lmc71775
05-17-2011, 12:58 PM
Chapter One
Danny thinks I’m nuts talking to strangers like I do, but what does he know, right?
And it’s not like strangers on the street, that you see and meet, it’s total strangers online. Yeah, that’s right, and so what too? I mean, it’s not like I’m ever gonna meet them in person anyways. Maybe, maybe not, who knows? Dare me…and yeah, I’d just might do it.
As I stare into the neon white screen of the computer, trying to mark it up with whatever words that rolls out of me, typing some **** up, I think of what Danny always says, you’re needy, Dee, you crave the attention. And so his words bother me, yeah, so what? I don’t know why they do but they do. Maybe he’s right, maybe I am needy and want the attention from other people, mainly guys. ****, I sure as hell don’t get it from him.
Why don’t you see that, Danny boy? Geez, I’ve only been googling you since freshman year. I scribble onto the screen and then press backspace to the beginning. But Jesus though, truly, why doesn’t he see that I am madly in love, as they say it?
Since I signed into Woohoo.com I’ve been trying not to think about him at all. I stare at my green online button, showing that I am available to chat, but not a soul has messaged me. Not yet at least.
I guess I probably shouldn’t have it on in the first place. I mean, I should be working on my essay for the “Catcher in the Rye.” I just can’t think though. Actually I don’t want to, really. I want Danny’s chatter out of me. I want to talk to some God-only-knows-who and escape what’s truly on my mind. What that really is, I don’t know. But I’m hopin’ I’ll find out soon enough.
**
Okay, so I’m half way through my essay and finally after I get to the third paragraph an I.M. pops up.
Just4Laughes: Oh, hey! How are you? I saw your file and was hoping we could chat a bit, you on?
It’s a young guy, seventeen (just like me, or so he says) showing a picture of himself he must have taken with his cell phone. He’s cute I guess. If you like that white blonde surfer look, then yeah, sure. And since I’m about 2/3’rds done, I reply.
Deannagirl: Yeah, what’s up?
Just4laughes: So whatcha doin’?
Deannagirl: Oh, just doing some homework…trying to at least.
Just4laughes: Cool. So, could you tell me about yourself?
I write him a lame little paragraph, bio’ing myself to him, like I’m applying for a job or something. I write: Well, my name is Deanna, but people just call me Dee. I’m seventeen and yeah, well I love to write to pen pals around the world. So what are you looking for on this site?
Just4laughes: I came to Woohoo for the same thing.
He’s from San Diego, way across the way from here in Michigan. I assume he is actually a surfer when we start really talking. He seems okay to me. But then again, Danny would definitely say something that would make him not okay.
Anyways, we chat. And chat for a good hour or so. If he’s some sixty-year-old weirdo living in the same state, I wouldn’t know. He sounds and acts like a typical teen, but then again, he could be like this psycho serial killer or something. Man, this is all Danny talking right now, it’s sickening. Now he’s makin’ me think like him. So not happening.
Finally, I get a name—Kyle. Surfer dude from Cali. And we hit it off swimmingly. I like him, there’s no doubt. You know that feeling when you just hit it off from the very get go? It’s that, totally that. So we exchange emails and settle with a few “c-ya’s” and some smiley-face good-byes.
After that, I sign off the computer, save my essay and head downstairs, where the real fun begins.
Dad’s probably outside on the patio smoking and drinking his heart out like usual, or at least drinking the piss out of himself, who gives a crap anyways. And Mom’s probably out in la la land with one of her books or feverishly writing something down so she won’t forget.
Both my Mom and Dad, who grew up in the 80’s, partied so hard, they haven’t stopped. At least my Dad hasn’t. My mom tries to keep up with him, but usually passes out by 7 or 8. It’s just hard to see Bug go through it. I mean, God, my sister’s only seven (a late baby, her being ten years after me) it’s just heartbreaking to see.
I know Zoe doesn’t mean to bug me, (hence the nickname) but she does and sometimes to the brink of insanity. But I love her none the less.
I walk into the family-room where Bug is watching cartoons. I see the water in the kitchen boiling and go run to shut the burners off.
“Where’s Mom?” I shout out to my dad who’s of course outside smoking and gulping down a cold one.
“She ran to the store for me real quick,” he shouts back through the screen door.
“What for more beer,” I mumble under my breath.
“What was that, Dee?”
“Oh, nothing…nothing at all,” I repeat. “So did you know she left the stove on while she left? Coulda burned the house down, Dad. We coulda all been sizzled to death.”
“Will you knock it off, Dee. You’re gonna put nightmares in Zoe’s head. Just stop.”
“Whatever. I’m going back upstairs. And I’m not watching this food anymore either.”
“Fine. I got it,” he says through the screen again, leaning on it is more like it. But then he turns back around, just as he was, staring straight out into the sky, like always.
“Bug, you hungry too?”
“Yeah, Ma was gonna make hot dogs, but forgot the buns, so she ran to Foodies.”
“I got ya, Bug. If you need me, I’ll be up in my room.”
As I run upstairs, I can feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I squeeze it out of my jeans, noticing just who it is—Danny. Like it would ever be anyone else—not.
I answer on the third buzz.
“What’s up, Danny boy?”
“Listen, Dee. We need to talk. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Not over the phone, can I meet you later tonight?”
“Yeah…is everything okay, Dan?”
“Just promise to meet me later, got it?”
“Yeah, yeah…I got it.”
I flip the phone shut as I can feel the nerves rising. What could he possibly want to tell me that’s so urgent, yet he has to tell me in person? The feeling of anxiety mixed in with doubt twirls around in my stomach like a whirlpool effect. I start to think, is it me? Did I do something wrong? The only other time he ever did this was when he found out his mom was dying. Oh, God…what if? What if something really bad is gonna happen? What could it be?
