Chapstick Boi

5 - Jordie Shore

Ten minutes later I've changed into a My Chemical Romance band shirt --which doubles as my pyjama top-- paired with cherry tartan bottoms. Packing black shirts, pants and shoes for the upcoming Drama Workshop.

The route to Elmerose Public K-12 school, where the lessons are being held takes approximately ninety minutes from my house. So, the hour and a half trek there and back in the mornings and afternoon for the next six weeks means five thirty a.m. wake ups.

Shit.

Bleep, bleep. 

Bleep, bleep.

Searching for my phones faint alarm in the disorderly mess that consumes my carpeted bedroom floor, sorting through piles of wrinkled clothes a single random shoe here and there adding to the overwhelming hodgepodge of attire.

Earth to Spooky? Too gay to function Lesbian... do you read me?

I laugh half in pain, half in happiness as I read the message in an unnatural position after toppling a over t to retract my phone from beneath a hefty record collection.

Jayden Connors is a recent graduate from a place I can't remember the name of, he's part of the Drama Workshop and we haven't seen each other since the last performance night last year but contact regularly.

Ground control to major gay, over and out

Signing off with the laughing emoji, Jay and I delve into a lengthy conversation including various topics that start at premenstrual hormones and end in Indiana Jones references.

Chatting for hours I fall asleep mid message reply to be startled awake by my mum, placing Buster on my back who carefully sniffs the surface his long tongue sweeping my ear like a wet willy. 

I jolt awake, my room left in it's untidy state, "Hurry up, eat your breakfast or we're gonna be late, you're alarm didn't go off—"

"I don't have an alarm." I state groggily, rolling onto my back granting Buster full range face licking.

"Doesn't matter," She claps scaring the shit out of me, "Come on! Up and at 'em!" Briskly abandoning the dim room, Buster pounces through an ocean of attire tailing after her.

I turn on my side, resting my puffy eyes ready to dose off to sleep again. "You got everything packed for today?" She calls back from the kitchen. At this my eyes spring open like a flap.

I forgot to pack everything for today.

*

Within fifteen minutes I've successfully eaten breakfast, brushed my teeth, dressed in all black ensemble, disorderly packed my bag and changed Buster's water.

By successful, I mean caused my gums to bleed from forceful brushing, wearing my jeans inside out, shoving what I assumed I needed hastily into a Lonsdale backpack and spilling half the water of Buster's dog bowl in sparse puddles.

Yep, welcome to my life. Achievement unlocked, I'm officially a dumbass screw up and that's putting things nicely.

I zoom past a unheeding Rick, snacking on shortbread biscuits his tired worn eyes are glued to the TV blink free.

"You sure you got everything you need?" My mum asks once I sink into the passenger seat. Heart racing from the spontaneous cardio uncharacteristic of my normal mornings mixed with slight nerves.

"Yes?" I huff, adjusting my tangled mane of hair, flattening my static fringe. "That didn't sound convincing at all—" She says the silver Nissan x-trail gradually floods with the subtle Amber streaks of a cloud absent sunrise as the garage door rolls upward.

"Maybe you should try again, go on, prove to me you have the potential as an actor." Turning the ignition key she shifts the gear stick into first, we crawl forwards on the skin tone brick face picking up speed the moment were jolted onto the street. 

"Should I remind you about the incident with my arm when I was..." I couldn't remember the specific age but mum hisses a furious sigh clearly triggered by mentioning the ordeal.

"That, indeed, was an Oscar worthy performance." She utters through clenched teeth revolving the wheel forty five degrees, easing into a gentle right hand turn. The incident she speaks of occurred more than a decade ago at our local playground. I was too stubborn to heed my mother's orders to leave the swing set and monkey bars.

Supposedly, she storms toward me dragging my hands from the flying fox handles as I fight her when I scream and cry about the pain shooting through my arm. At first she rejected my initial protests but the continual cradling of my so called 'injury' convinced her otherwise. She sought professional assistance from a handful of medical practitioners who presumed she was either abusive or crazy as insinuated by their patronizing attitude.

"There's nothing in her medical history that suggests she isn't healthy, judging by these results there's nothing wrong. Are you sure this is your injured child?"

That week, my grandparents babysit us with their usual proposal and mum arrives in time to witness my effortless swinging on the monkey bars, arm functioning to its full extent. "Tch. You were a little shit."

The memory might piss my mother off to the enth degree but her reminiscent smile suggests otherwise. "Correction mum, I am still a little shit but I've grown at least a metre since then." She fights the urge to slap me right across the head.

An entire Panic! At The Disco album later we arrive in dense bush land the vegetation a murky brown due to drought conditions. "Was it right on Berkeley or Hamworth at the next roundabout?" I fumble with the street directory, each careless flick tears segments of the delicate pages as I flick through. 

"I'm pretty sure, yeah, right on Berkeley, then follow the street until you see a sign that says..."

An ink smudge stains the almost incomprehensible sign, "Imma guess, Willy street? No, uh, Willi Son? Maybe--"

"Williamson Street?" She interrupts, "Yeah, that's the one--ffth" A sharp last second turn causes the car to swerve into Williamson Street.

The unpredictable change catches me off guard and my nose collides full force into the passenger window. "Ow." My nasally voice resembles Squidward Tentacles speaking through a pinched nose.