Tomorrow afternoon came quickly, and I wasted no time in changing into the stuff Emily and Mom brought me: my favorite kicks, old jeans, and a t-shirt. They hung differently on my hospital/coma—skinny frame. The faster I change, the faster I can get out of here, and … do what? I don’t even know what I’ll do when I get home. Go in my room and sit there? Will I even still be interested in the stuff I was into before? At this point, I can’t even remember what I was into.
Oh, wait. There was always my girlfriend, Danielle. I was definitely, most likely still into Danielle. At least I hoped I was. Danielle’s favorite activities consisted of making out, messing with my hair, ...view middle of the document...
That was where three-quarters of the money I earned at my job at the coffee shop went, while also saving for college. I hoped the job was still mine.
College. I have no idea what I want to do anymore. For a while I wanted to be a doctor, like my dad, and then there was a period of time that I wanted to be a lawyer. Then I discovered that you actually have to talk to people and look them in the eye to be a lawyer. I hated really any form of social interaction that involved a lot of people looking at you, or a lot of people around you, i.e. parties, sporting events, group dates, etc. It was one-on-one or nothing. We had a class debate once, and I turned red and couldn’t say anything because everyone was staring at me. That’s how I knew I probably wasn’t cut out to be a lawyer. What else would I be good at, though? Here it was, senior year, and I still had little to no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I wasn’t a people person. Most jobs required people skills. Either I needed to work on my people skills or I was screwed.
“Good for you,” I said. “I hope you haven’t been practicing in my car.” I was very particular about who drove my car, and everyone knew it. I think it comes from having paid for the entire car myself. I never asked for a dime to pay for that car. She—I mean—it even had a name. Cecelia, because she—I mean—it was a Celica.
Mom pulled up to an intersection and idled while we waited for the light to change. She turned around to say something to Emily, and her foot slipped onto the gas. We jerk forward slightly. “Mom!” I exclaimed, unexplainably terrified. “Watch your foot! Hit the brakes before we get into another accident.” Her head whipped around, and she stomps the brake as soon as she sees my alarmed expression: wide eyes, dropped jaw. She knows I look terrified. And for good reason. My face burned and I turned to face the window. I shook my head, trying to ignore the jumpy feeling in my stomach. The rest of the ride home was silent, and awkward, to say the least.
As soon as we get home, I bolted upstairs and retreated into my room. I checked my phone. The voicemail box was full, and so was the text inbox. I don’t know why. I don’t have all that many friends. Most of them are from Danielle, and a lot of them are from mutual friends of mine and Perry. The phone buzzed in my hand. It’s Danielle. heard ur getting out today. can we meet somewhere? we need to talk.
That made me uneasy. I texted back, not today. maybe tomorrow. kind of tired. ironic, huh?
She responded with, oh ha. kk, maybe tomorrow. luv u. There was nothing else from her after that. I sat down at my desk and logged on to my laptop, which sat fully charged after being plugged in for two months straight.
Here’s a bit of advice: don’t go AWOL on social networking sites. Twenty new followers on Twitter. I hardly ever even tweet anything. My notifications on Facebook tallied in at 29, messages at 10, and friend requests at 7, all from people I...