“The palm reader sees a butterfly shape in the hand: rely on the help of a stranger” (The Oracle Book)

My dreams are humble, lean as arrows
Streetwise, ready, and fair
As we bum rush the ages tied to the rails
On high seas not fit to be sailed
Whatever we’ve taken does feel like heaven
But baby, we just look like hell

I keep having the same dream where one of my two frontal teeth falls off. The dreams feels so real that I can feel the sting shooting through my gums and can feel the empty space where a tooth once clung to with my tongue. This is probably the dream I’ve been having for most of the month, off and on.

I woke up early today, not because of the dream, but because I fell asleep way earlier than I normally do. It felt nice to see the sunrise rather than feel the pangs of its rays as they intrude into my room. I got up and made sure both of my frontal teeth were there, sighed and went to brush them. Thankfully dreams are just that.

I need to clean my study. Books are piled everywhere. I also need to clean my room. Sometimes I wish I could just be organized, but that’s a dream in of itself. A cooler weather pushed in and it makes me want a cigarette. I never habitually smoked in my entire life. I’ve never done anything habitually. An occasional cigarette in high school, but the moment I turned 18, that pretty much died off. But now, all I’m thinking is I want a cigarette and a cup of coffee – two things I deeply hate the taste of, yet they go so well together. Once, a few years back, I was at the beach with my mother and my aunt and cousins from Midland, Texas. My aunt made coffee and I took a cup because I need a strong caffeine in take and coffee was already made available.

My mother saw me drown the cup in sugar and milk because I couldn’t stand the taste of black coffee. After a moment, I said, “This tastes of cigarettes.”

“How do you what cigarettes taste like?”

Mind you, my mother’s care had ceased to exist in the sense of I was now 19 or 20 by the time this incident happened. But nonetheless the crimes were committed before I turned 18. I felt a little busted but I told her that it was something I did back in high school. It didn’t matter much because I hated the taste of them and I probably wouldn’t pick it up again – my grandfather, her father, was a habitual smoker and wouldn’t ceased even has his life depended on it.

However, I never smoked at parties with my friends. I hated smoking for the sake of smoking more than the thought of smoking itself. What I mean is, sure I smoked with my friends once in a while (actually in a huge span between each cigarette), but I never did it because I thought it made me look cool. I did it because I thought normal kids had to rebel in some way against their parents and because my mother was so lax with rules, I didn’t have much to rebel against. So sex, cigarettes and drugs was pretty much what I can do. But neither of them seemed like much fun because there wasn’t any punishments awaiting for me other than a look of disappointment.

Perhaps I should add that I was the family’s last hope. My oldest brother graduated high school, but never went off to college. The middle brother, in true middle child stereotype, fell hard into drugs and dropped out of high school. And me, I was the last chance. I wasn’t about to fuck things up.

The incident I was coming to before that break was one that happened at a high school party. I didn’t have much of a social life in high school because I kept it that way. I loved my friends, but I didn’t want to deal with them after school. I never went out except for a few times where I usually called mother to pick me up because I was so pissed off at my friends for their drug ridden ways. But my first party was a Halloween party and I felt that I should appear for two reasons. 1.) I love Halloween and 2.) because I didn’t want my mother to think I was a strange kid for not doing anything with my friends, and the same goes for my friends. I suppose, I wanted to be a normal kid who did what other normal kids did.

The party was at a friend’s apartment that smelt like cat shit which was explained the moment I saw the shit mountain in a much neglected litter box. The party was mediocre at best when it started until the plague got there. The plague was a group of four people, three of which were sleeping with each other. And because I have to assume that they don’t read my blogs or even remotely remember me, I’ll name them. The plague was comprised of Danny, Lucky, Ruben (the threesome) and Denis.

I was in my friend’s bedroom with Josh and Jorell talking things over when the threesome part of the plague entered the room and started talking. They had brought the booze and drugs to the party which was the beginning of the end for me. Because no matter what I thought I could put into my body, there wasn’t a chance in hell that alcohol was going to be one of them.

Upset by the turn out, I decided it was time I called my mother to pick me up because I didn’t want to be there anymore. After calling her, I sat back on the bed beside Josh, who was doing his best to avoid Danny’s homosexuality. My mistake was that I sat too close to Ruben, who was now in front of me. And in true plague fashion, he unzipped his pants and told me to suck it.

I had met Ruben before he was infected by Danny. I had met Lucky and Denis as well. I even met Danny before all this business. They were all great people (well, not the best people, but also not the sort of people who ask you to give them a blow job for no apparent reason, either). But Danny was the first to fuck it up and in true asshole fashion, he opted to take everyone down with him. But Ruben wasn’t that great of a person either, to begin with. He was awkward at best and him asking me to suck his cock wouldn’t be the first time he’d pissed me off.

I got up and left the room.

As I was pushing through the hall, Denis came inside from smoking. He grabbed and said, “Willie, I’m sorry.”

Bewildered, I looked at Denis. I have never heard him utter an apology in the time I’d known him, which stretched back to elementary CCD courses.

“About?”

“Your mom’s outside. She saw us smoking. I’m sorry if we got you in trouble.”

I smirked, “Was I out there with you?”

His face grew confused, “No.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

I don’t remember where the hostess’s mother was at during this party, but it did make me appreciate my mother a little more. While my mother unknowingly took me to a drug and booze party, her mother was perfectly aware of what she was doing. And while it’s seen as uncool to have a good relationship with your parents like I did with my mother – I could go to her for anything, I could joke with her, I could cuss around her, so basically she was a friend than just a parent. She knew when to punish me if I didn’t go great in school because she knew my potential, but also knew I was lazy.

There was this one other incident, and I’ll end it with this, where my mother was asked why she bought me such “awful” music (I was into Marilyn Manson, Korn, and Nine Inch Nails) and she simply said, “Because if I don’t, he’ll just get it somewhere else.” This will lead to my next post, which I’ll write later.

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One response to ““The palm reader sees a butterfly shape in the hand: rely on the help of a stranger” (The Oracle Book)

  1. Pingback: “Why you think the net was born?” (Avenue Q) « The Life of Ennui Prayer

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