June BabiesMature

My life had become one funeral after another.
No sleep. Don't sleep. I hate sleep.

It was a tall blue house. The strawberries were sweet, the screened in porch smelt of old books and garage sales. The moon hung low every night, and rock and roll was the sound that would most likely be heard all day and all night, flowing through every wall, hiding in every corner.

            But what effect would a blue house with delicious fruits and funny smells have on you? You do not know that house, you do not love that house like I loved that house, the music may be familiar to you, but not in the way it was familiar to me.

            This is an awful way to start a story. Pretend that never happened. Erase your memory of that blue house, just as I have tried to do many times. My pathetic attempts at ridding myself of the memories of that farm house obviously have not worked very well since I am sitting here explaining it to you. I trust you though. I really, really do. I know I am a little bit weird and a little bit strange and a little bit empty, but I honestly trust you. I do not imagine you would hold these things against me.

It was a tall blue house. The strawberries were sweet, the screened in porch smelt of old books and garage sales. The moon hung low every night, and rock and roll was the sound that would most likely be heard all day and all night, flowing through every wall, hiding in every corner.

            But what effect would a blue house with delicious fruits and funny smells have on you? You do not know that house, you do not love that house like I loved that house, the music may be familiar to you, but not in the way it was familiar to me.

            This is an awful way to start a story. Pretend that never happened. Erase your memory of that blue house, just as I have tried to do many times. My pathetic attempts at ridding myself of the memories of that farm house obviously have not worked very well since I am sitting here explaining it to you. I trust you though. I really, really do. I know I am a little bit weird and a little bit strange and a little bit empty, but I honestly trust you. I do not imagine you would hold these things against me.

            A new beginning, I do imagine that you would want a new beginning; a fresh start. After all, who wouldn’t? What a sad excuse for a beginning. I’ll give you what you want, just this once though. Really, it’s very hard to make me budge, and that you have, so I’ll give you a new beginning. A more honest one, too, I might add.

            I was sixteen years old when my older brother, Teddy, went to Afghanistan. They cut off his hair, and that was hard for him. He wasn’t Teddy anymore, in letters he spoke of how he now went by Baxter, our last name. He broke things off with Greta Adelstein, his long-time girlfriend and told her not to wait for him.

            I was just barely eighteen when Teddy died. His whole unit was bombed. There was only one, sole survivor. A kid named Matt Kinsley, whom they all just simply called Kinsley, just the way they called Teddy, Baxter and just the way they called Peter Vladislav a plain and simple Vlad. Teddy mentioned Kinsley one time in a letter, talking about some funny joke he made.

Teddy always made sure his letters were light-hearted. He never talked about battle; always about how Afghanistan was prettier than he expected it to be (I think that was probably a lie) and how he liked most of the guys in his unit. He always asked us a lot of questions, too. How things were holding up, how school was, how work was, so on, so on.

            How does this beginning sound to you? I hope this is having more of an effect on you than some old house. I’ve never been very good to talking to people, so excuse me if this is boring for you, but just in case you are not extremely sick of me going on and on, I will continue.

I spent most of my life alone. Not alone in the sense that my parents locked me away in my room and didn’t allow me any type of human contact; alone in the fact that I liked it just being me and my thoughts. I found little to none of my peers intellectually stimulating, so I chose to spend most of my time alone.

 

Now this is the part where you think, “Wow, this girl is a pretentious little bitch.” Because that’s the normal reaction, but I trust you, remember? I trust you to be different, and to understand that I am not a pretentious little bitch, but in fact just very sad. Please do not fail me because I would actually rather spend time with you than being alone.

There was someone once though, long before you ever arrived, and I trusted him very much. Do not take offense to that and feel that I’m putting you on the back burner by telling you about this ‘someone’ else, but see, this is where it all ties in. The blue house, the deceased brother, this is where it all pieces together. And you, you kind, kind being, you are the most important and most infinitely magnificent piece of it all.

            A new beginning, I do imagine that you would want a new beginning; a fresh start. After all, who wouldn’t? What a sad excuse for a beginning. I’ll give you what you want, just this once though. Really, it’s very hard to make me budge, and that you have, so I’ll give you a new beginning. A more honest one, too, I might add.

            I was sixteen years old when my older brother, Teddy, went to Afghanistan. They cut off his hair, and that was hard for him. He wasn’t Teddy anymore, in letters he spoke of how he now went by Baxter, our last name. He broke things off with Greta Adelstein, his long-time girlfriend and told her not to wait for him.

            I was just barely eighteen when Teddy died. His whole unit was bombed. There was only one, sole survivor. A kid named Matt Kinsley, whom they all just simply called Kinsley, just the way they called Teddy, Baxter and just the way they called Peter Vladislav a plain and simple Vlad. Teddy mentioned Kinsley one time in a letter, talking about some funny joke he made.

Teddy always made sure his letters were light-hearted. He never talked about battle; always about how Afghanistan was prettier than he expected it to be (I think that was probably a lie) and how he liked most of the guys in his unit. He always asked us a lot of questions, too. How things were holding up, how school was, how work was, so on, so on.

            How does this beginning sound to you? I hope this is having more of an effect on you than some old house. I’ve never been very good to talking to people, so excuse me if this is boring for you, but just in case you are not extremely sick of me going on and on, I will continue.

I spent most of my life alone. Not alone in the sense that my parents locked me away in my room and didn’t allow me any type of human contact; alone in the fact that I liked it just being me and my thoughts. I found little to none of my peers intellectually stimulating, so I chose to spend most of my time alone.

 Now this is the part where you think, “Wow, this girl is a pretentious little bitch.” Because that’s the normal reaction, but I trust you, remember? I trust you to be different, and to understand that I am not a pretentious little bitch, but in fact just very sad. Please do not fail me because I would actually rather spend time with you than being alone.

There was someone once though, long before you ever arrived, and I trusted him very much. Do not take offense to that and feel that I’m putting you on the back burner by telling you about this ‘someone’ else, but see, this is where it all ties in. The blue house, the deceased brother, this is where it all pieces together. And you, you kind, kind being, you are the most important and most infinitely magnificent piece of it all.

The End

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