Late Bloomer

Chapter One-
‘Not like the other girls’
         

         I am not like the other girls. I wish I was, I really do. I straighten my hair. I wear mascara. However, there is something that just makes me different. While my friends brag about their boyfriends and drive to parties, I stay at home. I am not an outsider, I am not a social butterfly. I am not a loner but, I am not constantly surrounded by friends. I am too smart to hang out with the burn-outs but, I am too dumb to hang out with the geniuses. I have been a prisoner of this rut for 18 years.

         My friends have had serious boyfriends. They have been in love, been heart-broken.  I dated a soon-to-be felon in 8th grade for three days.

I am 18 years old and I have not really lived life.

My best friend, Missy, used to be in this rut. We used to read together and pout about our love lives (or lack thereof). But, she went to college and that all changed.

When did not having a boyfriend become such a social stigma?
And the fact I am so affected by it… that means something.

And here I am in my senior year. Nothing has changed. I can’t anticipate a major transformation at college because I am commuting to a community college. It will be the same shit there, as well.

When I have a crush on someone, it is a secret I keep to the grave.

I frequently predict rejection.
And I absolutely detest rejection.

I frequently dream about an acquaintance of mine. We met at a party. I got trashed and cried all night about how I am fat and that I have an eating-disorder.

I will neither conform nor deny the above statement.

I cried all over him. I pouted, and I rummaged through the cabinets and counted the calories I consumed that day. It was a bit over 800, not including the liquor.

His name is Rob. He transferred to my school and sits by me in English.
My chances with him are slim Very slim. As slim as Nicole Richie.

Chapter Two:
‘Sleep all day, party all night’:

         That is how my peers and teachers will remember me in the 2006-2007 yearbook. Under my senior picture, where I look obese and retarded, will be that quote. In bold black ink for eternity. My fellow kindred spirits will chuckle. My enemies will have a laugh at my cellulite and addict eyes.

                             Dans le classe:
What is your quote gonna be, I asked leaning forward to study her sheet. It was blank. Rien. Madame jabbered on in slow and exaggerated French. Alex shrugged and ran her fingers through her long hair. Absolutely no clue, Yours?, She studied me. Same, I responded. We turned to our sheets and thought.

                                       Apres duex minutes:
-Have a quote yet?
-No. Will you help me?
-Sure, Alex. Uh… nothing tastes as good as being thin feels.
-Be serious, Hillary.
-I am. How about a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips?
- I was thinking about the quote on Braden Lee’s gravestone.
-Okay, mall Goth. That is a great idea.
-It’s pretty dumb, huh?
-Yeah, a bit. What about… I am the Charles Manson of the information age?
-They won’t post that.
-Yeah, they would. What about your MySpace song. Informatik? The time has come to take control the world belongs to us.
-That’s good.
-Je sais. What about me, Evelyne?
-Je ne sais pas. Uh, DSI! Sleep all day, party all night!
-Pas mal, Evelyne!

“Sleep all day, party all night!”
The best thing about this yearbook quote is I do not sleep all day. And I party once a millieum. This quote is not me at all. Well, at least I didn’t quote Christina Aguilera’s ‘Beautiful’.


Chapter Three:
‘It makes me feel like an empty drone’

         I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the bold flavor. It was cold. A blanket of snow covered the outside. I gazed in the yard. At the pool, at the old swing set. So many memories for less than one acre. I broke away from the window, moving to a nearby chair. My stomach pulsed with pain. I inhaled deeply and took another sip of coffee. The coffee didn’t help. I stood up and moved toward the sink. In a flash, I threw the cup in the sink and tuned away.
I could not face another day.
Another day of girls jabbing about their raucous escapades.
Another day of many questions followed by fewer answers.
Another day of eating.
Another day for feeling guilty for doing so.

I glanced at the clock. Where does time go? In my room, I threw on a tee-shirt and long skirt. I grabbed my over-sized glasses and tote bag. John Lennon would be proud.

In the back of my mind, I resented myself for taking laxatives. In the back of my mind I resented myself for getting up this morning. I walked to the door, behind which, my parents slumbered.

Knock. Knock. The door was locked. Knock, knock. “I’m ready,” I said loudly to the door. I heard movement, and mumbling. The glory of being unemployed and without a car.

Chapter Four-
“I woke up thinking of you and your sunglasses”
Keith informed me, during break while I waited for my sole friend. I pretended to be occupied with my locker. Oh really, I asked. I tried my best to avoid Keith’s glance. His beady eyes always made me feel uncomfortable. My eyes scanned the hallways. Zut. Yeah, He went on. He leaned on a nearby locker, First thing I thought of. I dreamed about you, you know. I bit my lip. I dreamed about Rob last night, I though to myself miserably. So, He went on, Are you going to be on the bus? I looked over, No Keith. I have an National Art Society thing today. Je suis desole. I smiled and slammed my locker.

