The Cult of Wishful Thinking

American Idiot

 "Goddammit, Jimmy", Her raspy voice just never stopped, "Get in here and clean up this mess you made! I'm not telling you again". It was always the same thing. Do this, do that, the problem that you made, Jimmy. Well, I promise you, I didn't make it. I don't get boozed up and blackout mom. I don't take down half of the living room down with me when I fall, mother. I don't wake up the next day after 2 p.m. and wonder why nothing's been done, Miranda. I don't smoke a pack and a half a day, "Mrs. Norris". Okay, just a pack. But still, she's got half a pack on me. I walk in to see which of my messes I've made this time. Oh, how lovely. A few broken glass bottles and since she is feeling extra special today, a broken ashtray to go along with it! All embedded into the nappy ass carpet she refuses to clean or just replace altogether.

"Jesus Christ mom, I wasn't even home last night", I argue, but she rolls her eyes and lights another cigarette.

"All the more reason to help your ageing mother. The mother who provides for you and gives you a home". She took a long drag of her cigarette and blew out the smoke in my direction.

"Provide what for me, exactly?", I wave my hand in front of my face to clear the smoke and reach for the dustpan, hoping it'll help somehow. "You haven't fed me in a month. I've been going to Nick's house. His family is tired of feeding a fourth mouth but they pity me", I spat. I kept trying to pry glass from the carpet, my fingers getting all cut up and bloody.

"Well then maybe try coming home for once and I'll consider it, you ungrateful ass", She took another long drag.

"Or maybe, why don't you get off your lazy ass and stop drinking for once? Why would I want to come home to you? And what about your "boyfriend" Brad? When is he going to come around again? Probably never, because you're such a bitch", I began to yell, I hated yelling at my mother but she doesn't understand how she is wearing me down.

"Well if you hadn't caused your sister so much hell when you were younger, she wouldn't have killed her-", I couldn't take hearing her talk about my sister like this.

"No. You. You caused her hell. You put her through so much shit. And how could I have caused her hell, mom? Huh? You're my mother for fuck's sake. You were the one who was supposed to take care of me. But let me guess, I was just another Welfare check to you, wasn't I? Just another way to get your fix. Just another way for you to get drunk. Another way for you to get high". She said nothing. She did nothing. She took another drag, blew it into my face and said so camly, so monotone,

"Get out".

I knocked on Nick's door, even though he told me I didn't need to anymore. Nick's house was about a block down. His house had two floors, but it wasn't anything special. Just another beat down shack like every other place around here. Chain link fence after chain link fence. Dirt walkway after dirt walkway. The entire place was a real downer, but it was better than living nowhere.

He answered wearing boxers, expecting to not see me again until tomorrow, I would suppose, because I had already left their house about two hours ago. He didn't say anything, just opened the door wider and let me in.

"What's up with you, Jim?", He asked, kind of bored.

"Mom kicked me out", I said climbing up the stairs as he followed. He nodded like it was nothing new, because it really wasn't. She'd call his house in about three days begging me to come back because she's "so sorry" and she "can't live without her little boy". You'd think I'd know better by now, but I can't seem to stop hoping that one time I'll come back and everything will be in order. Whenever she talks about Leslie, I get so pissed off. Leslie wanted a better life for me. Dad wanted a better life for both of us, but he was out before I was born. If only he had waited just a while longer, maybe he would have brought both of us with him. My sister's suicide was her only way to leave my mother and to leave this place. If she didn't get out then, she wouldn't ever have and she would have been trapped her just like me. I know she wanted to take her with me, but she couldn't kill me and I didn't understand or even know the existence of the concept of suicide at three.

"You think she's gonna call in a few days?', He asked, leaning back on his bed and popping three Red Vines in his mouth at once. He tossed me a few and I ripped the tops off with my teeth,

"Oh you know she will. The same sob story every time". He nodded.

"So, anything new with Sam?", He asked, that same bored tone in his voice like he wasn't actually interested, like he had something better to be doing. Samantha was a girl I've been "talking" to. I keep it at "talking" because it just so happens her and my mother are on the same level of crazy. I shook my head,

"Nah, I don't think anything will change either. She hasn't been around though lately which leads me to think she is pregnant or has some sort of disease". I took another rip at the Red Vines while he grabbed a few more.

"The kid yours man?", I shrugged, "If she even is, I doubt it". He shrugged too.

I woke up the next morning with half of a Red Vine hanging out of my mouth. Nick was sprawled out across the floor, I was in his chair. We didn't really sleep last night, we ended up talking about how we hated the world. I think I came to the conclusion I don't actually hate the world, I just hate what happens in it. I hate the way people think. I hate the way people act. I hate the way people look. I hate that towns like mine exist. Towns that are so small you can hear your neighbor doing his girl from across the street. Towns so small there's no point in getting a divorce because you'd be down the street from each other. Towns so dirty and run down with nothing to offer. I don't even know if we have a mayor anymore, it's like someone just quit trying to make this place run. Like an old car that you keep finding new problems with so you just say fuck it and give up. I hate that people are blamed for things that they never did. I hate that people are ridiculed for things they had no choice in, or things they've done. I hate that people feel like suicide is an option. But people just keep polluting this society with shit. Like one big balloon pump full of twisted lies and rumors. You don't hear about someone graduating high school here. Instead, you hear about the last three overdoses by the kids at the middle school because their druggie parents left it out. Some people just don't have a choice. Some people just don't have a chance, and it truly isn't their fault.

I don't blame my sister for what she did because I would have done it too. I don't blame my dad for leaving my mom because I would too. I don't blame Brad for never coming around except to dip into my mom's bank account because I would too. I want to end the violence. I want to end the poverty. I want to end the bullshit. But only for me. Because I don't deserve it.