I didn't know that it was actually possible to want to gouge out your eyes with a hot poker before. I mean, you joke about it with friends when they're swapping spit or you happen to glimpse some fat kid's ass crack in P.E. But you have no idea what the phrase, "My eyes are burning!" actually means until you walk in on your great grandparents fornicating on the plastic covered couch in their basement.

I was fifteen years old when I discovered just how many more wrinkles Grandpa Fred actually had.

"Oh…my… GOD!" I screamed, turning frantically to search for an escape. Now, the one thing you should all know about trying to run away from something, do NOT cover your eyes while running. That wall didn't know what hit it! But I did of course, seeing as it was my head.

Thinking back on it now, it was actually pretty good aim considering. I mean, honestly, how many people could turn with their eyes closed in an hysterical state of shock and only miss the door by two and a half inches?

Either way though, it didn't stop me from having my nose shoved mercilessly up into my cerebellum. I was pretty sure I could smell my gray matter. Damn wall.

Nan had let out a shriek and Grandpa Fred had toppled off the couch with a squeak as his bare prune-like back end skidded across the couch cover. And that my friends, is how I was responsible for my grandfather breaking his hip.

We were sitting in the hospital waiting room, the shuffle of nurses whisking by on their little white tennis shoes irritatingly quiet. Nan was sitting next to me, clearing her throat nervously, and pulling her fluffy raspberry colored bathrobe closer around her. I couldn't look her in the face. Instead, I brought my legs up on the blue plastic chair and shoved my knees into my eye sockets until I was pretty sure the red I was seeing was really the back of my skull and my eyeballs, confused and permanently damaged by their recent mishap, were too far gone with grief too remember the difference between certain colors.

I was trying to block out the memory of the squealing plastic couch cover, and the image of two fossils gyrating together. I had been going into the basement to wrap Nan and Grandpa Fred's Christmas presents (ironically hidden underneath the pullout couch they were in the process of DESTROYING FOREVER!). Never was I going to be able to sit on that couch again! Never would my head lie on the tacky floral print cushions! I felt myself go pale as a new thought went through my head. Just why exactly did they have that plastic cover in the first place?

I could still see the Christmas tree's red and green blinking lights glinting off Nana's wrinkled back. I was disoriented still, because I realized I couldn't conceive the fact that that… sagging pillowcase was Nan's back. I shuddered and pressed my knees even harder into my wounded eyes.

Nan cleared her throat again. This time I knew she was going to say something. I winced as her sweet, quiet voice came out in its regular whisper.

"I… am so… It was just… Grandpa Fred and I… we…" I could hear her twining her tiny wrinkled hands together, the dry skin making a slight scraping sound, "Do you want a cookie? I brought some with me!"

She dug around in her bag, and I heard her pop the top off a tin canister. She nudged it against my shoulder. I shivered. Keep your nasty cookies away from me you filthy temptress! Those cookies are lies! They've always been lies! They're the sweetness to cover up your REAL identity! Dirty kinky sex fiend!

When I didn't reply she snapped the lid back on and sighed. That's right. You just sit there and think about what you've done lady! You think about how you've CORRUPTED YOUR FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GREAT GRANDDAUGHTER'S EYES!

She started talking, as if nothing had happened, but every once in a while a nervous laugh would creep in her speech.

"So… what do you want for Christmas Marilyn? One of those amp things for your guitar? I remember Johnny Cash back in the day. Now THAT was real rock music! His guitar didn't have to be plugged into some gizmo you know. And he was absolutely the most handsome man I thought I'd ever seen! Besides Elvis of course."

She carried on like this for a moment. The last thing I wanted was to hear about how Nan was hot for Johnny Cash or Elvis.

I pushed myself up out of my chair when she started into a recollection of her dates with Peter Cullman from down the street.

"I'm going to go get some… orange juice or air or something." I said, teetering away on jell-o legs. I didn't stay long enough to hear her reply. I stumbled down the maze of hallways, not really paying attention to where I was going. As long as it was away from Hot Grandma!

This side of the hospital was eerily quiet. I looked around at the giant glass windowpanes that made up the walls of the hallway I was in. They looked out over a snowy cityscape where fat little flakes twirled down from the clouds. I smiled as I took a seat in one of the garish pink chairs sitting next to the dusty fake trees. No dirty grandparents here.

Nestling down into the cushiony chair, I watched the snow for a little while, transfixed by it. I brushed strands of my dark hair out of my face, and examined my chipping black nail polish. I didn't even notice when he sat down next to me. It wasn't until I heard him sigh that I realized he was there.

I jumped, whipping my head around to look at him. I nearly died. He was DAMN fine! I found myself smiling at him. Funny how little it takes to forget a tragedy that happened to you in your basement.

He met my eyes for a moment with his own dark swirling gorgeous pools of sexiness. I opened my mouth to say the legendary... "Hey." But just as I got the "huh" out, he burst into tears and dropped his head into his lap.

I was stuck now, my mouth wide open, and that idiotic look of "what-the-hell-I-am-so-bloody-confused" on my face.

He sobbed for a moment, Starting out with little shuddering sobs before the amounted into great wails of agony. I was so lost and freaked out. I was stuck in an abandoned hallway with a bawling stranger and a throbbing nose.

"Are you okay?" I managed to murmur, leaning closer to him. I was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, poor guy!

That was quickly aborted as he let out a huge wail and threw his arms around me, pulling me out of my chair and sprawling me on the floor. He was cutting off my air! I was going to suffocate! I was going to die by some crying guy in a black trench coat and shaggy auburn hair squeezing my throat in an abandoned hallway.

For a moment I was reminded that this is how people in movies like the Matrix and James Bond died. Well… sort of. The secret agents normally weren't crying like a baby when they were squeezing the life out of someone.

I was trying to push myself away from him, but he just clung on tighter. I was being rocked back and forth, my head smashing into his shoulder repeatedly. I was pretty damn sure if he did it one more time, my nose was going to fall off my face and run away screaming bloody murder. I was about to yell at him, when he suddenly stopped crying. He looked down at me as he held my head in his arms, his face a torrent of complete confusion. He stood up, and began backing away as if I were some disease.

"Are you okay?" I coughed out, pulling myself up shakily from the floor. His eyes widened and he turned on his heel and suddenly ran away. I blinked.

God… could people get any weirder?