Down the hall, I spotted Alex. I grabbed her arm. Let’s not go that way. I informed her. She looked at me, Why? I pointed, Keith. She nodded. I noticed a hickey on her neck. I rolled my eyes. Are we still on for DDR? I asked her, Fuck! I have guitar and than I was going to go out with Jay. Sorry. I smiled. It’s not problem. Really. No Problem at all.

Number of Lies today- 1

                   *                              *                              *

In the crowed lunch room, I found a seat with my good friend, Lindesy. Lindesy or Lindz transferred here from Montana last year. She has bleached blonde hair and blue eyes. She was ripping apart a Chicken patty, while her boyfriend ate the fries. She smiled when she noticed me, Hey sweetie! I smiled. Hey, Lindz. What’s up, I took a sip of my water bottle. Nothing. We have decided to come back to school… for good, you know? I smiled. She says that every month. You better. You don’t want to spend another year in this hell-hole. She nodded, I know! I am probably going to move back home. Eric will too. She motioned to her boyfriends of 10 months, Eric Hyche. So, guess what? I had another dream about Rob. It was weird. It was bizarre. Lindz took a bite of her sandwich. Why do you dream about him all the time? Do you like him?  I Snorted, As if! I hate that fucking kid.

Number of lies told today- 2

The aches, the pains.
My stomach was on fire.
I clutched my stomach silently. My mother looked at me. Are you okay? She asked. I smiled, Of course Mom. I am fine.

Lies told today- 3

Oh, okay. I made some pasta. Want some? I shrugged, Nah. I already ate today.

Lies told today- 4

                     *                    *                    *

“Where is Rob?” I asked my Mother. My mother glared at me like a dragon. “I don’t know where that boy is. But, you cannot see him, understand?” I looked at my mother, and nodded. “Sure.” Another lie.

I know he was in the house. I ran through my house, opening all the doors. I opened the last door. Nothing. I pushed it farther and I felt something. I glanced behind the door and saw him. “Rob! I was worried about you. Rob, if my Mother sees you….” I quickly shut the door. He grabbed my hands, “Who cares?” He smiled, and leaned forward. I could feel his warm tongue in my mouth, as I wrapped my arms around him. I pulled back, “Will she find out?” I asked. “Never.” He replied, as he leaned forward again.

                   *                    *                    *

The gauche synthesized alarm woke me up. I looked around. I was in my room, alone. Another fucking dream.

Chapter five:
Changes

“Only mammy’s implacable face forced her to do it.” My mind was completely preoccupied with Gone with the Wind.  I heard people coming in the room. Slamming their copies of Adventures in British Literature, and addressing their friends. I heard distant conversations all around me.  I was preoccupied with Scarlett O’Hara and Ashley Wilkies. Fervently, I turned the page.


I distantly heard, “Hey.” A pause. I looked up. “What are you reading?” Rob asked me, looking toward the novel. I held the book up and showed him the cover. “Gone with the Wind. Wow.” He turned around and opened his own book. I looked over. Five Questions Not to Ask In America.

                                                 That’s hot.

Pretending not to be creepy (although I am well-aware I am), I opened Gone With The Wind again.  Once again, I was absorbed in Scarlett’s overly dramatic world. I wasn’t in Mr. Vejack’s class anymore. I was on Tara Plantation, lusting after rob Ashley Wilkies.

“Hillary. What are you reading?” asked Maura. Maura was one of the most popular girls in the school. She was short, thin, and rich. I looked up, and realized all the popular kids were staring at me, awaiting my response. I put my bookmark in and held up the book. “Gone With the Wind.” I replied. Corey Bernard, a handsome jock held up a copy of Friday Night Lights. “I thought this was long!” I laughed and motioned toward the book. I had never seen Corey Bernard reading for the mere pleasure. “Oh yeah! It’s awesome! That book is fucking massive.” I smiled, “I know! I didn’t realize how big it was until after I took it out.” Laura, a gorgeous popular girl who sits in front of me smiled. “Well, you like to read and you are really good at it. I would read all the time like you, if I was good. I just suck. Want some lotion?” She asked. She handed me a small bottle of Victoria’s Secret lotion. I inhaled it. “Smells good, Laura. Here.” I opened my massive Ralph-Lauren tote. “Have you ever tried this?” She took it and studied it. “Oh my god!” Another popular girl chimed in, “I love that stuff!” Maura nodded her head in agreement. “Me, too. What kind is that, Hillary?” As the lotion was passed in a circle. “Grapefruit.” I answered. “Here,” Out of her purse, Laura pulled out some lip gloss, “Do you like that scent? Try it on.” I smiled and rub the lip gloss over my lips. I handed the lip gloss back to Laura, “It looks great on you, Hillary. You are so pretty.” Maura, who was a few seats away, held up the lotion. “Thanks, Hillary. Can you catch?” Maura asked. I laughed, “Probably not. But, go for it.” Maura laughed, “You’re so funny.” She said and threw the lotion. It landed directly in my palm.


