I peered through the jagged hole I had just made in that hideous red door. Behind the dangling splinters of broken wood I saw my sister’s face. Our eyes connected with a jolt cold understanding.

With worried strain in her voice, my mother began listing specific directions to be followed in her absence, as she was leaving for the day. before stepping out into the sweltering summer day she gave us a long list of simple tasks and daily chores, “Most importantly” she added, “what ever you guys do, absolutely no fighting!” Her long winded command fell on deaf ears as my sister and I continued lying about, watching TV, and doing nothing in a lazy preparation for the day.

The sultry summer air settled thick in every room of the house, irritating every sense, curdling good intent into malice. I was seeking refuge from the blistering sun on what would have otherwise been a perfect day. I had rollerblades fastened tightly around my feet as I had been in and out all day, currently waiting for my core temperature to reach a level where I could become active again.

While relaxing in my living room, meditating into a state of cool down, the vicious onslaught of my sister’s mental warfare began in the form of worthless name calling. a sister’s sinister declaration of intent, a declaration of war. Walking by the living room, trying to look busy, she would drop an insult or shoot a dirty look. I was feeling utterly Zen and unaffected, but I could not help but take note of my sister’s foul mood and venomous projections.

Realizing that the relaxation of central air was to affectionately comfortable to abandon, I got up to put in a VHS tape. My sister had just entered the room and I swiftly grabbed the remote to protect my control over the TV. I put in the tape I had been obsessing over all week. A compilation of professional rollerbladers showing off their best tricks to the sound track of their favorite music. My family had been subject to it’s content, and my commentary on their moves, all week. My sister was openly opposed to my decision, leaving her two choices. Leave and give up control of the room, or stay and continue her psychological warfare. Staff Sargent Sister was just getting started and the blitzkrieg was just over the horizon.

Before I knew it I was locked in a classic sibling war of remote control versus TV buttons. my temper was rising. She muted it, I blasted it back on. She changed inputs, I quickly changed it back. I was beginning to boil. I soon realized that this was a skirmish I would inevitably lose. Not because the remote was an inferior weapon, but because she had caused the interruption of my blissful relaxation, as was her only goal. To her surprise I hit the power button, cutting my loses and abandoning the fight. I could feel her scowling eyes burning a hole through my back as I rolled across the hardwood floor, Rollerblades still on my feet, and made my way outside.

The fight was wisped away from my conscious mind by the pure jubilant freedom of the day. back to being a kid, escaping General sister’s onslaught once more. My friends and I skated to some of our favorite get away spots hidden around the neighborhood, enjoying our youthful independence and defining summer break.

The activities once again inevitably over heated us, and we were forced to regroup for lunch and cool down at our respected houses. Skating home proved an exhausting feat. My stomach growling through my sweat stained shirt as I scaled the hills that lead to my street.

Reaching my drive way felt like the triumphant end to an epic journey. Hot, hungry and tired, I was ready for the nourishing tranquility of my house. I was now aware that I was a week army low on supplies, and my enemy would now I was coming. It was a tight spot to be in.

I rolled around to the side door that would lead into the kitchen, planning to fix my lunch. I opened the screen door and griped the inside knob. It was locked. Something was suspicious about the locked door, but I remained mostly unperturbed as I rolled around to the front. As I approached the large red wood grain door, I remembered that my father had painted it just a couple weeks before the beginning of summer. There was something he liked about the look of our house, tan bricks and a bright red front door. It looked course and rough to me. I put my left hand against the burning red wood for balance and grabbed hold of the copper knob. The contents of my stomach melted into my blood stream. This door was also locked.

I began to ring the doorbell incessantly, utterly un-amused by this breach in security. I rapped and pounded on the door with an angry fist but got no response. It soon occurred to me in a fleeting moment of clarity, that this was more than likely the work of one blond haired war lord that resided inside, railing her troops and giving her words of death or glory to an imaginary fleet. I began to ponder whether I was actually better off on the outside, not having to face the malevolence of her forces. But I could not let her win; I would not let her hold such power over me. Sure enough the General soon peered her taunting face through the window of our living room.

“Britt, you better open this god damn door or I’m gunna kick your ass!” I commanded.

“Really?” she asked, with joyful glee in her tone. “Seems unlikely from out there Nick…”

I could no longer control my self. She was winning. I pound again on the door with both fists. This only made her laugh as It threw me off balance. Staring at that enraging red door, my thoughts were steam. I was hot and bothered. The sun was forging me into a vessel of feral rage. I felt like a bull ready to charge the curtain in my sister’s hands. She was the matador ready to strike me down with steel the moment my frenzied emotions took control.

Suddenly she disappeared from the window. I thought for sure the game had gone on long enough, she had won and now she would end it and let me cool off; spare me from having to wave the white flag. When she reappeared she was holding in her small evil fingers my beloved skate video. the one I had tortured my family with and fueled my summer ambitions to spend my days on wheels. “She wouldn’t.” I mumbled to myself.

