The Parade

Chapter 1

There are so many good quotes in this world.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a flower hippy enthusiast who goes around spurting quotes about rainbows. I'm just a guy who thinks we don't know what life is.

It's not a box of chocolates. Or a book, or the sun.

I think life is a package.

You don't remember asking for it, or opening it, or anything. It's just a mandatory thing.

Most people get great boxes, wrapped in sparkles or money or talent. My box was crushed, no wrapping paper, just a crushed black box. I think it got lost in the mail. Lost amongst the powder blue, Nordstrom boxes that belong to my parents.

For about six years after opening the package, I was happy. Blue box, clear skies. In first grade, I experienced true heartbreak. I asked Emily Commy to square dance and she said no, she was dancing with Kyle. I got extremely angry at Kyle. I punched him in the face. My teachers were less than happy upon witnessing this. So unhappy, in fact, that they made me dance with Christina Arguso, who speaks Slovakian, and suspended me.

The thing is, most seven year olds would've let it go. I didn't. I sat on my couch, moping, feeling completely hopeless. I'd look at myself in the mirror and see a messed up kid who does everything wrong. I loathed my reflection. Scrawny, sausage fingers, bruised, dull, ginger nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. I wanted to be Kyle and to have that blonde hair that he had and have Emily Commy like me. I'd stick my face in the couch cushions and sob. For hours at a time. For days I felt as though somebody bruised my brain. The doctor said I suffered from chemical depression. I've never seen my mom cry so hard. I've had to do a lot of mental health work over the years, but, eventually, my parents stopped caring. After my seventh grade suicide attempt, it was like my issues didn't matter. I was acting up, experiencing puberty. The hair under my pits was why I wanted to kill myself.

But things have changed.

No, actually, they haven't.

I am still depressed. Still have hairy pits. Still single. Still ginger. I have discovered a newfound love for Studio Ghibli Films. That's about the only new thing. Still having mandatory pills.

I don't like a lot of things. I like reading. Movies. The Internet. Steak.

Unfortunately, you just don't find that at Clementine Davis High School. Books, yes. Internet, limited. I wonder if I can get steak in the teacher's lounge. If you can, I know what I want to be when I grow up. Or, what I want to be in about four years. With a month left of high school, the future is imminent and unplanned. Like a pregnancy, only sooner.

I drop off my peanut butter sandwich and Jamba Juice off with my counselor, Rebecca Danielle Stevenson. She's probably 25, from what her plaques say. She's a good counselor. She understands my hatred of being a ginger, she is, too. She always listens to my problems, and uses her fridge to keep my smoothies and sodas cold. She knows I have no friends. She's okay with being mine.

Out in the hallways, my sister Elizabeth is laughing at something Roger says. She's the shining, bouncing beauty of the sophomores. Her golden hair glistens, curly and sparkling. She pats Roger's arm and leans into him. He smirks. She's going to come home crying tomorrow.

Quite a while ago, an awkward ginger man and a Disney princess met each other. Cast as the riveting leads of Curly and Laurey in Oklahoma, they fell in love offstage as well. Graduated college and found each other at 28. Oh Jerry I knew I loved you when we first met oh Elise I loved you always oh oh oh my we accidentally made a baby who got all the bad genes let's have another to make up for it oh my genetics are fascinating oh oh! I'd be baby number one. I snagged my mom's dull brown eyes and eczema and my dad's gingerness. My sister got my mom's bouncy blonde hair and my dad's clear skin and beautiful blue eyes. Obviously, I win. Emmanuel Tyler Johnson and Elizabeth Teresa Johnson. ETJ. At least you can shorten Elizabeth. At least Elizabeth's not ridden with suicidal thinking. On the flip side, I am. My body is a wasteland of nightmares.

A wasteland of nightmares who has to sit by Tracey Von Vaugh first period. Who has to sit by you're doing it wrong I'm telling Ms. Martins Ms. Martins Emmanuel's doing it wrong oh wait I am oops sorry just distracted I don't know what to get my boyfriend. Two months until I don't have to deal with Tracey Von Vaugh. I add that to my mental list. Two months until I can actually party. Actually celebrate. Two months until I'm free.

My day is, of course, forgettable. I watch Roger (Elizabeth's little love) pick up Tracey and drive her out for lunch. Tracey is crying by 12:37. Elizabeth kisses Roger by the trees. It's an unforgettable day for all of them. All have different ways of looking back on it. I give Tracey a mint in American History. I feel bad for her. But then again, I hate mints.

I don't think about class during class. I think about what would happen if I exploded. If I burst into flames. If my personal rain cloud had a thunderstorm. My classmates would care too much or not at all. I don't know what I'd prefer.