"Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe" If I had a dollar for every time I've tried to kill myself, I'll bet half my problems would go away (of course, if I died, all of my problems would go away, but I no longer have that desire). But that would be foolish of me. I no longer dream of dying. One could even say that I no longer dream at all, for when I dreamt, I had terrible visions of blood and violence, endless waste and destruction, and terrible grief all around. I was the vacuum for other people's misery, sucking up their sorrow so they could be happy, yet adding unto my own. No wonder I wanted to die so much! How can I possibly describe my life?! It's so full of grief and angst, maybe I should just concentrate on the here and now. Recalling the past always did put me in a bad mood, and I don't feel like going back down that road. It would be masochism! All I want is this new life, this light that has been newly crowned on my head, a lamp for all to see (metaphors, metaphors, metaphors!). Too bad I have such major abandonment issues, feelings that I can't or won't commit. I've just been left behind too many times to trust people so easily. I have to be careful! Allie has been my restoring water, my own light, my own vacuum—but no, not a vacuum, more like an ox yoked next to me so we can both share the same burden. She has been my saving grace, of this I'm certain, and I'm happy she's so committed to me. Her Valentine's gift was shoddy, but she had made it herself with her own hands, sparing every free moment in Mrs. Keys' class to construct it. It was a crude bust of her face, colored wild and free, her hair shimmering gold as it naturally was. I loved it in spite of how imperfect it looked or how far apart from the original source it was, and put it on a place of prominence once I got home. Oh, what did Allie get? Laid. Hee-hee-hee!! Speaking of art, I seem to be a natural. I'm like the Rainman of art; I'm almost too talented for my own good. I used to make grisly images and nightmarish figures, and sometimes I destroyed my art, whether during or after its production. Mrs. Keys took me to see the psychologist when that happened; too bad Miss Keeping was a poor substitute for a mother. All I wanted was a normal life, I told her. Normal was good. Normal was steady. When you were normal, you didn't have nightmares and you didn't hate yourself. My father was lost to us in a car accident when I was still young, and mom followed him—first her mind, then her body—leaving me to grow up without parents, just my brother. He had it rough enough: college dropout, working overtime six days a week for minimum wage, fighting just to keep the two of us afloat. And here I was worried about my own problems! What right did I have to contemplate suicide? I tried, though. Oh Lord, how I tried. I slashed my wrists and stuffed plastic bags over my head. Once, I tried to drown myself in the tub. My latest form of suicide, before I stopped completely, had been the ingestion of pills, but of course, since I'm alive now to recall all these things, I really can't brag of much success. My brother or some other force usually stopped me from completing the "journey over"—fear of Hell, I guess one would say—but why fear Hell if you're an atheist? Of course, some old religious practices never die. Ah yes, I can remember going to church, and Mass, and praying the rosary to holy Mary, mother of God, that sort of thing. Sacrament, testament, it was all just a bunch of gobbledegook to a young girl like me. Mom and dad seemed to understand it, and pushed it on my brother and I, saying that we needed God, we needed direction. God was our light, and I was His crowned representative here on Earth. I accepted it when I was young, because when you grow up like that, you just accept things. Kids don't have much in the way of independent thought, or at least I didn't. Of course, that all changed once dad died...but that's in the past, and I want to focus on the present. Can't say much about Miss Raulson's history class, except she knows how to make you feel miserable when it comes to tests. I think all that time throwing her money away (to her addiction) affects her teaching. Woman's gotta take it out on somebody, so why not us poor defenseless students? Learning history has always been a drag for me—yes, yes, because the past has always hurt me, more so than any moment in the present could. And the future? Well, yes, I'll admit, I worried about the future. I did (once in awhile) step out of my own gloom and focus on others' problems, particularly my beleaguered brother. So I feared and hated all of time, my own existence. Present days are frustrating. It's not as if we girls are going through enough problems already, what with our growing bodies, emotions, social issues, and the true sparks of romance that must inevitably appear and haunt us forever—we also have homework and studies to attend to! Have these teachers lost their minds? Don't they realize we have more to be concerned about than dates, times, and figures? Apparently they have all forgotten what it means to be a teenager, because I don't get much sympathy from any of them! Oho, sympathy for the devil... I'm