Stephen and Sharpies ~ Watty Awards 2012

Chapter Three

-Alec

     This pink Sharpie that you’re holding, was the beginning of my obsession. It was this Sharpie that began the collection, which you hold a piece of. The Sharpie you’re holding was my first Sharpie, ever. It represents my life, being a girl, and being me. To understand exactly what this Sharpie means I am going to give you a quick run down of my childhood.

     It sucked, end of story.

     My dad was a druggie and he was arrested when I was seven. He got so incredibly high one night that he thought my younger sister was out to get him. To solve his problem he grabbed a knife and stabbed her, putting her in the hospital; intense, right? My mom wouldn’t leave him because she was stuck on the idea that he would get clean starting tomorrow. Those tomorrows were always moved to the next day, and the next, and the next. He never did clean up, when he was released last year he knocked up some chick that he was shooting with and married her. He was arrested for dealing a month later and she, well… let’s just say fell off the face of the earth with all of his money. Not that there was much.

    So after he was arrested my mom broke down and slept day and night, never even caring when I got straight A’s on my report card or when my sister had beat everyone in the JC relays. At thirteen I got beat up at school, you might remember that, it was your now so-called-friends who did it. I still can see that look you gave me from across the field. You wanted to do something-   

     I wanted to so badly, but that would have been the worst idea ever. I couldn’t, I was even more hopeless than you back then.

    You knew it was better that you stayed out of it, no use in two kids bleeding. Though you can’t blame me, I resented you for a few months. I’m sorry to say I think I actually hated you for not sacrificing your safety to just try and save me. What does it matter anymore though, I like you now and the past is the past.

    At fifteen I was self-sufficient and I was caring for my little sister. My mother had turned to alcohol and I was lucky to see her for dinner. I think she’s been going to the bar and hooking up with guys when I am asleep because sometimes I wake up and find the house silent and the liquor still in the same place as the night before. Sometimes, I wake and find my sister cooking breakfast and other times I find her playing with her Barbie’s; she never had time to be a kid. I want to make up for that one day.

    I’ve had it all planned out since I was thirteen. I’m going to graduate and use my money that I have earned from working as a waitress at the local restaurant to buy an apartment. I am going to take Abigail and we’re going to escape. Then we can have the life that we both deserve.

    Now freshman year I managed to slip into the background and no one bothered me, though you turned popular. I got amazing grades and I was the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper, first freshman ever. I did everything I wanted to that year. I was also the year I begun to like you. It was probably the best year I had.

    Sophomore year was different. I had talked to you many times and I had memorized your face. My mom cleaned up for a little while and then fell back into her old ways. I still ran the newspaper and I started working. Abigail just reached middle school and she had so many friends, she had the life I never got. 

    Then, there was this year. I am sure you're wondering exactly why I kissed your arm. Why I did it on the last Friday of the year. I have watched you all these years and you don’t even want to know how much I know about you. There’s one upside to being invisible, no one cares when you asks questions. I have managed to talk to some of my friends or better yet acquaintances, about you before. I have figured out what other things besides sports you play and club you’re in. I know you’re a Christian; you’ve had six girlfriends, only one that was serious. I also know that you’re not doing football next year. You have decided that it’s a waste.