The Center

Chapter 13 - that I will never live for the sake of another man,

The whiny crooner gets me out of bed for the next two weeks. I wander through classes desperate to find a means of escape, but I'm trapped. Not just by The Center, but by the new life growing inside of me. Nausea becomes my constant companion. Before I eat, I stare at the food with suspicion and decide whether or not to eat it based on how I think it will feel coming back up.

Usually it's easy to point to the person at fault for my trouble. Mother or Father or whoever. But this isn't about them. This is about me. I hate those lame girls who blame men when they choose to have sex. I made the choice. I knew the consequences. I did. And as much as I hate to admit it, I blew it.

The sun isn't over the mountain when the desolate voice echoes from speakers high in the trees. The same song playing over and over again for one hour. Long enough to get everyone up, including the dead. I have memorized the words to "The Greatest Love of All." Ilie in bed and listen to the lyrics as the muscles in my chest tighten. Gingersnap crumbs rain on my pillow and I decide the sad piano melody doesn't fit the"children's laughter" lyric.

I refuse to believe "everyone is looking for a hero," because I never have and never will. Lame humans shouldn't have such lofty positions. Father cured me of those idealist thoughts. Uncle John gave me philosophers like Rand to set me straight. The Center couldn't sell me on this idea of "learning to love myself," because I have already mastered that skill. I'm not one of those insecure thumb suckers like Dee Dee.

The thought of her annoys me. To be honest, I never was one for hanging out with girls, unless I could get them to do homework for me. I shake my head. Those days are over. I want my independent spirit back and today I'm going to grab it. Command it to behave and live "the life I deserve." I pat the pocket with the almost forgotten note from Uncle John.

The corny music floats over the mountains, validating The Center's cult-like feel. I stuff my ears with cotton balls as I pull on my uniform. This place occupies enough of my head already, I don't need the dumb song droning on and on in my skull. Which it does whether I like it or not. I can be having a perfectly nice moment when someone next to me will hum the tune and then I'm stuck with it echoing over and over again in my brain. Which is probably exactly what The Center wants.

I slip on my borrowed socks and shoes then make my bed.

Another perfect example of a successful indoctrination. At home, making my bed was Nanny Bella's job. I never had neat OCD rows of folded clothes in my drawers with identical khaki pants hanging evenly in my closet. White-glove tests that accompany Marks have trained me well. But, external compliance doesn't equate to me internally buying all this junk.

I jump down the stairs two at a time. I'm not in a hurry, but running thumps out the annoying song from my ears. Outside, most of the snow has melted and the naked aspen trees have small green buds on them. Although it's deep into June, the cool air keeps company with the creepy music in the morning. By this afternoon the sun will be high and comfortable. I hate how much I'm settling in, but I tell myself over and over again that this whole place is only temporary. I have twenty-three months left of my sentence. Well, that's for my first sentence. I had as many as eighteen years for my second.

A baby of all things.

A freaking baby.

The whole thing messes with me and I admit my walk to Peer Counseling is filled with inherited attitude. Superiority has been passed down through the Manchester clan like heirloom china. Our legacy includes strong ties to the government and power. My great-grandfather's rise in the political ranks influenced his eight brothers and sisters and their children. Accomplishment grew exponentially through the family, like a fungus.