FictionPress.com - let the words flow
| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
|
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
#1. Peculiarity Leads to Happiness
Peculiar Morning Ritual
“Bloody #!! If only I #&# knew that you’d be this # then I wouldn’t # let Anita bore you!” a man bellows on top of his lungs, his deep, throaty voice cracks when he yells, but he keeps going.
“Who the # would want to have you as his # father, anyway?” another man shouts back, his voice is a bit higher than the first, indicating his youth. The venom in his words, however, matches the older one.
“Can you two just top fighting?” this time, a woman pipes in, but instead of calming things down, the two men’s fight became even more severe, resulting higher volume with more profanity in the words they choose. Sometimes, a slapping and clacking sounds can be heard, which means that they’re starting to throw things to each other
-
I rub my eyes sleepily. It’s not even six thirty in the morning, and yet already it’s noisy enough around me. My cellphone is under my pillow, and it’s supposed to ring twenty minutes later, but since I’m already awake enough and would have difficulty getting back to sleep again, I shut the alarm off. Trying to ignore the thunderous curses coming from the house beside me, I pull out my hair, an exclusive way to keep my blood pressure moderate. And also to keep my sanity stay in my body
The bickering volume is still incredibly high, and since the fight that my neighbors is having takes place only 7 meters beside my house, I can hear all the things they say, whether I like it or not. It’s supposed to bother me, them fighting early in the morning and all, but when you’ve become their neighbor for more than ten years and have heard all of this in every –friggin- morning for at least five years, the last thing you’d do is to be surprised. Or irritated.
In fact, lately, the Harewood’s –that’s my neighbor’s surname, by the way- ‘good-morning’ fights has become my personal alarm. This week, I always wake up earlier than the usual because they’ve been clashing at one another more often.
I’m still contemplating if it’s a good thing or not. Sleep deprivation is something that I’d very much like to avoid. But by getting up earlier, I can pass up my mom’s wrath. Somehow, Mom’s mood always in its worst at mornings. (That’s why I hate weighing my weight at dawn.)
-
“ you, Dominic!” the older man shouts. It doesn’t take a psychologist to recognize the absolute hatred in his voice.
“# back at you, George!” Dominic briskly retorts.
-
“Not a good option, Dominic… everytime you say your father’s given name, the battle would last more than three days” I mumble to myself as I take my toothbrush. I turn around to the mirror, examining my rather-dull face. Looking good in mornings is really not my forte. Somehow, my looks deteriorate when I put my head on the pillow.
Ah!
Is that another pimple? Why pimples love to grow in my face, and my face only? Marylin and Michael share the very same gen as me, we’re triplets for God’s sake! And among the three, only I get pimples and pore this big. My sister, Marylin, has a fetish for face paint and eyeliner, but she also has a clear face. Even Michael, who always deals with mud and dirty balls and doesn’t have ‘Clean and Clear’ to wash his face, never has any skin problem. But me, Melissa, who has tried her best to keep her face devoid from any dirt etcetera, etcetera, has to deal with these bloody pimples!
Probably someday I should stay all night and watch my cheeks; I really want to know how a pimple would pop out.
-
“Dominic!!” Aunt Anita scolds him. But he just snorts his mother off.
Yes, his snort is that loud. Although, my ability to hear –or eavesdrop, on some occasions- things that’s supposed to be not heard is also an X-factor.
Even from this distance, I can hear Uncle George gasping. Or at least, I’m imagining I hear George gasping. I’ve already seen it so often that it’s not hard for me to have the mental image. “You’re insolent and # disrespectful! You’re not my son!”
-
Hah! I make a face and the girl before me makes a weird, ‘I-knew-it’ expression. Told ya that Uncle George would go loco if he says that. Another score for Melissa!
Anyway…
I’m very much aware that I’m acting like a complete ignorant bitch here. A neighbor of mine is having a serious fight with his father, and yet, here I am, wondering how I would conceal my imperfections… I know I should try to placate them, or at least sympathize them. But when we’ve never had any real human interaction before, I doubt I can do that.
My family and Dominic’s family have never been close, even after living side by side for this long. And not only that. You could say that neither of us, Conellys has been engaged in a real conversation with an Harewood before. Sometimes when we accidentally meet in front of our house, we exchange a nod of recognition, but that’s all. No more, no less. Even I and Dominic, despite our same age, school, and neighborhood, have never talked more than 10 words. Ever.
Yes, we’re that anti-social.
And besides, we’ve ignored each other for ten years. Why start caring now?
-
“Get the # out of here!” Uncle George shouts, and a moment later, the door is slammed. I surmise that Dominic was the one who did it.
