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- Sunday, July 08, 2007 – 12:12 pm – Office Room – My House – Listening to “Hate (I Really Don’t Like You)” – With a guy from Bigot Texas visiting my bro – Hey There Delilah –
Author’s Note: This is the 6th installment for this story…God I’m losing my confidence in this…Whatever though, I’m not going to stop because I really like this story, even if no one else does. And now I understand what Failte200 is going through.
BTW the title is not meant to be a gay bashing comment and I’m sorry if I’ve offended anyone. I just thought it was funny and my IGOF will get it when they read the next chapter. But I guess they already do since they’re in my head but whatever. There are loop-holes in every plan. lol. ;P
After everyone’s done eating, they all go over to this door I somehow hadn’t seen that is on the left side of the dining room. Which is weird because I should’ve figured out that the door was there when I passed it twice and when the very cute, and flirty 8-year-old walked in from behind me, yea, it should’ve been very easy.
But obviously, I’m just weird like that.
Now, as we walk through the door, it looks like a kitchen. Everyone puts their dishes in the sink, then they go around the island and back out the door.
I stand there, glancing at the sink, then at the door, and back to the sick. Finally, I’ve decided.
Heading over to the sink, I put my plates in it, then pull up a stool to stand on. Turning the water on, I start to wash the dishes. No, I’m not trying to be a goody-two-shoe, but I think it’s messed up to just leave all these plates here and expect them to magically be cleaned. That’s just stupid. So, I look around while cleaning and this place has pretty much got the essentials for a proper kitchen. I should know what those need because of my life back at Troy.
After, like, 15 minutes of cleaning, I’m done and I jump off the stool to look more closely at everything in this big (to me) room. Like I said, there’s an island in the middle, and cabinets lining the upper walls. Below the cabinets is tiling and then lining the wall along the floor, there is more cabinets. Above the island there’s a metal thing that holds all the pots and pans. Then, opposite the sink and on the other side of the island, there’s a refrigerator with a freezer that is separating two rows of cabinets.
At the end of the cabinets, to my right, there’s a door. I walk over and open it. Inside is a broom and other cleaning thingys. Grabbing the broom and a dustpan, I sigh, and head back to the dining room. Carelessly, I start sweeping. After a while of boring silence, I break into song. Bon Jovi’s “Someday I’ll Be A Saturday Night” erupts from my throat:
“Hey man! I’m alive
I’m taking each day and night
at a time, I’m feeling
like a Monday but someday
I’m a Saturday night!”
I stop singing the song but continue humming it until I get to my favorite part:
“Now I can’t say my name
or tell you where I am,
I wanna blow myself away;
Don’t know if I can.
"I wish that I could be
in some other time and place,
with someone else’s soul,
someone else’s face!”
At that note I pretend the top of the broom is a microphone and throw my head back singing into it and sending the dirt I’d just been sweeping, “Damn.” With that little bout of singing and the end mishap, I get back to sweeping, keeping to hummin’ the rest of the song.
Loud steps on the stairs coming from the top down make me pause briefly in my “slaving” but after a couple seconds I just ignore them. I even keep when I hear the loud person stop in the doorway of the room.
A boy’s voice breaks the silence, “Do you like getting dirty and being an over-achiever?” He breaks through the silence so suddenly it stuns me but I keep sweeping anyways.
I know that was meant to be rude but I just smirk at the floor. I don’t understand the comment so it probably doesn’t get the reaction out of me that it was supposed to, “What’s an over-achiever?” I don’t stop sweeping, though. The boy sighs angrily and I smile.
“It’s a person who tries too hard to be good.”
A loud laugh breaks through my lips before I can stop it. It sounds like a bad doggy’s bark, “So you think I’m an over-achiever? Like,” I think for the words, “a goody-two-shoe?” A low chuckle trickles from my throat.
“Yeah,” He agrees with my own word for his insult.
I don’t try to stop the laugh as it comes out again. And I can somehow tell that he flinches at the sound of it, so I laugh again. “You’ve known me for what? 3 minutes? And you think you know me? Hell no. You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Angrily, I throw the broom to the floor. Walking over, I look the boy in the eyes and recognize him as the 9-year-old, Tristan. Poking him repeatedly in the chest, I hiss at him, “I am the worst and most fucked up 6-year-old you will ever meet. So go off making stupid ass assumptions about people you don’t know shit about!” With that, I walk swiftly around him and out the room, heading to the stairs to find that boy…Rico, I think his name was.
Tristan calls out to me, “What about the sweeping?!”
Not missin’ a beat(like always), I keep walking and call out over my shoulder, “Finish the job you interrupted, ASSHOLE!” I lift my hand up in a careless wave before taking the stairs at a run, laughing like a hyena.
-a.r./ELEMENT