The Narrator

2 - I Have A Casual Freakout

Journal Entry

December 3rd, 6:46 PM

Problem! Problem! BIG PROBLEM!!!

What do I do?! Oh God! Sweet Jesus, what do I do?!

The voices have gone quiet for now... but who knows how long it'll last? I have to think of something! ANYTHING!

I'd call Alex... if he actually had an iPod or a cell phone or anything to loan me. Stupid Alex and his financial problems!

That was rude. That was really mean. I'm sorry. I don't mean it. I'm just FREAKING OUT!!!

School tomorrow and I don't have my iPod. Why, you may ask? Oh yes, of course.

BECAUSE MOM SMASHED IT INTO A BILLION PIECES!!!

Okay. I'm exaggerating a bit. But she smashed it! Right in front of me! Months of savings from my old job (you know, when I could stand it without music for long periods of time) gone. Just like that. Worthless.

What am I gonna do?

My mom is generally a chill person. She likes to garden, although there aren't many ways she can do that in our apartment, and just being outdoors. She has curly brown hair and light blue eyes. She's pretty tall which is ironic because I'm a little short for my age.

Mom had me at a young age, nineteen. My dad, who was my mom's boyfriend at the time, dropped us like a sack of potatoes the moment he found out he was going to be a father.

Never met the son of a gun.

Now, seventeen years later, Mom and I live together in an apartment in New York. She works a job with a difficult boss and I've always tried to be a good kid for her.

That is, I tried.

I was eating dinner with my iPod volume on high and my earbuds in. My mom had to constantly tap my shoulder to get my attention as she tried to talk to me. You know; the typical mom stuff. How was school? Do you have homework? I'm going shopping tomorrow; do you need any new underwear?

Because who doesn't love discussing underwear while eating takeout dinner, right?

I guess my mom had had enough of my antics. In her defense, this wasn't the first time I had tuned her out to listen to my iPod. In fact, I can't remember the last time we discussed anything for an extended period of time.

I probably would've blamed the IPod too.

Before I knew it, Mom had snatched the iPod off the table, tugging my earbuds out, holding them away from me. "Hey!" I exclaimed.

"Travis Bailiff you are going to stop with this iPod right now! I am sick and tired of you ignoring me and listening to this stupid thing all day!"

"Give it back!" I exclaimed. "I'll put it away, but give it back!"

"No, no, no. You don't listen to me when you have this. I will not have any more of this-"

"But it's mine!" I exclaimed. "I bought it, give it back!"

"Travis you are not getting this back until you learn how to behave like a normal human being. You will sit, you will listen and you will not get this back until you do!"

"Holy crap, Mom! Just hand it over!"

"What did you just say?" She exclaimed. Her eyes grew wide and accusing. My mom hates cussing like cats hate dogs.

"Nothing."

"Travis, you apologize right now or I swear to God I will break this thing apart."

"Go ahead," I exclaimed. "I don't care!" I figured reverse psychology would work in this situation. Boy, was I wrong.

Mom glowered at me and raised her arm, tossing my iPod to the floor. It shattered and broke into two pieces. My jaw dropped and, before I knew it, I was out of my seat and in my bedroom.

I placed my pillow over my face and screamed in frustration and anger. How would I survive without my iPod? In the past few months, I had become completely dependent on it. I couldn't do anything without it. Anything, that is, except freak out.

I've been hearing the voices for... I think it's over a year now. Time flies when you're going crazy. Is that what this was? Was I crazy? The voices used to be manageable, a little mumble in my ear, something I could attribute to my overactive imagination. But it wasn't long before I heard them everywhere I went. At school, at the store; in fact, it seemed everywhere was infested with voices.

That was about the time I quit my job and started building walls to keep out the army known as My Social Life; you know, the one that was pretty much non-existent to begin with.

That was also around the time Alex started getting real interested in my personal life. I get it; he was concerned about my hermit-ing. He wanted to know why I suddenly didn't initiate conversations, and if I was okay. That or he was being a nosy butt.

I hope he really does care; otherwise, I pretty much have zero good friends.

Or friends, period.

Lying on my bed, thinking about Alex, a voice broke into my head.

He must be sick. The disturbing thing is, the more I thought about it, the more the voice sounded exactly like Alex.

Maybe I really am sick.