I’ve finished brushing my teeth and take a peek of the room across my window. Dominic’s room and mine are in a row, I just need to crane my neck, and I could get a very clear view of his room.
The fight that he and his father always have usually takes place in the kitchen, and after uncle George drive him out, Dominic would likely go to his room to pack his bag and rushes to school. He almost never closes his curtain so I can easily spot him entering his room furiously. This morning he’s wearing a simple black shirt with khakis. His dark hair is disheveled and his whole face is red from anger. Without words, he lunges for his backpack and checks his cellphone.
The way his face falls already tells me that he has no new message from his friends.
“What the # are you doing up there?!” Uncle George shouts from downstairs, and Dominic rolls his eyes. His impatience is clearly seen.
For a moment there, I almost feel sympathy for him. As much as I’m concerned, Dominic is a pretty good student, albeit rumors say that he has numerous issues. Thing is, his marks cover up his notoriety. But still, his parents treat him like that.
Sure, my mom is a bit eccentric and my dad never fails to embarrass me, but they never yell at me like I’m an outsider. You could say that we’re pretty close, in our own way.
Okay, I’m aware that ‘our own way’ includes spanking in the middle of the night and bone-crushing hugs at unnecessary events… but thing is, we love each other… We just express it in a new, fresh, and torturous way.
Uncle George yells again, and Dominic suddenly slams his cellphone to the floor. Of course, with his strength and fury, the phone breaks into pieces immediately.
Oh my God. The fight must be more serious than the usual. I’ve never seen Dominic broke anything over anger. He might be fond of punching things (or cheeks, in some occasions) until it breaks and incapable of being fixed again, but he certainly loves his goods. I should know. I’ve lived 7 meters beside him for ten years.
I must have said it out loud because Dominic lifts his face and our gaze meets. His eyes are dark-colored, but I couldn’t decide the color. The closest that I ever seen him is in this distance, so I don’t have the chance to study his feature at all. One thing I know that he’s a pretty good-looking guy, and has this big, strange tattoo in his abs (which is pretty built, too, yum). Don’t ask how the hell I know it.
His eyebrows are raised in recognition and I do the same. This might sounds weird, but I guess this is probably our very first interaction after our first meeting eleven years ago. I almost didn’t identify him, due to the vast changes that he’s had over the years. Last time I truly saw him, he was only a three feet tall, and had these pair of chubby cheeks that’s naturally rosy. Round eyed and always showered people with smiles. I remembered my mother had said that Dominic was one of the cutest kids around, and I responded by pouting my mouth until four centimeters from my face. That’s quite a feat if you tell me. Even Marylin couldn’t pull it off.
But…
Right now, he looks like a stoner who hasn’t got his weeds for three days. Aka.. totally, immensely, indisputably disastrous. His face is still clearer than mine, but something in his skin complexion tells me that he hasn’t been eating and sleeping healthily.
I have to frown at this unusual moment. Sure, he’s sleeping right 7 meters beside me. Even I’m fairly positive that I’ve seen him completely naked and vice versa. But still I find it weird when we finally have eye-contact. And are able hold it for a pretty long time, too.
Another three seconds passes, and I just realize that I must have looked like a stalker whose hobby is watching other people’s room. Stifling a gasp, I draw my curtain so that neither of us can see each other again.
However, his intense gaze has stung to me so deeply that it’s hard to forget it. Even with my curtain hiding his figure, I somehow feel that he’s still eyeing me.
-
“Get out of here!” Uncle George repeats, Dominic’s door is violently knocked.
There’s a short pause.. before,
“Gladly,” says Dominic. There’s another moment of silence. I’m still leaning against my window, motionless and quiet, waiting for the right moment to open expose myself. I just don’t think I can see Uncle George’ angry face. He’s already a scary man to begin with; him being angry wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
I wait for another few seconds, and then brush the curtain open…
Dominic’s room is empty.
‘Well,’ I try to shrug it off, and not surprised when I can forget this so easily.
It’s not like I haven’t seen this before, anyway…
When I walk downstairs, I’m not amazed to find the whole Conellys are already lurking in the kitchen for breakfast. The Conellys are morning people, after all. We love hearing the birds chirping and adore the fresh air.
Or so I thought.
Apparently, everyone but me is more interested in the fights between the Harewoods than the morning’s natural phenomenon. The statement is supported by the discussion about the fight as today’s ‘morning talk’ topic. There are five people in the Conelly family, and every each of them has their own ‘heroes’ at the Harewood household.
“I’m disappointed Anita didn’t join the battle this morning…” My mom says, she puts her hand on her cheek and let out a depressed sigh. It’s a patented action that she’d make whenever Aunt Anita doesn’t yell at either her husband or her son.
