the single most opinionated woman I know. It’s what I love about you!”

“I am not!” She narrowed her eyes at him, her lips drawn into an angry frown. “And even if I was, I’m not a size four either, so even though you love it, you’d still never love me.” The words left Scarlett’s mouth before she really knew what she was saying. She closed her eyes tightly against the sound of her own voice, wishing she could take back the words that seemed to echo off the walls.

They were needy, dependant words that she hated. They screamed for validation that she swore she didn’t need. They changed who she was becoming, and made her who she had been. She hated who she had been with a venomous passion and never wanted to be that person again. And in that moment, she hated James for making her say those things, making her feel those things. This was not how she wanted this relationship to go.
Things were simple with James. They hung out, had a few beers, and talked about the deep things in life. They could share screwed up childhood stories and spend hours sitting in silence as they read over their Philosophy books. She could be crazy and silly and serious and scathing and they still fit together. It didn’t matter. That was the best part. His mood seemed to alter to fit hers, instead of the other way around.

Now they were sitting here fighting over who really knew what, and she had just dropped a bomb that could ruin everything. If her life really had been a movie, this was the moment when the director would have inserted a war montage of the A-Bomb and cities under siege. She waited, her lip caught between her teeth, alcoholic daze lifting, as he looked back at her with wide eyes. She had this sinking feeling nothing would ever be the same between them. She had started off mockingly defending Alysse. She had meant to make fun of him and slip into a happy alcohol hazy dream world where she could look like Marilyn Monroe and spend hours with Arthur Miller and Joey D. She hadn’t meant for things to change so drastically with just a few silly words.

James cleared his throat once and then again, looking away for lack of anything else to do. When he finally spoke his words were careful “Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”

The guilt that she had felt melted away to annoyance “You’re the one who opened this can of worms.” She gave a small huff and crossed her arms over her chest, slumping against the wall.

“No, I said I wasn’t interested in Aly, and then you made this be about you.” James’ voice was level and pointed as he looked at her. He couldn’t understand where her annoyance was coming from. Was he suddenly a monster for not being interested in the extremely scary and overbearing head R.A.? Did his ability to see that she was a life sucking force that spoiled everyone’s fun make him a son of a bitch? To a sane person that line of logic would never fly. Scarlett, however, was rarely sane, and didn’t seem interested in listening to logic.

“Ok, you need to leave now,” Scarlett’s hand fell away from her face. She knew technically she was still drunk, but she already felt severely hung over. He, of course, complied, standing slowly and moving toward the door. She followed making sure to lock up behind him before turning on the TV, switching the light off, and flopping down on her bed. The glow radiating from the small box cast strange shadows on the wall as Scarlett hugged her teddy bear tightly to her chest, drifting into a fitful sleep.

The next morning dawned dreary, with heavy clouds and fat raindrops plip plopping to the ground. Scarlett felt as though every small vibration brought on by the falling rain traveled through her body. Standing on watery legs she moved toward her mirror and gave a pitiful groan. She looked like the corpse of a strung out hooker. While she tired to tell herself that it was only because she’d drank so much the night before, she knew really it was more about the awkwardness she was sure would ensue the next time she saw James.

With a disgusted sigh she turned away from the mirror, shut off the T.V. and fell back into bed, covering her face with a florescent pink pillow. How could I have been so stupid? I swear to God, Nana is right and alcohol is Satan’s horrific spawn. Her inevitably self-deprecating train of thought was interrupted by a loud, annoying pounding on her window. Pulling back the vibrant pink of her curtains she looked up to the window and made a small face. Random-Party-Boy. She gave an audible groan closing her eyes Arg! Why do you psychos always find me? I didn’t like you when I was drunk; I’m not going to go licking at your boots because I’m sober. Stupid egocentric self-absorbed boys, think they’re the center of the God-dang universe. All they ever do is ruin everything.

