Choking Game (7 page)

ELEVEN

Teenage Revenge
@TeenageRevenge
how do you do the conversation thing with attractive people

~Seriously? Seriously? Still seriously? Will you ever go for at least one hashtag? It's so easy, it makes me want to scream! Here:~

Teenage Revenge
@TeenageRevenge
how do you do the conversation thing with attractive people #friendship #bestfriend #trust #SociallyAwkward

~Shut your Twitter and your phone and say something to her, or I'll shout in your head so loud, you'll think you're going mad.~

"So did you live in New York City?"

~See? That's how it's done. That's how even the attractive people converse. I knew you could do it.~

"I was born in New York City, but we moved when I was eight. Mom didn't want me to grow up there."

"Why not?" Luke asked.

"Mom thought the city was too crowded and overwhelming."

"Was it?" Luke said. "Was it overwhelming?"

"I don't remember all that much anymore," Angelica said.

"What do you remember?"

~Good! Keep on conversing!~

"The noise, the smell, the colors..." Angelica shrugged.

"Colors?"

~Why did you ask? You see colors. Why wouldn't she see them?~

"It's impossible for kids as little as I was to remember anything at all. I was a baby. I do remember colors and noises, though. I don't know why. The first color I remember is bright blue. It's so bright, it still stings my eyes when I picture it in my head. Weird, right? But that's what I remember. The next thing I must have seen was some kind of a flash. I can't quite recall what it was. When I got a little bigger, I'd always tell Mom that I saw a dragon breathe a ball of fire that burned the skyline and turned it to ashes. I don't know how I came up with that. I must have dreamt it at some point. And then, everything was covered in this strange shade of white. For years I couldn't figure out what the exact color was, but now I can see it as clearly as if it happened yesterday. It was ashen, like a dust that covered the entire skyline. The last thing I remember is the noise, a lot of noise."

~What are you staring at? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?~

"I don't know what I'm thinking. Shall I ask?"

~Of course. Ask!~

"What day was that?"

~Yeah. You're thinking what I'm thinking.~

"9/11," Angelica said.

"You were in New York City on 9/11?" Luke's jaw dropped and people sitting close turned to him.

"Mom told me years later that my dad used to work long hours sometimes even on weekends. He'd leave for work before I'd wake up and come home after I was asleep. My mom used to have breakfast with my dad near his office every now and then. She'd take me with her so that Dad could see me awake."

"Did your dad work at one of the buildings?" Luke interrupted.

"Building number one, ninety-seventh floor. Mom said they always met at a cafe two blocks from the Twin Towers. She said Dad wanted to see my first morning smile at least one day a week. Like I said, I was a baby. I don't remember any of that family stuff. But then something happened, and from that moment on, I remember weird bits and pieces as if they happened yesterday.

"To this day, I can still feel my mom's arms enwrapping me while she ran outside. I think that's where I saw the bright blue color. She stood there for so long, I must have fallen asleep in her arms because the next thing I remember was this deafening, crashing sound that woke me up. It must have been the ‘dragon’ because I saw a ball of fire. Ashes must have fallen into my eyes because I can still feel the burning and scraping, even when I shut my eyes as tightly as I can. Then came the noise. It sounded from every direction. They were loud, earsplitting cries that still sometimes wake me up in the middle of the night. I don't know why I remember the screaming because I don't remember any people around me. I cannot picture a single person on that street because I was too small to remember anything at all. Still, somehow I know for sure my mom kept quiet. I don't think she made a single sound for the rest of the day."

~Oh, gosh, this is breaking my heart.~

"Be quiet. I'm trying to listen here."

"And then I remember all the colors wiped out by a thick paintbrush dipped in ashes. Everything turned light gray as if someone threw a bucket of that color all over me, my mom, and everything around us. Ashen gray. That's the color I saw for years. I thought the whole world was colorless as I was growing up."

"Do you remember your dad?"

~Isn't it rude to ask about her dad?~

"No. I don't remember him. Mom hardly ever talked about him. There was one thing I do remember. A few years later, I'm not sure exactly when—I was maybe three or four—Mom took me to the city. We rode the subway downtown and we walked close to where the Twin Towers collapsed. There was a huge, deep hole in the ground. We walked over to a nearby church that had an iron fence all around it. The fence was covered with cards and photos of people who died in the Twin Towers. Mom searched every piece of that fence until she found a weathered photo of my dad sealed in a protective piece of laminate. She took it off and put the picture in her coat pocket.
"Who is it?"
I asked her.
"It's your daddy,"
she said.
"It's time to take him home."
"

~Blink those tears back in. Others are staring at the three of you.~

"That's easier said than done. How come you're not crying?"

