7/27/08

Today
wasn’t very exciting
but it wasn’t boring either.

After waking up from another strange dream
(I have many of those)
my aunt came in the room
and announced we were going to the lake today.

‘The lake’ is Lake Ontario.
On the shore of which my family
has owned a beach house
for, like, 50-something years
at least.

It sounds exciting-
and I guess it kinda is-
but I know what’s in that water,
and after coming up for air
to find a dead fish next to your head,
swimming in that lake isn’t so exciting anymore.

When we get there
I don’t waste any time heading
around the house towards the shore.
I may not have planned on swimming,
but I did go through the trouble
of putting Dove: Energy Glow on my legs.
Even though it’s a hopeless cause,
I still like to believe they will tan some day.

The shore is smaller than I remember
which means that either my memory has gotten worse
or the water rose significantly this summer.
Either way, I suddenly realized
how much I missed the shore of sparkling, colored rocks
and the foggy horizon that doesn’t end.
It may smell faintly of rotting fish,
but part of it feels like home.

In the winter it gets so cold
that the waves freeze over
and you can walk on the iced-over water
to touch a frozen picture of something beautiful.
Isn’t that amazing?

But right now it’s summer.
The same time of year
as when I accidentally kicked one of those sparkly rocks
right into some girl’s face
because I didn’t listen to my Aunt
when she said to stop kicking rocks behind me.
The girl lost a tooth
and I haven’t seen her since.
Not a very pleasant memory.
So I strip to my bathing suit
and will my legs to tan.

At first I just sit on the rocks and read a book,
which isn’t very comfortable
especially with giant, flying ants and
tiny, jumping spiders crawling all around me.
then I realize how much I must look like a killjoy
compared to my cousins swimming in the lake.
Settling on an option, I put down the book
and sit at the shore edge instead,
skipping rocks across the surface.

1,2
Plunk
Plunk
1,2,3

I’ve never been incredibly amazing at skipping rocks.
I always let them go too late or too early
so they either fall straight into the water
or hit the person next to me.
On occasion I get lucky,
but if you ever happen to see me skipping rocks,
I suggest you run away.
Quickly.

Plunk

I watched placidly as another rock fell into the water.
By now I have come to terms with
how athletically challenged I am,
but that doesn’t stop my Aunts’
crooked smiles
from making my back tingle in agitation.

I bend down to pick up another rock,
determined to show them that i’m not completely horrible.
My hand brushes a plain, flat one
and something catches my eye.

A rock that looks like marble
with white and orange blotches
and wiry black lines,
glistening innocently next to my feet.
I snatch it before the next wave comes in and
place it safely beside where i’m sitting.

I don’t know why but
every year I end up with a collection
of pretty, glittering rocks.
Sometimes i’ll take them home with me
and hand them out to my friends,
but other times I just put them in a pile
out of harms way.
It just seems like such a waste
to let something so beautiful slip away.

And so I skip
and collect
and skip
and collect
Until I notice something
that makes me feel a little guilty.

The rocks I throw are all plain or ugly
while the pretty ones lay safely under the sun.
And it made me a bit depressed to realize
that if I were a rock
I would be thrown into the lake.

So I went back to reading my book.

But i’m happy to report
that when I changed out of my swimsuit earlier,
I saw a very visible, very definite
tan line.

7/26/08

I.
I woke up this morning
and I was scarred for life.
Why do parents think they can get away with things
that even the most experienced teenagers
have trouble getting away with?
I am in the bed next to you.
I am a light sleeper.
That should be enough facts to tell you-
don’t do nasty things.

But of course my step-mom doesn’t care.
She’s getting enough enjoyment from torturing me lately.
Well, not really torturing.
Just being mean.
Like, last night, when we arrived at the motel
she said, “Stop that!”
as if i’d burned her.
I looked down at my cell phone,
my message to Leah half finished.
I asked her why.
She said it was annoying.
I stopped texting.

I always think that if I stay quiet,
if I take the blows thrown at me,
that things will get better.
Because every time I fight,
things always get worse.
This method worked with my mother, but
why can’t it work with the rest of the world, too?

II.
This trip actually started yesterday
sometime around four pm.
What does ‘p.m.’ mean anyway?
I’ve never cared to ask.
But somehow it was arranged for me to be in the front seat.
Not because of my habitual car sickness,
but because Debbie (the step-mom) wanted the room.
In the back she can knit, lay down, or even watch movies
on that fancy dvd player-thing we bought
so that I wouldn’t have to use my Dad’s laptop the whole time.
But now all I do is write and read
and listen to music and text.
I don’t need much room for that.
So i’m in the front.

Not two hours into the trip we stopped at McDonald’s
and I was reminded of why I am an idiot.
I ordered a snack wrap and a sweet tea.

At first this seemed like an ingenious idea.
Compared to a double cheeseburger and fries,
a snack wrap is uber healthy for me right?
But it turns out there’s a reason it’s called a snack wrap.
The rabid, starving animal in my tummy wasn’t happy when I finished it.
So to make up for the lack of food I downed my tea.
And that’s when I remembered
how fast sweet tea goes through my system.
Road trips like this are the reason why
I never complain about the lack of bathroom breaks during school.