Mail Chimp

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Amber's Chronicles

I never thought going to the bathroom could be such a big deal. Wait, let me back up. My name is Amber, and these are my chronicles. That's a literary joke, I don't expect you to get it. The Chronicles of Amber is a series by author Roger  Zelazny. It's my favorite set of books, given to me by father.
My father is an asshole, and my mom is a dumb bitch.
Not exactly, you know, but that's the sort of things kids are expected to say. They fucked up and got  divorced. Mainly because they fought all the time. I guess  that’s an acceptable reason. Still, I don’t care for the arrangement. So I’m on a bus to go back to live with mom. Which is where the bathroom thing comes into play.
The bus is gross. It’s cross-country, and the bathroom on the bus is unusable. Consequently, I have to plan my bathroom breaks and time them with the bus stops, so I can use the slightly less gross toilets at the gas and bus stations. Each time, I’m so relieved, literally, I almost cry. If this is life, I’m not sure I want any part of it.
The only bright spot in this so far is that I already have a boyfriend when I get there. Zak, his name is. He wrote me at my dad’s when he found out I was moving back. He says we went to elementary school together. Truth be told, I don’t remember him. Still, it’s sort of sweet.
His first letter said:
Hi, Amber,
My name is Zak, and I’d like to be your boyfriend. Wait for me.
Sincerely, Zak
How can a girl resist that? Actually, I think most girls could, but most girls are dumb. Like the girls at my old school. I call them The Police of Pretty High. They know nothing of romance.
I call them the police because they are the law at that school. Bitchy, judgmental, condescending law. Pretty High is because they’re all so insufferably pretty. Also because all of the guys are burned-out stoners.
Back to my bathroom stories. I was in a mental ward for a while. Fuck you. Sorry, but I get defensive about that. I’m not crazy. Even my doctor says it was an episode brought about by stress.
The bathrooms at the mental ward are a mess, as you might expect. Some of those people are really crazy. Even some of the girls are gross. So, same deal. You have to time your bathroom breaks around cleaning times, or find a bathroom that no one else uses. They’re all kept locked, for whatever dumb reason.
So my world currently revolves around clean toilets. It’s not where I wanted to be at fifteen, I assure you.
I sent my mom a letter when I found out I was being shipped off to live with her. I threw in one for Zak, too.
Dear Zak,
Not quite as romantic, but it’s the thought that counts. I don’t know why I’m blogging this. I feel dumb.
I already miss my dad. He’s a good guy, even though he’s basically a fuck up. Almost fifty and still working shit jobs to stay afloat. I do think it’s time to give mom a try again, though. Dad knows nothing of girly things.
I wish they had managed to work it out. Living on opposite coasts is a bit extreme. Still, I want to be a writer, and writers need something to write about. I just never expected my adventure to revolve around peeing.
I fell asleep and had a dream. Mom was there to pick me up, and Zak was with her. I ran up to him and he threw his arms around me and squeezed me and swung me around. I felt so happy.
It could happen, right? Happy endings and all that. Dreams coming true. I hope so. I need a reason to live.
 Zak wrote me back: "Do you believe in fate?"