tired yet? ||cashby||

Chapter 2

"Alan, you're such a freak," my sister Sophie sighed, watching me from the door. I was taping up old photographs to my wall; ones my parents had taken years ago, when they were still young. It occurred to me a while ago that, back then, people took pictures of more important things. There were captured moments in time of flowers, and their friends riding bikes, and the ocean. They looked a little vintage, even, and I loved them. But, no matter what I did, my family thought I was a freak. There was no escaping it.

"Thanks," I mumbled. Treading softly over to the door, I guided her a few steps back by the shoulder before shutting it, just so that she wouldn't get hit. Of course I didn't want to hear her insult me, but I had no intentions of hitting Sophie in the face with a wooden door. I still liked her too much, even if she hated me.

"Fucking queer," she muttered, walking away. That's about as much as I expected, I thought glumly. After finishing with the photos, I stepped back to examine my work: it was like a collage of memories from the past. I had my own polaroid camera, and had been wanting to use it for a long time. But a lot of these pictures had friends in them, or people they liked to be with. I didn't have anything like that, and felt that my photos would be boring. All that made for was low self-esteem and a full roll of unused film.

•••

One of the worst things about having siblings was the inferiority complex of it all. Sophie and Michael were just so much better at everything than I was, and I think my parents knew that. No one was ever particularly happy with me, and they said I was always in the way. So I tried to stay in my room for a lot of the time. But, sometimes, it felt like the walls were closing in on me again, or like I was getting that bad feeling again, and I just couldn't take it. I had to leave, and get out, or else I'd go crazy.

It was so hard to watch them be so much better, though. Michael had so many friends, and they were always over, or he was always doing something with them. He was the athletic one of us, and my father liked him a lot. My sister was smart, and she did horseback riding. Her room even had a bulletin board in it with all the ribbons she'd ever won, like a little prize shrine. I had none of those talents, and it made me feel so useless. All I did was read and listen to music and stare into space and take deep breaths and be alone. Talent was missing.

"Alan, it's dinnertime!" my mom called from upstairs. Trudging up the stairs, I sat down, and they all stared at me for a second before resuming conversation. I was utterly unnoticed for most of the time, and I sat there at the end of our island table with my plate of broccoli and rice, just picking at it.

"Mom, can I have friends over tonight?" Michael begged. My mother looked at him carefully.

"You just did three days ago, Mikey," she said. He bristled at her nickname, an endearment long outgrown.

"I know, but summer just started, plus Andrew got a new game. We're excited," he replied. She looked over at my dad, who shrugged and nodded passively.

"Okay, sure. Why don't you include Alan this time?" she suggested. I faced her with an annoyed look, knowing he would hate me for even being around. Michael stared daggers at me.

"I'm not a tag along, mom," I objected. She watched me sadly.

"Why don't you invite some friends over, too, then?" she asked. I looked down at my plate, trying to think of a good excuse.

"I'm not in the mo-" Sophie cut me off.

"He has no friends." She and Michael both laughed, and my mom watched them disapprovingly. My dad didn't say anything; he didn't care.

"I'm sure Alan has friends. You don't have to do anything, sweetie. You're probably getting busy with your summer reading anyways." She ended the conversation, a huge relief to me. My mom kind of always had my back, even if that sounded lame. She understood that I couldn't be like my siblings.