Finally she forced herself to her feet, as the offending party refused to cease and desist with the pounding. She glared unhappily as she forced open the window and looked down at Grabby McGrabberton, arching a slender eyebrow “It’s eight o’clock in the freaking morning. What do you want?” Her voice sounded horrible. Gone were the traces of laughter and obvious good humor, and in its place resided something that sounded very much like a dying frog. Party boy held up a bag from Burger King and nodded toward the door.

“Lemme in and I’ll share,” he was trying to be enticing. Scarlet, however, felt her stomach heave up and she slammed the window in his face before scurrying toward the communal bathroom down the hall from her room. If this is what morning sickness was like, the Brood Sows of America could keep it.

Twenty minutes later she was back in bed, still mulling over the crisis she had created the night before with drunken rambling. Holding her pillow over her head she tried to drown out the sounds of the waking world and slip back into a nice vegetative state. For the first time in the three months since she decorated her dorm room, the bright colors bothered her. The sight of her lime green sheets on the narrow bed made her nauseous, the rosy glow cast on the walls by her pink curtains blinded her, and the very feel of her fury purple pillow under her head made her nerves ache. I am never drinking again. Ever. I don’t care if I said that last time. I mean it this time. This is just ridiculous. Garg. Stupid alcohol making me do stupid things.

Again her train of thought was interrupted, this time by the phone. Sighing she forced herself from her cocoon of self hate long enough to answer. She, of course, didn’t think to check the caller ID and was forced to bite back a groan as her ears rang at the sound of James’ voice. Trying to burrow deeper into her covers her own muffled voice was barely audible, “Its only 8:30. Can’t we analyze how I ruined our friendship later?”

James laughed, the sort of small timid laugh everyone gives racial jokes before looking toward the possible offended parties for an ok. “I didn’t call to make you feel guilty Tou. I was just checking to be sure you hadn’t pulled a Hendrix and choked on your own indignant bile.”

“Har Har Har. You’re a riot Jamie. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go crawl back into the primordial funk from whence I came.” She hung up then, pulling her comforter over her head. It was only ten or fifteen minutes later when the damn knocking started again. Ignoring it Scarlett burrowed deeper into her covers and pretended to be dead.

Pink and Blue Thoughts

"Oh. My. GAWD! Did ya'll see those tacky ass shoes she was wearing?" Gina's voice is tinged with laughter as she plops down beside me on the ratty couch in Java Jungle, nodding her head toward the slightly skankerific girl standing at the counter. I laugh; rolling my eyes and giving her a light kick in her rounded hip, pushing her closer to the opposite end of the couch as I lay sprawled under the florescent light of the coffee house. This has become our daily ritual, gathering together over steaming and/or frozen caffeine (Life Juice, as I like to call it). We are supposed to be studying, but really we just get together to gossip and try to stay connected. Leigh and Emma are missing-in-action today and Alicia is only popping by before heading to her dad's for the weekend. Anymore it seems like Gina and I are the only ones who really have time for one another. Madison is here, sitting no more than four feet away, but on the phone with her boyfriend, arguing, per usual. I love the girl but, seriously, who wants the hassle of dating someone who has major trust issues and screams at you for hours at a time when you upset him? I suppose I'm not the best person to ask. The last guy I dated turned into a creepy stalker then married some forty-year old. Gina is, of course, more sympathetic to Madi's situation as she's been married for twelve years. Sometimes I wonder though, just how happy their marriage is. For the first ten years Hubby was constantly out to sea, and now that he’s a Naval recruiter…Gina hates spending time with him.

Personally I don't see why anyone would want to get married. The most significant relationships in my life have all been with women, starting with my grandmother and ending with my best friends. In my twenty-one years of life I've found that girlfriends are more reliable than men. I suppose that's why this term has been so hard for me. I know that in a matter of weeks I will pack my best friend up and watch her drive off to University, leaving behind her life here. The hardest part… is knowing it will be another three months before I see her again. I can't seem to adjust to the thought of college without Gina; she is the most constant thing in my life. My mother may be crazy and incapable of being there for me; my grandmother, the only really real mother I’ve ever had, may be dying; but Gina is always there to remind me that as long we own pink shoes we'll be all right. A world without Gina is as scary as a world without pink!