“Someday, I swear I’d ask George out for a couple of drinks.” Father proudly announces as he spread the butter to our bread.
“Count me in, Dad.” Michael hit father’s arm lightly.
Michael and my father seem to be having a good time. They both support Uncle George. Father supports him because.. well, I think it has something to do with their ‘fatherly’ nature and all. Even though they never share a word, I’m sometimes convinced that my father and Dominic’s father is spiritual siblings at heart.
And Michael… well, Michael supports uncle George simply because he secretly wishes the tragic demise of Dominic. I don’t really know how the implicit, yet lethal rivalry starts between those two. But I’m fairly sure that the reasons involve a few punches, kicks, and the title of school’s bad boy.
Yes, my dear brother is that vain. But as much as I dislike his vanity, it doesn’t stop me from loving him. He’s always the one who helps me, no matter how complicated my situations are.
Like, at the eight grade, and somehow a 9th grader brawny –and not to mention bloodcurling- quarterback there was convinced that I was head-over-heels for him then tried to give me my very first kiss, Michael was the one who helped me and pulled out three of that said man’s teeth.
Of course, the brave, but idiotic action led him to be the target of some jocks afterwards. But because of that particular event, Michael was notorious for his punches, kicks, new techniques for kicking people’s arses, and his bloody-teeth smirks.
Just for you know, chicks in my school dig the very last thing, which explain Michael’s full schedules at weekends.
Talk about peculiarity…
“Benjamin didn’t even say a word…” Marylin sulks as she stirs her Milo. Her black eyeliner is a lot thicker today, meaning that she just had a bad night. “I think I will brood and slit my wrists…”
The next few seconds are filled with silence.
Marylin is the sole supporter for Benjamin Harewood. I personally think that this is kinda twisted because Benjamin is… Benjamin. He kicks puppies and he eats kitten, plus, he wears purple nailpolish!
I mean, what kind of sane man who would willingly let his nails gets colored purple, of all colors?!
And hate to say this, but it seems that Benjamin has a huge impact for my sister. His emo-ness (I know very well that it’s not a proper English word, so please keep your lecture) is contagious, and my sister has been infected... big time.
“Ah, you’re so emo, my daughter…” mom cheerfully taps Marylin’s back, totally ignoring the lethal glares that the younger girl gives. “Be happy! Thanksgiving is a few days ahead.. and then…”
Suddenly, I feel a strong emotional urge to behave like a kid, “I know, I know!” I chirp, lifting my hand to gain mum’s attention. “It’s going to be Christmas!”
Mom and I share an identical, wolfish grin. We love Christmas. We love to decorate things and experiment with our culinary skills. But above all, we love to shop the gifts.
“I hate Santa Claus…” Marylin says with her melodic, detached voice. Sometimes I wonder if she has cultivated the way she speaks, just to make her sounds cooler…
“Because he’s just another monster in red suit that loves to laugh a horrendous laugh?” I guess, trying to be as cynical as possible. According to my knowledge, Marylin cherishes cynicism.
She responds differently than I’ve intended. Marylin’s lower lips quiver and then she covers up her face with her –gasp- purple-polished hands. “Y-you steal my line!” she accuses me, her voice is tremulous.
Oookkayy… it’s like I’m seeing a miniature, female version of Benjamin (aka, the biggest emo in the world) right in front of me.
Michael is kind enough to untangle me from this unholy situation. “Dominic’s totally beaten.”
Everyone’s eyes but Marylin’s are fixed to me, as I’m the only supporter for Dominic.
I cough to distract their attention, my mind comes back to the brief contact that we had upstairs. “Uhm, yeah…” I say unwittingly, “he’s… totally beaten.”
Michael’s brows shot to his forehead, “I meant that as an insult.”
“It’s more like a statement to me.” I defend myself.
“It’s an insult.” He said.
“It’s neither!” Marylin shrieks.
Alright. A gauche silence. That happens often in my family’s reunion.
“Hem hem, your Milo is getting cold, Marylin…” my mom says, breaking the silence with such sagaciousness that I so adore.
Our morning breakfast is closed with Marylin refuses to drink her milk and says that she’ll cut her hair… because we let her milk go cold. Michael calms her down by promising that he’d buy her a tarantula, and even though he’s been saying that for the last two years –and never fulfills it- Marylin stops brooding and agrees to go to school.
And then, dad takes us to school. Mom comes along, too, and gives each of us the dreaded ‘bone-crushing hug at unnecessary events’ before we step out the car, all sore and stinging because Mom really gave it all away in those hugs.
Is it twisted if I say that I love my family?