Stosha's Stories

        Rachel climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.  She had turned on a night-light but it still felt too dark.  She watched the shadows on the walls with suspicion.  Earlier, while her parents were out to eat, her big brother had let her watch a scary movie with him.  He warned her not to come to his room crying that night and she promised she wouldn't.  I am a big girl, she swore up and down, mostly trying to convince herself. But now all she could think about was the movie, the girl who came out of the TV and ripped out people's hearts.  She shivered and pulled the covers tighter around her. 

            Rachel squeezed her eyes closed and tried to sleep.  But she felt something.  She knew something was there.  The girl was right there, in front of her face.  She slowly opened her eyes, expecting to feel the girls hand punch through her chest and grab onto her heart.  Nothing but darkness.  She sighed.  She searched the room again and eyed the TV in the corner.  Something was definitely wrong.  Rachel resisted the urge to cry out to her parents.  She wanted to run to Jacob's room but she remembered her promise.  She closed her eyes again and swore to herself she wouldn't open them.  Go to sleep Rachel, she told herself, you're a big girl.  If you go to Jacob's room now he'll never let you stay up and watch TV ever again.  And if you go to mom and dad's room, you and Jacob will both be grounded. 

            Rachel didn't open her eyes again and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.  She tossed and turned as the movie replayed in her dreams.  Then in the middle of the night she felt it again.  It was the girl; she was really there this time, right in front of her face.  She felt her hot breathe on her nose.  Rachel swallowed and opened her eyes.  Jacob was looking right at her.  She almost screamed, but chocked it back.  "Wake up," he told her, "something is wrong with dad."  Rachel rubbed her eyes and heard her mom crying in the background.   "What's going on?" she asked "What's wrong with dad?"  Jacob grabbed her hand and pulled her toward his room, "I heard mom call 911.  She said it was his heart."

The first day of class our professor presents us with a brick.  He instructs us to pass around the brick and each assign it a different concrete adjective.  I check in with a friend sitting beside me about what exactly a concrete adjective is.  I sigh quietly.  I already don’t like this class.  Mostly because I am only the fifth person back from where the brick starts and I am convinced I won’t be able to think of anything.  I quickly accumulate adjectives in preparation for my next turn and sigh almost loudly with frustration when someone uses one that was on my mental list.  Why is it always the person right before you who takes the good words? I choose really simple adjectives.  The brick is heavy, the brick is plain, the brick is rectangular. My friend says the brick is porous.  Good one.  Why can’t I think of any good adjectives?  Another girl says the brick is beveled. What does that even mean?!  I feel more like an 8^th grader than a senior in college. Maybe I don’t belong in this class.  The board is getting pretty full with adjectives and yet the brick keeps coming around.  Someone says the brick is contradictory.  This, of course, is true by looking at the board.  The brick by now is heavy and light, dirty and glittery, chipped and unyielding.  But I am annoyed now because the assignment calls for concrete adjectives.  I am hoping the professor will correct him but he doesn’t.  Damn over achievers.  That’s what I get for following the rules.  The professor jokes that by this point someone usually describes the brick as pointless or boring.  The class laughs. I fidget guiltily because I was just entertaining similar thoughts.  I scrap calling the brick stupid.  Then it comes to me.  I have thought of the perfect adjective to describe the brick.  The brick is slutty.  This I justify by the fact that it has been passed around by the entire class.  I mentally pat myself on the back for being so witty. I imagine the class laughing after my answer. I wonder if slutty is an inappropriate choice. Guess I’ll find out.

                    Monday Mandy called me.  She hasn't called since August.  I think she called me because mom couldn't talk.  She was working.  Yes, the job she had to take because I started college.  Everything is my fault.  She asked me about work.  That bitch.  She knows I don't have a job.  She reads my blog.  And I read hers.  So I knew she got a promotion.  Making more than dad.   Rub it in, Mand.  I wouldn't want to work at Wal-Mart, but money is money.