I'm having this thought, this reoccurring thought, for the millionth time today as Gina decides to repay me for my earlier kick in the butt and I nearly tumble off the couch and almost spill my coffee. This, of course, means war as causing someone to spill her Life Juice (with an extra shot of caramel I might add) is a blasphemous crime against humanity, especially when it's only nine in the morning. Alicia and Madi are laughing as I right myself giving them a "death-ray" glare and whacking Gina with last month's copy of People. She yelps of course, and I stick my tongue out at her proclaiming loudly "You are so lucky I didn't fall, or it would have been the new issue Vanity Fair."

Everyone laughs, even Gina, as I curl back into my "anti-morning" ball of grumpiness on the end of the couch, and slurp on my latte. Alicia is leaning against Madi in one of the massive leather chairs, even though Mads is still bellowing into her phone about what an asshole Nathan [the boyfriend] is currently being. As she finally hangs up 'Licia gives her the mandatory hug, resting her chin on top of Madison's freshly dyed hair.

Giving a small whimper Madison slips her slender arms around Alicia’s waist, her voice soft and very nearly wounded, "He's bitching because my hair is too dark; he said it made me look like a Goth poser."

Of course we allow her to grouse as that's what best friends do, but Gina and I share knowing looks for a moment before I uncurl myself from my grump lump and patter over to join Alicia on the other side of the dejected sounding girl, petting her hair and offering reassurance, "Well I don't know why you'd take fashion advice from someone who lives in basketball shorts and has a bald head."

I try to be blunt as often as possible now. Gina has taught me well. Before I met her I was a bit of a simpering people pleaser. I didn’t know how to take a stand for anything I believed in. I was so scared of upsetting people or letting them down I allowed myself to always be put last. With the exception of these three girls, I always come first now… but I don’t know how long that confidence will last without the comforting validation of being needed…

Just then Alicia and Gina laugh, they appreciate my snarky sense of humor, but Madi looks up at me with teary eyes. We both know her problems with Nate are about more than just her hair. He doesn't like her to have control of her own life anymore. Everything she does, everything she says, everything she wants, has to be cleared through him. We went to get food last night around one (so, ok, maybe it was morning) and when we got back twenty minutes later she had four new messages on her machine from him, accusing her of God knows what (I stopped listening when I heard the first barking strains of his voice).

This is, of course, the precise reason I never want to get married or be in a serious committed relationship. I like being able to go where I want, when I want, with who I want, and dress however the hell I want while I'm at it. I didn't move away from my mother to end up with another keeper. After everything with my last boyfriend, all the lies and the cheating, and just ugliness he seemed to emit from every pore of his body… I don’t have it in me anymore.

Of course saying things like that, at a time like this, is completely irrelevant, and only worsens the situation. So for now I keep my mouth shut as I drift the four or five feet back to my former seat on the couch. Madi is appeased for the moment, and I'm allowed to fall back into my personal funk. I've been like this the last three weeks, I don't know why. I love college, I love everything about being out on my own and finding a path in this crazy mixed up thing called "life". I went all summer not thinking about fall, avoiding the knowledge of what winter would bring. Then, poof it's the middle of September, and I'm moving back into the dorms.

It was harder this time. I kept thinking about last year and all of our memories and how close we were. Now that Alicia has moved into her own place, it feels like a part of the group is missing. Which brings to mind the fact Gina will be gone soon too, but unlike Alicia I won’t be able to pop over to her apartment at three A.M. because I need a JaMocha. Then of course, on top of my own issues, there is the drama of Leigh and her boyfriend Alex. I don't know what that she sees in him honestly. I'll grant you he's a hell of a lot cuter than Nate, but the boy is T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

We all met him last year; he lived upstairs and spent a lot of time with "the boys", (the counter part to our female dorm hall clique). I thought we all learned pretty quickly he's the sort of guy that likes to have a girl in every port. I know Leigh knew this; they had long conversations about it. Hell, she was one of his ports before they got together! I don't know what makes women think men will change.

