The Quest

My first thought as I wake up Sunday morning is ‘hey, it’s Sunday.’ My second thought is ‘wow, I’m thirsty. And not just for anything either. I’m dying for some milk. Preferably low fat, but at this point I’ll take anything.’

Deciding that taking action and receiving some relief is preferable to laying and thinking about finding refreshment, I slowly rise from the bed. Not being a morning person, this process takes me a considerable amount of time, but eventually I’m up and I start to make my way toward the kitchen. Luckily, it’s not too far away, only one door away from my bedroom (unless, of course, it’s moved since I was last there.)

“Ow…” I mutter as my foot collides with my teddy bear, Cubby. Teddy bears are supposed to be soft and cuddly, so why hitting one hurts, I don’t know, but it does. Ignoring my thirst for a moment, I grab my foot in pain. This turns out to not be a good idea because it throws off my balance horribly and I fall to the floor, putting me in even more pain.

Lying on the floor, watching my life flash before my eyes, I think about all the mistakes I’ve made, all the things I could have, should have, done to make my life turn out differently. I should have worn that beautiful red, oriental silk dress that my mom got for me to the prom instead of a Clash T-shirt and some ripped off jeans, an outfit that got me kicked out and made me spend my prom at the 7-11. Speaking of the 7-11, I shouldn’t have clobbered that 7-11 clerk with a blue lamp just because the idiot couldn’t make correct change. And speaking of idiots, I shouldn’t have called my History teacher an idiotic waste of air (even though he was), because it got me suspended which kept me from getting the college I wanted. And while I’m on the subject of college, I should –

“Lindsay? What are you doing?” My roommate, Mary, says, entering the room, even though I’ve told her several times not to come in here because it is my ‘Evil Lair of Doom’ and she might break something.

“Well, if some people,” I say with a glare, showing her exactly who ‘some people’ is. “would leave me alone, I would be right in the middle of reminiscing before I die a horrible, horrible death.”

“And why, exactly, are you dying?” Mary asks nonchalantly, paying no attention to my plight. How dare she? Her roommate of two months – that’s right, two whole months – is dying and she can’t even show the tiniest hint of sympathy! That’s so mean!

I start to tell my story, trying to convey the complete and utter torment I am going through, “I tripped over Cubby and hurt my foot –

“You hurt your foot on a teddy bear?” she asks, incredulously. How dare she? I wouldn’t disbelieve her if she hurt her foot on a teddy bear!

“Yes, I did,” I say huffily. “Now do you wanna hear the rest of the story or not, ‘cause if you don’t, please leave me here to die in peace.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, please continue.”

“Okay. As I was saying, I hurt my foot horribly tripping over Cubby. But when I reached down to examine the damage, I was dizzy from the pain and my balance was off so I fell to the floor.” I pitifully finished. She had to feel sympathetic now!

“Oh, you poor baby,” she says, finally uttering the words I want to hear – but wait… she has the right words, but not the right tone! She sounds completely uncaring! That’s it; it’s time to play my trump card!

“I’m also really, really thirsty. I’m dying for some milk,” There! She can’t help but feel sorry for me now!

“Oh, sorry,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “I drank the last of it last night.”

“NOOOO!”

Ponyboy Curtis

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