            She asked about school.  I talked but I knew she wasn't listening.  She cut me off to tell me that she is starting school in the fall.  She is going to major in Environmental Engineering.  And I major in what? Philosophy?  Oh, she said.   I am a senior; she knew my major.  I got the point.  Mandy has to be a step ahead of me.  And she wants to go to graduate school.  And I want to go to graduate school.  What a coincidence!  But I should know that there are only five schools in the country with a program for her field.  Aren't I applying to at least six?  I could see her counting on her hand.  Maybe we would be together.  I wanted to laugh.  I am a senior.  She isn't a freshman, she is an employee of Wal-Mart. I should have a Masters before she finishes undergrad.    

            Besides, she can't leave Georgia.  She's married.  Doug, the love of her life.  What a loser.  He’s a mall security guard.  I asked about him. I asked her how she was going to go to school with him working in Atlanta.  Follow her?  Maybe he will.  Maybe he won't, I thought.  Maybe they will live in Atlanta and he'll work at the mall and she'll work at Wal-Mart. Forever.  And mom will still call me on Sundays to remind me that I will never live up to Mandy. 

            But she doesn't really want to leave Georgia does she?  I asked her, but she didn't answer.  Mandy?  I thought I heard her voice break. Had she been crying? Yes. She had news.  What news?  I told her I already knew about her promotion.  This better not be a joke.  Silence.  Then she spoke.  Doug left me.  He wants a divorce.  A didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.  I let her cry.  She asked me what she should do.  I wanted to tell her that life isn’t always what we hope for.  That she can't expect to live in a bubble.  Shit happens.  She shouldn't have trusted him.  She doesn't need him; he works in a mall for god's sake. But I didn't say that.  I told her to start school. I told her to come home.  I told her that everything would work out, that God has a plan for her life.  After all, she is my sister. 

*prompt: write from the perspective of someone you hate

    I don't understand where these accusations came from.  It hurts, you know?  To think that someone would accuse me of doing something so awful, I just don't understand it.  I would never intentionally hurt a girl.  Maybe I was an easy target, I don’t know. People think I am just some big dumb jock who thinks he’s all that. They don't know anything about me. 

I’m really a humble guy.  That’s just who Jonathan Reggard is. I take pride in being humble.  I don’t like to brag about my accomplishments.  People think I'm only a good football player, that's all they see.  They don’t see that I am also a good student.  I make mostly As and Bs, got a 3.2 GPA.  I had a guaranteed scholarship for college before this happened. 

I don’t even have a girlfriend.  Sure, my friends tease me about girls.  They say I’m a player.  I don’t know what that means.  I’m just trying to have fun, you know?  I mean, I’m still in high school, there’s no need to get serious with anyone.  And yea, I guess there are plenty of girls to go around.  I’m not the type to pass girls around, but that’s what happens when you’re the quarterback. The girls want a popular guy; they want to get with the school hero.  I guess they just want to thank me personally for carrying the team to state. And I’m not the type to be unappreciative of a thank you.  Come on, I’m seventeen years old. I can only resist so long.  I try to respect girls, but they don’t seem to want respect.  They want something else.

It surprises you sometimes, these high school girls.  I don’t like the word slut, but these girls are worse than my football buddies.  They’re willing to do just about anything.  They get all hyped up about the games like we do. And when we win they want to celebrate and show us their gratitude.  I can’t say no.  You know how guys are; I don’t want them getting on me, calling me gay or something.  And like I said, I’m a guy, I’ve got hormones.

I don’t know I guess that’s how this happened.  I hooked up with her after a game and she was embarrassed. I don't know why. But that’s no excuse for accusing me of forcing her.  I wouldn't force anyone, trust me, I don’t need to.  Plus, we’ve all had hookups that we weren’t proud of, that doesn’t mean you can accuse someone of something to cover your own ass.  I mean, this shit really gets me riled up.  I feel like I am just an easy target because I am popular and around a lot of girls and my family has a little bit of money, she probably wants us to pay her off. 

She doesn’t get it though.  My family isn’t rich, we live comfortably but we don’t have money lying around.  There’s no way that my parent’s can afford college tuition and my new car for graduation.  I need that scholarship, and all this is really jeopardizing my chances.  Not to mention that she is destroying my reputation.  Doesn’t she know that this kind of thing can ruin someone’s life?