Deeper

The noises pound in my head, tempting me to scream. But I couldn't. I had to sit here in my seemingly small infinity of pain. Recently I've read a book that taught me so much, one of those things being that some infinities are larger than others. All of the feeble minded people I've tried explaining this to just get really confused. Thinking about a trillion things at once is actually a quite affective way of keeping the sounds, voices, and pain coursing in my mind to a minimal.

"Remington Stork?" A voice called out. Oh, it must be my turn to get ignored by someone who is getting paid to listen to me. Yes, a therapist. I don't see why I need to visit the therapist. Its not like talking to a complete stranger about things that their small simple minds couldn't begin to understand would help me. But I had to make my mom happy. I actually have a good relationship with her, and I can tell she's worried about me, so I do this for her. If it gives her a feeling of comfort that I couldn't give to her because I've lost the ability to comfort myself, let alone my mother, then I'd do it.

I walked behind some woman who worked at the clinic to the secluded room in the back of the building. I could tell she had some sympathy for the patients, but not much. She actually appeared relatively young, so it's probably just a job to hold her over for now. The room was a hospital resembling sterile room with two chairs and a small desk. There were posters about depression and suicidal thoughts hung up in orderly fashion along the otherwise barren walls. The girl who led me here had left, and in her place was a women in her late thirties, or early forties. She had frown line wrinkles, and no smile creases, or crows feet as some call them, by her eyes. "My name's Dr. Ferguson." She introduced herself, without even looking up at me. Rude. "Umm, ok, my name is..."

"Remington. I know." She cut me off with a dry, unpleasant voice. That's how the rest of therapy went. Her being rude, and me not being able to do what I can here to do, talk.

"Hey Remington! I'm in the kitchen!" My mom called as soon as I came home. The house smelled like a berry, covered in chocolate. Hm she must be cooking. She was a really good cook, but she stopped cooking for awhile. I don't really know why, I never asked.

"Hey mom. What are you cooking?"

"Oh, a strawberry tart, and a chocolate pie!"

"Why so many desserts?"

"Today I read somewhere that people who eat more sweets are less likely to get depressed, so I thought maybe we could see if that helps you any." That's what I love and hate about my mom. I love that she cares and would do anything to help me, but I hate that she thinks its like a cold, just give me some medicine and I'm all fixed.

"Thank you mom. I love you." I said as I walked up to my room. She had sound proofed it a few years ago, because I had a tendency of playing my music almost as loud as I could at 2 in the morning. But she knew that music helps with depression, I have no idea how she figured it out, so she let me keep the music. I turned on my new radio and this song came on, I really don't know why I liked it. The song was completely rude and horribly mean, but it was so funny. "...fat and alone you're all on your own, king of blubber sitting on your throne..." Wow, I almost laughed at that one, and that's rare because I haven't laughed in about a month. "That was fat and alone, by Pencey Prep!" The radio mc announced. Pencey Prep, it had a nice ring to it. I pulled out a notebook and scribbled "Pencey prep (fat and alone)" on one of the first pages, reminding myself to look them up later, seeing as I'd have to use my moms computer. I don't have one, well because we aren't exactly the richest family, but were not poor don't get me wrong. I grabbed my bag from under my bed and pulled out the homework I got assigned yesterday. At least I only have a year left in school, unless I go to college. But I don't think I will be. I might just join a band because I can play electric and bass guitar, and I have no chance in hell of getting an academic scholarship, and I'm not athletic at all. Pulling my focus back to the algebra homework that lay untouched in front on me, I realised that I have no idea what was on the paper. Whatever, I can have my friend Chelsea help me on study period Monday. But, if I didn't do my homework now, I would have nothing else to do. Well except maybe look up that band. Yah, I'll do that.

"Mom! Can I use your laptop?"

"Yeah sure sweetie! Just be sure to log out of anything you log on to!"

"Ok!" I don't even have anything to log into, so it was kind of pointless for her to be telling me this.

I typed in "Pency Prep" in the search bar on google, and this really short man showed up. He was about only 5'4". But he was really cute. Not in like a lifeguard cute, but like an innocent guy, who was really hyper and funny type cute. I don't even think that makes since but oh well. The page said he lives in New Jersey, in a town called belleville. What a coincident, because I live in NJ to, and I'm pretty sure belleville is only a few minutes away. Maybe I could see a show some time.