                   *                    *                              *

         Walking out of Vejack’s room was like a breath of fresh air. Let me breathe.  Let me inhale, let me exhale. Let me breathe.
In the hallway, I noticed an old favorite of mine.
“Hi, Mrs. Boyle.”
She smiled. “Hi Hillary! How are you?”
“Very well and yourself?”
“I’m good. Have you lost weight?” She studied my portly figure,
“Nah, I most likely gained.”
“No, you defiantly lost weight. You are so thin now.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Yes, you are! Your pants are hanging off of your tiny waist. You need to gain ten pounds.”
“No, I don’t! Bye, Mrs. Boyle.”
I need to lose ten. 

                             *                    *                    *

Hillary! Mr. Riley called, as I entered the drama room.  I paused, Yeah? I asked. What are you doing this week? Are you working or anything? I thought. Rien. Absolutely nothing. I pretended to think and than looked up, I’m not sure. Why? He walked toward me, We are in dire need of techies! He said. For what, I asked. The drama club play. He said. Duh. I paused. Tonight. Drama club. Rob is in drama club. I looked up and smiled, I’ll be there.
         
                             *                    *                    *

I got home.
I ate yogurt and carrot sticks.
I felt so happy with my results, I was afraid eating would make me blow up.
I avoided food.
I avoided Mom’s questions.
I nervously thought about tonight.
Rob hates me and I have no friends in the drama club,
Why am I doing this to myself?


                   *                    *                    *


         Rob and I are in a box. A small wooden box with little leg room, on one side, I casually lean. He is on the other side looking at me, laughing. We are both laughing. We have no clue what is going on but, we are together. On stage. In a small wooden box. We hear the word opium and giggle again. “What the fuck?” I mouth. He looks at me and shrugs. “Who knows? I have no clue what is going on, Hillary. You know what? I don’t even know what scene we are on now… But,”

CUE LATTER! Do you guys in there hear us?

Of fucking course.
Helen Keller would have heard that.

I tried my best to gracefully slide out of the box, without showing Rob my ass crack. I grabbed the latter and rushed off stage. On the piano, I grabbed a script book and looked to see what the grand finale had in store for me. More alone time with Rob in the big wooden box?


All the actors flocked through the stage. “The Mattress!” “The vase!”
“Get the goddamn pillows out of here.” “Will you get out of the way?”
“What the fuck?” In the midst of obscenities, havoc, and cheesy costumes I heard Mia bellow my name. “Guide the bed!” She asked. The wooden box again. Rob was next to me. He was where I was supposed to be. He looked at me and smiled, “It’s all good, your back hurts, right? Sit this one out.” The massive wooden box was rolled center stage.
I moved backstage.
If you insist.

Chapter 6-
I want to be a pin-up girl:

I have been accepted to Suicide Girls.
I re-read the e-mail. Once, Twice. Again.
“Hillary, we need to go! You are going to be late.”
My father’s voice echoed from the hall.
Tonight was opening night. I paused and read the e-mail again.
I was a Suicide Girl. Me, moi.
I pulled myself away from the computer.
I pulled myself into the bathroom.
I pulled myself into the mirror.
I smiled and glanced in the mirror, smearing moisturizer on my face.
I regarded my reflection. I took in everything.
I was losing weight. I smiled as I noticed my slimming hips and thighs.
‘I am a Suicide Girl!’ I leaned forward and studied my face, my skin.
‘I am a fucking gorgeous girl. I am a fucking Suicide Girl. Why wouldn’t Rob want me?’
Maybe because I told him about my numerous anorexic/bulimic tendencies….
I purposely disheveled my hair and smeared lip gloss over my red lips.
I was ready, and I looked pretty hot for a techie.

Opening night was mad. Actors ran backstage to the drama room, with bottles of water and Cheese-It’s, my job was less stressful. I fell into the role of keeper of peace and quiet backstage. I managed props and helped with the few scene changes. I walked down the hallway, trying not to notice Rob. I looked up and smiled. I tried to perfect my Suicide Girl grin. He smiled, “Hey Hillary.” I smiled. I tried to stop blushing. “Good luck” He smiled and nodded, “Thanks.”

