A BUMMER DAY
(an imaginary stream of consciousness from an imaginary fifteen year old. )
Couldn’t hack it this morning when I got up. The old lady was downstairs, screaming her head off as usual. I’m so used to it by now that I really don’t pay attention to what she’s yelling about. It’s usually something to do with me, or my old man. If it was me it probably had something to do with my coming in late and not getting any homework done. I always feel kind of shitty come Sunday afternoon, cause I start thinking about Monday, and that means school. I got nothing against school you see, it’s just that I don’t feel that I belong, if you know what I mean. I get this feeling all the time when I’m there, that something inside me is going to explode, like. It just seems to come up into my chest, and I can’t get anything out. McCleary, the French teacher, says that I don’t have the capacity to respond. He wrote that on my report card last month. The old lady said that I would end up being a bum. I don’t think that I will. I was over at Brenda’s last night, and I think that she understands what I mean. I love her, I think. We sit around and talk, and she listens to what I say. The old lady knows that I was over there, and that was another reason for all the yelling this morning. I told Brenda that I wanted to quit school. I mean it’s just a waste of time for me. It’s not the teachers or anything, it’s just me. The only thing I’d really like to do right now is maybe get a job down at the garage or something, working on cars and stuff. I told that to the old man, and he said that he didn’t think it would be such a bad idea, but then the old lady screwed that up and started yelling about my ending up being a bum. Anyway, they’re going away on holiday next week, and there will be some peace and quiet around here for awhile. I’m always very tired in the morning. It’s really hard to get up. I suppose it has something to do with my not wanting to get up. Also, I get these headaches quite a bit. I was thinking a lot about Michael this morning. I spoke to Brenda about it last night. She said that she understood the feeling, and I really think that she did. She is a fantastic girl to really listen to a guy like me. She only likes me as a friend, though. She explained this to me, and I guess I understand it. Anyway, I don’t get ’those kind of feelings’ about her, the way you’re supposed to, if you know what I mean. I used to get hold of those Playboy books, and really get a good look at those inside pages. Sometimes I’d jerk off looking at them, but that’s not the way I feel about Brenda. I cut two classes today. French and math. Both classes came at the end of the afternoon, and it was like I wasn’t even there to begin with, so I figured I’d be better down at the garage. The guys are nice down there, and they let me help around. I wish the folks would understand about my not wanting to be in school anymore. It gets me down so much, and this feeling that I get in my chest starts to hurt real bad. Anyway, when they’re gone next week, I’ll be able to spend more time with the guys at the garage. Geez, I miss Michael. Aside from Brenda, I think that he was really the only one who understood me. I don’t know what he went ahead and did that for. I cried a lot at the time, and called him a dumb fucker. He seemed like such a happy guy, and was always joking around and stuff. I was the one that always seemed depressed. Even the old lady liked him, and came to the funeral with me. She says that Brenda has no right having boys over to her house, and that her parents should do something about it. She says god knows what goes on. I think she means drugs. She never comes out and says it, but that’s what I think she means. I tried some weed with some of the guys at the garage, and I just got real bad headaches. If the old lady would come right out and ask, I’d tell her that I don’t use the stuff, but she’d never come right out and ask. I think that she’d put the old man up to asking. He would be easy to take, if it weren’t for her. He’s kind of a quiet guy, but she gets him going a lot, and then they both start yelling. It gets pretty noisy around here sometime. And then my chest starts to hurt. Tomorrow won’t be so bad at school. We have phys- ed in the morning, and I like that. I hear her screaming again downstairs. Sometimes I wish that she were dead. I get to feel guilty when I think things like that. I know it’s for my own good when she screams at me. I get mixed up a lot when I think about it. Sometimes I think things would be alright if she just left me alone. You know what I mean?