Even though I'm lost in this sea of thought, I'm still with it enough to know the Java J. feels quiet, different, today. Today there are no jostling morons rushing for the counter, no hippy poets writing in the corner, no angry businessmen in a rush to get out the door. Today, for the first time since last June, there exists only the four of us, living together separately though we're pretending that everything is how it used to be. Today there is only the rain, a cooling double mocha caramel latte in my hand, and a sense of utter bewildered grief as I watch the life I'd started to build slip away.

Gina has finally opened her Bio book; Madison and Alicia quietly flip through the latest Alloy catalog. We say nothing; we're accustomed to the silence now. There is no rush to fill the air with nervous chatter, but it hasn't always been this way. When we first meshed the two parts of my universe together, my dorm life and my culture vulture world, we all felt obligated to talk, incessantly, about nothing. Now though we are safe enough, comfortable enough, to be together and silent. I suppose that's what I love best about us. There is no falseness anymore, to this world that I've been living in. There are no lies, or mind fucks, or feelings of being unworthy. There is no need to be anything but what we are, because we are enough. Sure we gossip, what group of gal pals doesn’t? And yes, we do talk endlessly about our love for Manolos and Neiman Marcus, but there is so much more there.

More than anything, I know it is this comfort I will miss when Gina is gone. I know she will visit on weekends, and come home for Spring Break. I know that we'll take road trips and crash on her couch. I know the second something happens with Gram or Mom; she’ll be there. I know that even though we won't be "together" nothing can really separate us. I know this; but I don't yet believe it. The thought of Java J. without her breaks my heart. The idea of sitting through Shakespeare without her to share my eye-rolls and soft snickers leaves me feeling hollow and dull.

It is this thought, in this moment, that drives me to shift positions on the couch, resting my back against her soft arm, and grudgingly open my own Biology book. I'm finding more and more I need to physically remind myself that she is still here. This desire for contact is based in some deep-seated fear that every person I love will some how leave me, long before I’m ready to say goodbye. Gina says nothing, simply resting her blonde head against the back of my much darker red one, and though I can't see her face, I know she's smiling her special “Gina” smile.

I close my eyes, and I see us through a stranger’s perception. To the world at large we are nothing more than a group of college students, lounging around our local hot spot. To the world at large, we appear to be nothing special. The world at large doesn't have a clue. I know though. I know that while nothing lasts forever, there won't be a time in my life that I am more at ease in my own skin than I am when I am with these three women. I know that even though our lives are tragically typical, there is a current that flows through us, connecting us to something so much bigger than we are alone

Rhyme and Reason

I have been a writer for as long as I can remember. In my angst ridden youth it was angry poetry about the darkness of life and the pain that we adolescents assume no one else could possibly ever understand. I’ve re-read many of those pieces and feel myself cringe because, quite frankly, they’re not only depressing but clichéd as all get out. During these years I tried my hand at many sorts of fiction, everything from teen drama to fantasy and sci-fi. I also wrote a couple fanfics that ended up being rubbish-bin-worthy as well. In general I’ve found I start off with a million ideas, wonderfully laid plans, and the very best of intentions and by the end I come up short and always lose interest, or slap together an ending that's too perfect, too happy, or just plain old lame. I don’t read a lot of them anymore because they’re just awful, and I dread the day I become an author and one of my friends decides to show the world exactly what I came from. Horrible stuff, really, it would make your skin crawl with all it’s sugary sweetness and plot holes.

It was not until I was older, around nineteen, that the notion writing the real was better than creating the fake. I stopped writing about the wonderfully thin deeply troubled girls because they bored me. I had done it so many times that there was nothing left there anymore. I made the main characters what we in the Role Play Realm like to call a “Mary Sue”, or in the very worst cases a “Misery Mary Sue”. These characters were weak, and so self involved that they allowed for little to no growth, and on the off chance they did grow and change it happened so fast it was hardly believable. It was during this phase of analytical introspection that I really realized that one no one wants to read about perfect characters that are so deeply troubled they can’t ever get out, and two I was so busy trying to make everything fit tightly together by the end I would lose the whole meaning of the piece.