~I AM the emotion. I don't need to shed real, wet tears to soak your wounded heart.~

"I am so sorry, Angelica," Luke said.

Angelica smiled. "Don't be. You have nothing to be sorry about. I didn't tell you all of this to make you sad. You wanted to hear about New York so I told you what I remember the most. That's all. I'm not sad. Like I said, I was a baby on 9/11. I don't remember anything else but those few moments. It's a shame I didn't get to know my dad, but I don't miss him that much. Since I never really knew him, I don't know what I'm missing."

"Guys, the lunch break is over. We should go," Luke said.

"Do you want to hang out sometimes after school?" Angelica said.

"You mean like you and us?" Luke said.

"Yeah! What's your number? I'll text you mine. You too, MJ."

~Give her your number! Don't stand there like an imbecile.~

"Yeah, that'd be great."

~You are such a talker! Ask her something for me.~

"What?"

~I'm curious to know what kind of word she thinks ashen gray stands for.~

"What? What do you mean?"

~You know, the way you associate words with feelings or things. Please do it for me, okay?~

"Angelica, I was wondering, what do you think of when you see the color of ashen gray?"

"Despair," Angelica said.

"Despair?"

"Yeah. That's the only word I could come up with for as long as I can recall. It's like a color that can wipe out the skies, the trees, and the people, their feelings and emotions. It's almost colorless but thick enough not to let the picture through. It's like a cloud hanging over your head, protecting your mind from screaming."

~Wow! That's heavy. She's onto something. Despair. Definitely. Ashen gray is the color of
despair.
~

TWELWE

Teenage Revenge
@TeenageRevenge
there still isn't a special font for sarcasm

~And what would you need to use sarcasm for? What's that got to do with anything?~

"Isn't sarcasm your best weapon if you want to kill an annoying voice in your head?"

~What's so annoying about me? And why on Earth would you want to kill me? What have I ever done to you?~

"How about you never leave me alone? How about you never shut up?"

~You want me to keep quiet? I can do that. Let's start right now.~

Teenage Revenge
@TeenageRevenge
there still isn't a special font for sarcasm #ungrateful #getlost #gotohell #annoyed

"What kind of hashtags are those?"

"Do you hear me? Why did you tweet that?"

"Oh! We're pouting! Go ahead. Unfriend, unfollow, untag me."

"Okay, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you. Can you talk now?"

~Are you sure you want to listen to me?~

"Yes, I'm sure."

~What do you want to talk about?~

"Angelica."

~I knew it! I knew you didn't want to talk to me because you miss my voice. You just need someone to answer your babbling about your new friend.~

"Do you think she's for real, or is she just faking it to be interesting?"

~I think she's real. Why would she make up a story about her dad dying on 9/11?~

"To be interesting."

~There are better ways to do that. You don't make up stories about parents dying on 9/11. You just don't. Besides, there's a way to check her story. All you have to do is ask her what her father's name was. I'm sure you can Google the names of the people who died.~

"You're right. I believe her. So what do you think? Should I go and hang out with her sometime?"

~It depends.~

"On what?"

~On whether you care to stick around long enough to get to know her.~

"It's not totally out of the question."

~Then go ahead and hang out with her.~

"What about Luke? Should I hang out with him, too?"

~Absolutely! You two have a lot in common.~

"What could we possibly have in common?"

~Stanley for one. Seems like Luke liked him as much as you did. You both miss him a lot. I bet Luke is a loner like you. I could go on and on if you want.~

"That's enough. Okay, I'll hang out with him, too."

~Do you like her?~

"Who? Angelica?"

~Yeah.~

"She seems nice. I like that. I can't believe she just went ahead and told us all that stuff about her dad."

~Why not?~

"She doesn't know anything about us. I'd never tell someone I don't know something so personal."

~That's the difference between you and Angelica.~

"What do you mean?"

~She wasn't afraid to tell you something personal. You asked whether she grew up in New York City, and she told why she didn't. Just like that, no hidden agenda, plain truth, sad, personal and real.~

"Real. You're right. It did feel real. Maybe that's what I like about her. She's different, real."

~And she's texting you!~

"She is."

Today 8:55 PM
I'm having a get-to-know-some-new-people party at my house tomorrow at 7 p.m. Wanna come?

