• So father is finally gone in that I haven’t seen him and don’t expect to again. I specify the sense in which he is gone because even while he was still living around the house we shared I was uncertain, but quite sure that he was not quite with us, even when he sat at the dinner table, which was rare indeed. Of course I can’t fault him for that, I have not been here for as long as I can remember. Since first I have been able to play games of pretend and imagination, I have been off somewhere or another, in part or whole, but never home.
    How could I be home, home has rarely welcomed me, and at most times home has been openly hostile, belligerent, and just generally unpleasant to me to the point where I wonder if it ever likes me as a person. I digress though, I didn’t mean to seem so melancholy. Life isn’t entirely caked in s**t. I have friends.
    Or rather, I have people who use me but care about me little, as the one person who probably genuinely cares about me pointed out to me. Naturally I told her she could piss off, and we don’t really talk right now, and when we see each other there is a brief moment of recognition before I remember that we are still cross with one another and we both try our best not to look interested in each other as we pass on our way to classes. Let me think now.
    This little narration was headed somewhere there is a story here I know it, I just cant seem to remember where it began. I know where it ends though, so lets start around that time and work our way towards it together. I was at a party, a large party, some privileged child’s parents here away and their trust in the rotten little brat they raised was being rewarded by bringing alcohol, drugs and sex into their home. When I think about it, that’s probably the reason this is the first of this sort of party I have been invited to ever. Its hard to mask my contempt for the kinds of people who attend these kinds of things.
    The sad part is the hypocrisy of the sense of self-righteousness I have. I mean, I have a couple of drinks and then I’m actually having fun. I like to think that I’m above the influence of my peers, that the drink I had was my choice but then I’m talking like them, dancing like them. It started out pretend, but now its starting to feel like I’m really having fun and my head is sort of spinning. It must have been the company and not the alcohol, or maybe it was the fumes from the drugs they were doing in that room I passed by. Well I think in retrospect they were doing drugs, not really sure, but at any rate after I left the party I came down. I almost felt sober.
    The fun wasn’t done yet, I still felt good, like I left a good impression, like I might do this again some time, throw caution to the wind and hell, maybe be a dumb kid for a while. Its like I’m adult yet. The night air felt crisp,, nipped at my ears, the grass chrunched wetly beneath my fee. I don’t really remember what I was thinking when the horn honked, I turned toward blinding lights, and the truck hit me, but that’s where it ends.