Before I knew it she had peeled back the top of the VHS and was pulling out long strands of ribbon tape. I had never seen such an appetite for destruction. Her eyes were fixed on her work as she pulled apart my sanity inch by inch. Blinding white rage consumed me. I was ready for this to be over.

I took aim, zeroing in on the innocent door deciding the best place to make entry. With a bursting crack my fist made its way to the other side of the door and I was turning the metal lock allowing myself entry. It was an entry more fit for an action hero.

I stepped inside. My heart was logged in my throat. I looked first at my sister, then at the carnage of my fallen tape. When I looked back up into my sister’s cool blue eyes I could tell all our rivalry was neutralized by the terror of our impending doom. My sister’s mouth opened slowly, her eyes fixed on the hole in the door. “Mom is going to kill us…”

I realized that her words admitted her own guilt equal to my own obvious fault. I picked up the unraveled tape and began reeling in the loose ribbon. My sister began gathering fractioned wood, red on one side, brown on the other.

Standing together in our limelight of punishment hardly softened the blow delivered from our parents, but changed the nature of our relationship as siblings forever from that day on.

Published in: on June 28, 2008 at 6:42 pm  Comments (7)  

the throes of young hormonal love

I am Doug’sdespairing romantic desires…

I am Doug’s hormone intoxication…

I am Doug’s distant lurking stare…

Dear journal,

My pen is clicked locked and loaded with deceleration. Its hard to keep the ball point of this utensil from becoming a weapon of mass destruction against this notebook. Disdain finds its way into my blood these days like an unsought drug, forging me into a vessel of feral rage.

But today I want to write. Today, I may have even felt a fleeting glance of euphoria. Today was a good day.

We filed out like sheep, herded by the collie of the school bell announcing days end. Not just any ending school day, but a Friday. I could hear the mixing and conversing of the weekend plans all around me. Proclamations of intent. Intents to drink. Intents to party. Hallow ambitions to get laid… they filled the air with nothing less than a definition for air pollution.

I had my headphones securely fastened to my skull. No noise to disrupt my people watching, but just enough of a statement of solitude to remain a loner on my way to the bus.

The seats were heated intensely by the blistering summer rays. The surface of the seats transformed into a sticky adhesive, covering there posture perfect benches.

I poured into my seat filling the wedge were seat meets metal, and metal meets window. I began to stare from my wedge as ominously as i could back at the school, were the last stragglers made there journey out into Fridays existence. My sheepish peers piled in around me giving me the chance to completely ignore them. I reached down to start the music that was attached to my misdirection. The music started soft and soothing, massaging the canvas behind my ears. I closed my eyes and the engine started.

Music faded to background. Consciousness found center stage and thoughts began to race. When the race became melancholy madness, I had no choice but to open my eyes and absorb my surroundings again.

And there she was. There she came. walking towards me with that walk. that walk was down right intoxicating… no telling what it could make a man do. I quickly checked assuring the seat across from me was open… It was more than open, it was a vision of peace beckoning the right butt to sit… and oh, she was the right butt! Her face was the perfect hybrid expression of apathetic and anger. The “apather” was aimed in no particular direction but it was piercing me with its beauty, and boiling me into a state of unchecked attraction.

Sure enough she chose the open seat, in all its blissful glory. She plunked down, novel in hand. Swinging her book bag around her body as she fell landing in perfect timing to the half revolution. She cocked her head back in an effort to reset her perfect hair, and I instantly married her with my eyes.

She was a stunning spectacle of a woman. Her short brown hair looked soft and silky and I instantly began to imagine what it would smell like. She had a petite frame, that would lack athleticism, as it would be unneeded for this vessel of intellect and spirit. She wore uncharacteristically trendy glasses which screamed with style.

The bus was on the move. Trudging towards the suburban neighborhoods that accommodate the masses of high schoolers. I began to calculate what the remainder of our time together would be… and sparked an intent to make contact. The bus made stops, and I fantasized our interaction. every scenario a calculated scheme to reveal my best selling points. I wanted to slide on next to her and tell her everything good about me.

“High my name is Doug. I am the editor of our school paper.” To forward?

“High my name is Doug. I landed some kick flips yesterday in my driveway.” To cocky?

I felt time burning. Wasting away what stood between current point in time and space, and my stop. Inspired by our slowing for the next drop off, I leaned forward with courageous intent–Observing that she was with out question, closer to the edge of the seat. I was filled with the overwhelmingly euphoric hope of a reciprocation. yes, slowly but surely she must have noticed my advances to the cliff of my seat, and was meeting me above the great chasm of an aisle. The bus slid to its perfect hydraulic stop. my head leaned forward, my lips charged with words of first impression, were met with near contact, by denim covered hip. This was her stop.

I am Doug’s dwelling sense of disbelieving rejection…

Published in: on June 4, 2008 at 5:36 am  Comments (18)