~C'mon! Text her back!~

Today 8:58 PM
1250 Highland Drive, it's the subdivision next to the sports park

~Well, well, well. This will be interesting. I'm dying to see who shows up.~

"Me too."

~It's good to see you're interested in something.~

"I'm not such a loner as you think."

~Really? You had me fooled.~

"MJ! Come in, Luke's already here," Angelica said.

~I wonder if she invited anyone else aside from you and Luke.~

"Hey," Luke said.

"Hey."

~Hey? You don't even have an original greeting? This get-together is getting wild from the start.~

"Stop being such a sarcastic jerk."

~Too bad there isn't a font for sarcasm. We could write some notable tweets.~

"As if you ever came up with anything original. All you can write are hashtags."

"This is my room," Angelica said.

"Wow! Where did you get all these seashells?" Luke asked.

"I collected them over the years. We travel a lot, Mom and I."

"I love this one!"

~Funny, I love it too. Hey, we have something in common!~

"Are you being sarcastic?"

~Of course not! I'm serious. I always wanted to have something other than this body in common with you.~

"It's called a trumpet seashell. This one's more rare and expensive because it's about eighteen inches long. If you cut a small hole in its tip, it'll make a loud, trumpet-like sound, Angelica said"

"That's so cool," Luke said. "Why do you have so many? Your room's like an ocean."

"I love seashells. They keep me grounded," Angelica smiled.

"They keep you grounded? I've heard all kind of things people say about seashells. Keeping someone grounded is the first."

~Me too. You took the words right out of my mouth.~

"You have no mouth. The mouth was mine last time I checked. You're nothing but a voice."

~Pretty loud one, I'd say.~

"You got that one right."

"How do seashells keep you grounded?" Luke asked.

"Listen to this." Angelica put the trumpet seashell close to Luke's ear and covered his other ear with her palm.

"It's like I'm near the ocean," Luke said.

"Exactly," Angelica said. "You can take a seashell, wash it off with soap, sand, water or hydrogen peroxide, if you want, and it will hum the sound of the water it came from. You can take it a hundred, a thousand miles away to a desert, and the sea the shell came from will keep on humming inside. You can even break a hole in its end and try to blow your own trumpet sound, but the seashell will not forget the sound of the sea that was its home. It's the same for any seashell, big or small. Whenever I feel like I'm losing my way, I look at my seashells. Every one of them has its own sound of the sea because a seashell never forgets where it came from. Its home becomes a part of the seashell forever. I like that. I like to know where my true home is."

"Where is it?" Luke asked.

"Here." Angelica pointed at her heart.

~She's a poet.~

"What? She's a poet?"

~Yeah! Don't you just love it? How she's not afraid to open up?~

"What's that got to do with being a poet?"

~I don't know. I like how she talks about the seashells and their home. It sounds pretty darn poetic to me.~

"Dude, I'm glad no one but me can hear you."

~That's mean! I'd love to be heard all over the world!~

"Are you being sarcastic?"

~What do you think?~

"Probably not."

~Yep.~

"You mean your heart?" Luke said.

~Gosh, this dude is dense!~

"Why? Not everyone recognizes a poet like you do!"

~They better discover that font for sarcasm. I'm dying to tweet stuff that'll set you straight.~

"You need to chill out."

~Wow! I haven't heard that comment in years! I totally forgot people used to say that!~

"Yeah. My heart. When I was eight, Mom and I moved to Europe where we lived for several years. I felt out of place there. At first, I didn't know the language, I had no friends—just family members I could not even understand. I'd beg my mom to take me home but she wouldn't, and I hated her for that. After a while, I realized I just had to suck it up, and that's when I read this saying:
Home is where the heart is.
I didn't understand it completely, but it made sense. Over the years, especially after we came back to the U.S., I began to truly understand what it meant."

"So, what does it mean? Can you tell us?"

~Yeah, I think I know what she's about to say, but I'd like to hear it from her first.~

"Your home isn't a thing or a place. It's you, it's what you love, what you care about; it's what you crave day in and day out. Your home is what you want the rest of your life to be."

~Are you going to say something? You two are gaping at her like two dumbfounded suckers.~

"What's there to say? It's not like she's asking us to comment."

"You take this home with you everywhere. No one can wash it off, burn it, or take it away no matter how far you travel. Just like a seashell, you keep your home inside, and as long as you know what it is you love, care and crave, you'll never lose it, no matter what," Angelica said.

"Wow. I never thought of a home like that. Makes sense, though," Luke said.

"When did you realize what the word
home
meant to you?"

