1: The Break in Normality
Sometimes I break from my normal life (if any life can be normal) to stop fighting for sanity, to let my life simply wash over me. Being only 16 years old I can’t really write a whole memoir because, if I did, it would probably be the most boring memoir ever written…alright, maybe it would be second against an amoebas. Point is, most thoughts that run through my head are about my family. Both parents still married and I’m the eldest of three children, unfortunately I’m the only girl too. I think ‘How on Earth can I bear to live with all of these annoying habits my family has?’ but as I think bad things about my family I also think the good things, the usual sap like how I wouldn’t cope without them, how much I secretly love my brother but I never show it and how much I appreciate everything they do for me.
Now even though my trembling body stands rooted to the spot in my ordinary green painted living room, nothing could be further from normality. With deep trouble I draw in copious amounts of oxygen to combat oncoming blackness. Awkwardly I tumble into a ‘well loved’ white and blue pinstriped chair, obscured by my black mesh dress. Gentle buzzes from the phone hanging in air loosely attached to my limp hand grow steadily louder, an edge of fear begin to creep into it.
Outside the room I detect another source of noise, clomps from bright blue trainers, yells of dismay for a lack of DS then finally I see the crop of brown hair peek through the door. Immediately I find myself snapping back from delirium to narrow my eyes at Ben, a typical 12 year old boy but he also happens to be my brother. Aptly sensing this is not the right time to be in my personal zone, his head quickly disappears again whilst I hear the heavy door to the back room click open then slam shut.
On the other end of the line the relentless murmur continues, so much so that the murmur becomes a blur of which I can only snatch words out of, when I mutter down the phone that I didn’t hear what it was saying it felt the need to repeat everything in an even more high pitched tone. I wouldn’t have thought a human being could project their voice that much, and yet I am proved wrong. It carries on with the rant until a long gasp echoes down the phone line, it hadn’t thought about speaking to my parents.
So with the batteries on the phone catatonic, my tremor filled hands hold it out to my Dad, who, quite scarily, appears out of nowhere to take it in his firm grasp. Dad’s like any other Dad in the Universe except he’s special because he’s my Dad. This is probably what every teenage girl would say to their Dad to get money or something like that. Hazel eyes fix onto mine with a gaze probably intended to comfort me but instead it unnerved me.
Worries begin to creep into my head, what if they say I can’t do it? I would break down in tears; I’ve been looking forward to this for months. I filled in all of the boring tedious forms, went to all of the boring tedious meetings, was nice to every teacher I could stomach to be nice to.
Dad’s face turns from mild amusements to annoyance to down right anger, the ecstatic voice on the end of the line slowly grating at his mind makes him a lot more, shall we say, sympathetic to my situation in school. Knowing that I have to listen to this grating voice all week and be polite to it gives me all the leverage I could want. It’s that bad. After all, it’s only been about 2 minutes and already Dad’s ears have turned purple from its sheer vocal ferocity. Many times he opens his mouth only to be defeated by the sheer force on the end of the phone, in the end he gives up merely drumming his fingers along an oak chest situated in middle of the room. Before the charge totally goes on the poor phone he manages to squeeze in a small phrase of consent.
That small phrase of consent sends cells expanding with joy all over my relieved body, when he looked at me before Dad actually meant to portray a deep meaningful stare of bondage. Bondage of a father finally understanding his daughters wishes. Ears completely shut off to footsteps walking, very quietly, out of the room. Not caring, though perhaps I should as to his melancholy mood. Intently I listen until I can no longer hear a breath, so silent in the living room that even a feather could drop and I would hear it. Without warning a loud screech flies out of my mouth, arms flail out in an insane motion, hair flips obscuring my vision. Really, at this moment of time, this period of bliss nothing could irritate me.
I’m going alone; this fact alone courses through my brain cells a single notion grouping all together in complete joy. All envisioning a paradise of manga and ramen (instant or not) for when I would reach my dream destination
Absolutely full of ideas, I can hardly believe what’s going on! Seeming to expand at least to twice its normal size an over-large head lolls on what (in comparison) is a very petit neck. Just thinking about all of the things we can do, me and my friends, including one who I’ve known for 5 years. An interesting nugget of information is that we are in fact married in the court of St Romero’s School for Girls.
Body suddenly jars with shock; someone has turned on the T.V. in the front room, besides the usual rapes and murders the terribly bad news is that one of them has been seen in Merseyside. Slowly I begin to wander into the back room where my Mum sits surrounded by her Open University study guides her face glued to the screen. All of this stuff on the news really is getting out of control; it seems to have struck a huge chord in media, you can’t go any where without seeing one of the advertisements for the vaccine. One time when we were on the train platform Mum actually ushered Ben out of the way, a new poster was being pasted up. I can clearly remember the horrible odour rising from the bucket. For weeks afterwards I had nightmares, even now it still frightens me, it was detailing symptoms of the disease with a graphic visual image of the end result. Ben did see it. It’s affected him more than anyone.
In front of me Mum cranes her head to give me a strained smile, ushering me into the room, still warm from the heating. In the background Dad attempts to subtly get Ben out of the room, oh no this looks bad. Perhaps it’s just a discussion about how much trust they’re putting in me, when I was younger I had a few stupid moments but now I’m totally reformed. All senses now pricked up to the maximum for the shuffling of printed computer emails, a disapproving cough anything to even suggest that I have done something wrong. It’s always the format isn’t it; everyone knows you’re getting in trouble when the ones who understand the lecture are asked to leave and they only leave the babies or the seniors in to overhear.
Low and behold I finally catch a wisp of paper as it’s whisked across on of the desks. Both parents look extremely awkward. Definitely not good. Head bows over her slender form as Mum hopefully diverts the authority to Dad; he takes in a deep sigh obviously unaware of my increasing uncomfortable feelings.
Swiftly I glance at the piece of paper; a knight with a lance stands proud upon their letterhead. Medical center, holy Hell. I hate that medical center with a vengeance; well really I hate all hospitals and medical centers, always sending me letters to take my blood. Eyes scan the letter words jump out at me; they assault me with their blunt aims: ‘vaccine’, ‘latest epidemic’, ‘great importance’ and ‘possible legal charges’.
Panic begins to creep evilly into every cell in my body; they can’t seriously be considering giving me this vaccine. They can’t, we’ve already discussed it and decided upon the fact it’s a stupid idea and I’m not having it. Is that what the defeated look in their eyes is? Have they succumbed to the mass argument? For my sake and the families I pray to God that they haven’t. Or should I pray to the Devil? Tell him to hurry his ass up, to kill whoever he wants to kill with this disease and be done with it. Who knows maybe Hell could do with a warm?