It was in that moment I realized that not every story ended happily, and even if it did, I always wondered for how long. So often we perceive life to be a movie, that happiness is something you get to after a winding two or three-hour journey and then everything is hunky-dory. Its not, to put it plain and simple, life doesn’t work that way. Happiness isn’t a destination, it isn’t something you just get to and then it’s all over. Happiness is all about the journey and knowing what you’ve got when you’ve got it. I decided after this revelation that it was my job, duty if you will, to get that message across. I wanted to write stories that could touch people; stories that would capture the audiences attention and maybe make them say “Hey! I’m not as alone as I thought.” I wanted to write truth, my truth, without trussing it up anymore. I wanted to write out the ugly and the pain, and find the beauty in it despite the heartache and depression it often brought to the forefront of the mind.

In a way, my writing has become my therapy. I found that when I first wrote Pink and Blue Thoughts. I didn’t even realize how cathartic it was for me, but somehow to be so honest on paper about the pain that I was dealing with, the fear of rejection, of being alone in that life boat, helped me to accept and see that while things are ever changing, the real things, the important things, the love of friends, doesn’t just disappear over night, and with a little work geography has no hold on that bond. There were of course mistakes in writing the piece, a lot of questions that needed to be answered. In my mind I have such a clear understanding of what my “Gina” is to me, that the lines other people saw as blurry were miles apart and clearly defined in my eyes. It was a case of me knowing so much more than my readers and forgetting that they wouldn’t have my inherent knowledge of this relationship between the girls. This became more obvious to me when I allowed said friends to read it. They knew the stories, the ideas, the conversations, the moments we had shared like that over lunch or dinner the last year that I lived in the dorms, and they understood it. However, if I wanted to reach a broader audience there are things I would have to change, explain, and rearrange.

My next story, Buddha‘s Angry Daughter or The Dangers of Self Medicating, presented no end of problems for me. I actually wrote four different versions, one of which I started after I had written the copy you will eventually see. From the word go, nothing seemed right, I was so angry at this stupid story that when I finally buckled down to write the version I eventually handed it I was just throwing words on the page. I didn’t even care anymore. I then found it funny that everyone seemed to appreciate this story, liking it even better than the one that had come so easily only weeks before. I added no bells and whistles to Scarlett. She is what she is, and what she is, is me. I believe this to be the root of my problem honestly. In Pink and Blue Thoughts the narrator was me of course, but she was under a guise of the first person. I never really talked about her, faced her, or brought her real issues out into the open. I could write about her because I never really had to confront her. With the second story I had to face Scarlett, face her self-destructive nature, her anger, her pain. I had to own it, and know it, and write it. I couldn’t hide from it anymore, and I couldn’t slap a Band-Aid over it with a happy ending in which she ended up with James and lost forty pounds. Life doesn’t work like that, and writing Scarlett made me realize that in doing that I would be losing the honesty, the realness, and beauty of her, while giving into all the clichés that I hate. I found when I was editing that I couldn’t cheapen her like that. I couldn’t take away from the cycle of her story by interrupting it with a happy ending. So, I left it where it was. There was no resolution, but that was the point. This was a story about life, about the mistakes we make, and the lies we tell ourselves to get in our own way. It drove me crazy, and I hated every minute of it, but apparently that makes good fiction.

I’m working on a novel, just a little collection of vignettes about the girls in my stories. The working title is If I Could Have Been Monroe: and Other Laments of a Curvy Cuddly Chubby FAT Girl. I’ve already decided on the dedication page too, call it a little premature but I really believe it’s fitting given everything I’ve learned about myself and my art this last quarter; I dedicate these words to those who wont get them, but more importantly to those who wont like them.

This blog will be my working page with snipets of the chapters and character work. Enjoy.