no devil and I'm no angel, I'm just me—but is even that good or bad? Science I can do without. I've made few friends outside the artist's community, though I can safely say that I was at least close to Rai. She kept on telling me how I reminded her of somebody, another Hispanic girl from her vacation in London. I just told her the truth—there are Hispanics all over, even in England, even Welsh-speaking ones who can shoot a gun. She of course knew this and apologized for going on such a weird subject. Rai was a pretty cool woman, and she, like many of the students, had changed considerably since the start of this year. We all have, and we all will. "The year of change"—that's what we'll call this. I'm sure the seniors will look on it fondly. I watched as Olivia and June moved out of Miss McGowen's room and stopped briefly in the hallway to chat. Friends, I knew them to be, though I myself never bothered to speak with them unless necessary. Girls with similarities can often be found clustered together, and these two have a shared pain. I'll admit that my own torment helped bring me closer to Allie, and so I guess I kind of owe my angst an apology. After all, without that great amount of sorrow, I don't believe I would be so involved with my Alexandra. Then Victoria came out, smiled at Olivia, and kissed June so sweetly. Those two did look adorable, I had to admit, chatting mindlessly as they walked (or wheeled) to their next class (or else to the bathroom for a few spare minutes of snogging). I couldn't help but think after that: how does one have sex with a handicapped girl? In a way I knew—Allie and I had both been emotionally handicapped—but physical limitations were new to me. For most of my life, except for a brief time when I had broken my arm from a suicide attempt, my body had been left pure and unbroken. Curiosities! Farrah, Nomi, Alisha, Rai, and the latest addition to our group, Avelina (myself also, of course), met from time to time on the weekend to practice together, or to stage an impromptu concert and see if we could get some money from passersby. At times we were joined by others, such as Aintzane or Kathlyn, and even Amina came by sometimes, snuggling in a coat (or else next to Nomi) and using our songs as a source of inspiration. I had heard rumors that people thought we were bitter rivals, but in truth I didn't even notice such a rift. She had her art and I had mine, so what was there to prove? Farrah was the worst musician out of all of us, but she could perform and play improv pieces well, sometimes taking a cue from Stomp and using anything she could. She seemed more our voice of reason, our organizer, somebody who stayed in the background to construct or deconstruct our workspace. I don't think she had an outstanding role, whether in school or even in life; she was more like glue, or the cement between bricks, or the cushion that people could land on. Lord knows we all need supportive people like her. I have to admit, even though I loved Allie as much as I could, I had a crush on some of those girls. Alisha had flirted with me several times, but I don't think it could ever work out between us, even if we were friends. I'd need somebody tough, one who knew pain and knew how to handle it, not just a fun girl or somebody who was wild. I mean, yeah, she was a good kid, but...I dunno, she didn't really hit me. I liked Amina and Nomi more. I actually fantasized about a naughty little threesome we could... WHOA!!! I think I said too much! Heheh! Back on track here! Yeah, my life's a lot better now than it used to. I remember those days and nights when I used to be so full of woe and misery. I know those days are going to pop up again, probably when I least expect them to, but hey, I'm used to them now. I've got a crown of light on my head, so I can see my way through the dark—and of course, a wonderful woman to hold my hand, be my companion, see me through the murk. I'm walking up to her right now, and when I'm close enough, I'm going to give her a big hug and tell her just how much I love her. I can't be stupid about this relationship. I love Allie and I want to be with her. Sometimes I find myself less atheistic than normal, as a matter of fact, whenever I'm around her, even though we share the same view on God. Something about two fallen angels congregating makes things seem better, like our half-lights could come together to make a whole one. One day I could sense that Miss Keeping was downtrodden, as much as I had been, once upon a time. When I asked, she just told me to forget it, that we were here for me and not her. Hey, even psychology teachers have problems—but I relented and spilled my thoughts. "Miss Keeping," I said to her, "it's the funniest thing. When Allie and I sleep together—um, you know—it's really weird. I used to have nightmares, remember, but when I started being with her, they became less intense until they stopped. Well get this. We started sleeping together around early January, right? Here's the thing—it's not like I don't dream of anything, which used to happen, but now...I'm actually having dreams that are pretty pleasant. Interpret that as you will."
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