Danny thinks I’m nuts talking to strangers like I do, but what does he know, right?
And it’s not like strangers on the street, that you see and meet, it’s total strangers online. Yeah, that’s right, and so what too? I mean, it’s not like I’m ever gonna meet them in person anyways. Maybe, maybe not, who knows? Dare me…and yeah, I’d just might do it.
As I stare into the neon white screen of the computer, trying to mark it up with whatever words that rolls out of me, typing some **** up, I think of what Danny always says, you’re needy, Dee, you crave the attention. And so his words bother me, yeah, so what? I don’t know why they do but they do. Maybe he’s right, maybe I am needy and want the attention from other people, mainly guys. ****, I sure as hell don’t get it from him.
Why don’t you see that, Danny boy? Geez, I’ve only been googling you since freshman year. I scribble onto the screen and then press backspace to the beginning. But Jesus though, truly, why doesn’t he see that I am madly in love, as they say it?
Since I signed into Woohoo.com I’ve been trying not to think about him at all. I stare at my green online button, showing that I am available to chat, but not a soul has messaged me. Not yet at least.
I guess I probably shouldn’t have it on in the first place. I mean, I should be working on my essay for the “Catcher in the Rye.” I just can’t think though. Actually I don’t want to, really. I want Danny’s chatter out of me. I want to talk to some God-only-knows-who and escape what’s truly on my mind. What that really is, I don’t know. But I’m hopin’ I’ll find out soon enough.
**
Okay, so I’m half way through my essay and finally after I get to the third paragraph an I.M. pops up.
Just4Laughes: Oh, hey! How are you? I saw your file and was hoping we could chat a bit, you on?
It’s a young guy, seventeen (just like me, or so he says) showing a picture of himself he must have taken with his cell phone. He’s cute I guess. If you like that white blonde surfer look, then yeah, sure. And since I’m about 2/3’rds done, I reply.
Deannagirl: Yeah, what’s up?
Just4laughes: So whatcha doin’?
Deannagirl: Oh, just doing some homework…trying to at least.
Just4laughes: Cool. So, could you tell me about yourself?
I write him a lame little paragraph, bio’ing myself to him, like I’m applying for a job or something. I write: Well, my name is Deanna, but people just call me Dee. I’m seventeen and yeah, well I love to write to pen pals around the world. So what are you looking for on this site?
Just4laughes: I came to Woohoo for the same thing.
He’s from San Diego, way across the way from here in Michigan. I assume he is actually a surfer when we start really talking. He seems okay to me. But then again, Danny would definitely say something that would make him not okay.
Anyways, we chat. And chat for a good hour or so. If he’s some sixty-year-old weirdo living in the same state, I wouldn’t know. He sounds and acts like a typical teen, but then again, he could be like this psycho serial killer or something. Man, this is all Danny talking right now, it’s sickening. Now he’s makin’ me think like him. So not happening.
Finally, I get a name—Kyle. Surfer dude from Cali. And we hit it off swimmingly. I like him, there’s no doubt. You know that feeling when you just hit it off from the very get go? It’s that, totally that. So we exchange emails and settle with a few “c-ya’s” and some smiley-face good-byes.
After that, I sign off the computer, save my essay and head downstairs, where the real fun begins.
Dad’s probably outside on the patio smoking and drinking his heart out like usual, or at least drinking the piss out of himself, who gives a crap anyways. And Mom’s probably out in la la land with one of her books or feverishly writing something down so she won’t forget.
Both my Mom and Dad, who grew up in the 80’s, partied so hard, they haven’t stopped. At least my Dad hasn’t. My mom tries to keep up with him, but usually passes out by 7 or 8. It’s just hard to see Bug go through it. I mean, God, my sister’s only seven (a late baby, her being ten years after me) it’s just heartbreaking to see.
I know Zoe doesn’t mean to bug me, (hence the nickname) but she does and sometimes to the brink of insanity. But I love her none the less.
I walk into the family-room where Bug is watching cartoons. I see the water in the kitchen boiling and go run to shut the burners off.
“Where’s Mom?” I shout out to my dad who’s of course outside smoking and gulping down a cold one.
“She ran to the store for me real quick,” he shouts back through the screen door.
“What for more beer,” I mumble under my breath.
“What was that, Dee?”
“Oh, nothing…nothing at all,” I repeat. “So did you know she left the stove on while she left? Coulda burned the house down, Dad. We coulda all been sizzled to death.”
“Will you knock it off, Dee. You’re gonna put nightmares in Zoe’s head. Just stop.”
“Whatever. I’m going back upstairs. And I’m not watching this food anymore either.”
“Fine. I got it,” he says through the screen again, leaning on it is more like it. But then he turns back around, just as he was, staring straight out into the sky, like always.
“Bug, you hungry too?”
“Yeah, Ma was gonna make hot dogs, but forgot the buns, so she ran to Foodies.”
“I got ya, Bug. If you need me, I’ll be up in my room.”
As I run upstairs, I can feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I squeeze it out of my jeans, noticing just who it is—Danny. Like it would ever be anyone else—not.
I answer on the third buzz.
“What’s up, Danny boy?”
“Listen, Dee. We need to talk. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Not over the phone, can I meet you later tonight?”
“Yeah…is everything okay, Dan?”
“Just promise to meet me later, got it?”
“Yeah, yeah…I got it.”
I flip the phone shut as I can feel the nerves rising. What could he possibly want to tell me that’s so urgent, yet he has to tell me in person? The feeling of anxiety mixed in with doubt twirls around in my stomach like a whirlpool effect. I start to think, is it me? Did I do something wrong? The only other time he ever did this was when he found out his mom was dying. Oh, God…what if? What if something really bad is gonna happen? What could it be?