~Listen to her carefully. You may learn something.~

"Only a couple of years back. I always collected seashells. I always liked them, even though I didn't know why. I suppose I always missed having a real place to call home. We moved a lot," Angelica said.

"So you lived in Europe?"

~This girl is really something. She talks like a poet, and she's been places. Aren't you a teeny bit envious?~

"Envious? Of what? Why would I be envious? Leave me alone, I want to hear what she's got to say."

"My dad was German. He met my mom while he was working in New York City, and they got married and had me. After he died, Mom stayed in the city, but she had a really hard time. The city reminded her of what had happened to my dad. She battled depression, and finally, when I was in third grade, she gave in and took my German grandparents' offer to move to Munich and live with them. That's what she told me at first. When I got a lot older, she finally fessed up the rest of the story."

"What happened?" Luke said.

"Mom got pregnant with some married guy who used to work with my dad. He wasn't going to divorce his wife. Mom was too upset and didn't want to stick around. My German grandpa and grandma were pretty wealthy, and they wanted me to grow up there, close to them. So Mom took their offer to move into their big house. I hated it at first. Mom didn't really give me much of a warning. I came home from school one day and all our stuff was packed. She took me straight to the airport. All I remember is that I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to my friends at school."

"I'm sorry."

~What are you sorry about? This happened years ago. Angelica probably doesn't even care anymore.~

"I just wanted to say something. I felt bad for her."

"That's the first time I thought I lost home. My little sister was born in Germany. We stayed several years, and I learned the language and found new friends. I thought I found myself a new home. I was pretty happy. Mom wasn't, though. She was even more depressed because she missed her parents and her friends, and she had a hard time learning German. I think she didn't want to learn German so that she'd have an excuse not to like living there."

"Did you like it? Did you like Germany?" Luke asked.

"Loved it. We lived in a smaller village near Munich. Everyone pretty much knew each other, and you could run around with other kids until dark, and no one would worry about where you were all the time. I felt free. I think it was that freedom I loved the most. I never felt the same freedom here in the U.S.," Angelica said.

"Mom would never let me run around the neighborhood with other kids until dark when I was in third grade."

~I always thought she was overprotective. Always thinking someone will drive by and snatch you if she'd as much as look away.~

"Kids as little as the first grade walked to school by themselves. And when they were old enough to go to sixth grade, they'd take the public bus to go all the way to one of the schools in Munich. Have you ever been there? Munich's huge. You have to switch buses or take a tram to get to some of those schools. Kids do it all the time. No one's watching their every step when they're in the sixth grade," Angelica said.

"Did you go to a school in Munich, too?" Luke asked.

"I was about to. I was accepted to this very selective art school, and I was ready to start when Mom pulled the same crap like she did the first time. I came home one day and all our stuff was packed. She took me straight to the airport," Angelica said.

"You're kidding!"

~Why would she be kidding about something like that?~

"Came to find out my sister's dad divorced his wife and wanted Mom back in New York," Angelica said.

"That sucks!"

~Why would it suck? It was her little sister's dad. Maybe it was a good thing.~

"Exactly. It sucked. He was an asshole. No wonder his wife divorced him. I can't believe my mom fell for him," Angelica shook her head.

"What did he do?" Luke asked.

"He was a very successful lawyer. He made a lot of money and spent it like it was water. He kept us in his big house, nicely tucked in the Westchester suburbs with the rest of the suckers caged in their kitschy mansions."

"That's an interesting way to describe suburbia."

~I'd say. You see now? Is she poetic or what?~

"Wow! Ha, ha," Luke laughed.

"Ha, ha, ha!" Angelica twirled and threw a scarf around her neck. She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Dear Cathryn, you must come over to my house and help me pick up new dining room chairs! I swear if I look at that hideous pattern one more time, I'll have a heart attack!"

"What?" Luke furrowed his eyebrows.

"That's the kind of crap these people worry about! I'm not kidding! That's exactly what one pompous, snooty broad told my mom at one of the birthday parties my sister was invited to. There were like twelve kids being told to have fun by twelve mothers sucking wine like it was going out of style, talking trash like that. Mom took me with her because she thought I'd enjoy tagging along. It was torture! I had to bite my tongue each time one of the moms said something," Angelica said.

"It sounds like you didn't fit in very well," Luke said.

"I stuck out like a sore thumb," Angelica laughed. "The more Mom wanted to fit in, the more I wanted to get out. I was going crazy. This fake, absurd world of theirs was sucking me dry, slapping me with every dishonest word I heard, stealing away my sense of reality with each passing day."