“So, this is lust… la la la. So this is what it’s all about!” The animated princess in my head sang to me, and I turned my head to get a final look at Rob. “No matter how your heart is feeling…” The princess continued.
This is lust.
“Hillary, when did get so hot?” I heard Phoebe Warner shout from down the hall. Rob was at her side, smiling. Did he feel the same way? I wondered.
Nah.
Phoebe ran down the hall, and Rob continued walking away. She tightly embraced me, “You look gorgeous.” She said.
I felt like a million bucks.

*                              *                              *

I went to the bathroom.
One, because I had to pee.
Two, because I wanted to see if I was still beautiful.
(If I ever really was).
I looked in the mirror. I was slimming down. I smiled. I tried to contain the joy from within. I ran my hands over my legs, flawless.
I ripped myself away from my beautiful reflection.
I left the bathroom.
“Jesus, you’ve lost weight.”
I pivoted. It was Rob. He looked me up and down.
I could fly.

*                    *                    *

Drama Club practices and shows came and went. In that week, he did not pronounce his undying love to me. Wonder why? He must have had the flu or something. The next week was as hectic as the previous one. Prom fashion show took up 30% of my time and school took 50%. The rest was dedicated to the internet and My Space. I began eating more after a welcoming bowl of fettuccini made me forget all previous dieting escapades. Days slipped by, one by one. Sleepovers, dinner dates. I suppose I was only half there.

*                    *                    *

“So… what else?”
I took a sip of my water and stirred the ice, absent mindly. I pretended to ponder the question, although it was asked countless times through out the night. Across the table, Mike nervously nibbled on his pile of greasy fries. He looked up at me, eyes wide in wonder. “Anything else?” His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. I put down my water and shrugged, “Fuck, I don’t know. I have been busy reading. Fucking Ulysses, ever read it?” I asked. He picked up his burger, and put it down without taking a bite. “Uly…Ulyssess.” He was not vert articulate and it began to grate on my nerves, “By Homer?” No, you fucking moron! I cleared my throat, “Homer never wrote an epic poem by the name of Ulysses. Ulysses is the protagonist in The Odyssey. Ulysses was written by James Joyce in the 1920’s.” I took another sip of water and pushed the lettuce around on my plate. “Oh…no, actually. Wow… sounds… uh… inter..intersting. No, I haven’t. Are you still vegetarian?” He asked, as he eyed my salad. I pushed the lettuce around and looked up, “No, I am just eating salad for my health.” Shit, that could work. A beat. “Yes, I still am.” I replied, silently wishing that it was Rob sitting across from me. “Oh, that….uh… yeah, that is really cool. Um… I am not a uh, vegetarian. But, uh, I do not eat a lot of meat,” He said, as he took a bite out of a dead cow. I stifled a laugh, and pretended to be interested in what he said, “I only eat a bit,” He went on, “I eat burgers, chicken., bacon, sausage…” I think Jim Dean is more of a vegetarian.
As the list of foods went on, my mind began to wonder. Did I leave my straightener on? I need to clean my room. Shit, I forgot to call Missy back. “How’s Jared?” My face fell and I was pulled out of my tangent. I looked up, “Jared…” I quietly repeated. Yes, my brother. My brother who has three warrants out for his arrest and a minor drug problem. Jared, the root of all my family’s problems, according to my Mother. Jared, ma frere. A plastered a fake grin across my chapped lips, ”He’s great. He lives in Worcester.” Where? No fucking clue. “Oh… tha… that’s cool. Is he still working?” No the magical money fairy buys his dope and pays for his rent. Please stop! “Yeah, he is. How’s school?” I believe I asked him four times before but, who’s counting?






*                    *                    *

After dinner, we left the restaurant. Mike paid which made it more strange and date-like. We proceeded to stroll around the mall. We walked past a smoking area. Outside, a gaggle of mall-goths shared a single butt. I thought back to the time when Missy and I shared a menthol in the cold. I couldn’t blow smoke rings. The guys smoking next to us hit on us. God, I miss her.

Mike and I walked toward Dunkin Donuts. All I wanted was caffeine. That was the only thing that could get me through the night. I thought back to my conversation with Alex earlier.
“You’re going to hate me!” I moaned into the receiver.
“No, I won’t! What’s up?” She questioned
“I’m going to the mall tonight with Mike. I’m a loser!”
‘No, you’re not. Have fun! You’re not a loser! Tell me what happens!”
I hung up the phone. Tell her what? That I am dating a freak like her?
No fucking way.

“What do you want?” I was pulled out of my thoughts again. Alas! We reached Dunkin Donuts. The fat Spanish chick eyes me, annoyed. “Medium coffee coollata, black.” She grabbed a plastic cup, “Nothing in it?” I shook my head. “No whipped cream?” I shook my head again. Whipped cream is for fatties.