Nerezza6
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joined: Jan 02, 07
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| subject: An Ode to Conformity |
posted: Jan 02, 07 8:47 pm  |
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10-15-06
Prologue
A melody of conformity rang through the musky air. The light from the ceiling reflected off the cloud of sweat in the air. Screams, groans, guitars and drums yelled their thoughts and feelings for the mass of stench. Ironically, it was an age of hair and glamour and smell just didn’t seem as though it would fit. In the center of the pit, where only the bravest go, the roars of genders and smack of skin were the only things comprehendible to the outside world. The clothing, sweat drenched, clung tightly to all those in the pit who watched others being dragged and carried out due to self injury, and the surfers being dropped. The current Scenester’s being very bad catchers quite often dropped the clones. That was how I met him. He, who for now shall remain nameless, had been hit. A bloody nose from one that I shall call Hardcore Mike. He moshed, but Mike was a dancer. That night had been the first time I had seen a hardcore dancer. Karate chopper, being one of the other numerous names for them. It looked ridiculous upon first inspection, and still does at a glance, but I’ve grown to see a sense of beauty in it. It is…primal. A place for all red rage and anger to be shed. Something that is just as natural to mankind as any other form of expression. The flailing of arms and legs into a pattern even unknown to them, a somewhat mix of break dancing and moshing. It relished and relieved the anger of our youth, which we seemed to be consumed by.
Back on track though, as was said, he had a bloody nose. I was ushered up by men, one of which I have never spoken to in person, but hold great respect for. As he was laid on the couch and offered water, I seated myself next to him. I found him gorgeous, in his own way. Pent up with rage, sore, and bloody. Strength. He reeked of it. He refused to stay down, like the denial of a wolf to a new pack, oh no, not a man such as he. He got up and went back into the belly of the pit. The demonic beast of anger. Not even twenty minuets into it, and he was back out, this time to only take a break. I found in myself the courage to talk to him. Would you like to sit down? I had asked. Of course he replied no. Later I found out he had had a concussion. The dumb ass. He was chanced to be the most important of the four men I spoke to that night. One of them, deemed “the ass”, I see on a daily basis, one of them was gay and drunk, and the third of the other men, the only one whom I gave my number too. I never got that phone call. And now that I think back on it, I’m glad.
That was all nine months ago. Now I sit here, reconciling the past. Such a dangerous thing to do. I changed after that night. He is the cause of it. But this story isn’t about now; it’s about how he became a part of my life and my change.
[align=center]Chapter 1
On April 23, I was taking a wonderfully lazy night. On a Sunday night I found myself sitting at home, on the computer, of course having skipped my homework for the night. Now, as an average, lifeless teenager, I had a xanga. Granted I had had it for a few years, but no body cares. I’m still following everyone else I guess. I had been searching a local web log ring, ~Skelletones~. Looking for people to talk to was not uncommon to me. I’ll AIM them and we’ll chit chat for a while. Either we stay friends for quite a while or never talk again. He was the former. I found him, with a ridiculous picture posted. I thought he was cute. His utterly silly photo, which I later found out he had seen a female do, which would be considered inappropriate, was him, With his shirt held up, showing off a single nipple and his one of his large worker hands down his pants a short way, not enough to be disgraceful. It was purely comical. I clicked on the name of the sight, which I will deem hxc_Juggalo, which shall be explained at a later time. As I entered, I noticed his very predictable black background and filled out profile. Such a funny boy. So utterly predictable, even to this day. I read a few entries, and noticed that the YIM, or yahoo instant messenger, trademark smiley was lit up. That was a sign that he was logged in. I quickly added him to my list, hoping he a cure to my usual boredom. It’s quite ironic really, in a society when the things to do are limitless, teenagers are always bored. As I had said, I added him and when he accepted I IM’d him.
He: Who is this?
Me: I’m Rae. I saw you on xanga.
These sort of things, formalities. I will tell you now, Rae is a nickname of sorts. My actual name is listed on the IM, so when I asked him, about a week later what my name was, he of course said my actual name, not the one I told him.
We had bonded instantly. He was humorous, cute, and bad. Oh bad boy indeed. On the surface at least. I could see past it, and now it’s hard to find. We ended up discussing the last show we had gone to at the Skelletones. January 19th, the Orphan show. Oh really, I wonder if I saw you there, I had said. He replied, I got knocked out. That got my attention instantly. I had been a couch girl that night. I had yet to be allowed in the mosh pit. I had him explain what he remembered from the night. A girl on the couch. She was pretty. I was beyond flattered. I explained to him that I had been on the couch asking him if he was okay, and later offered to move for him. He seemed excited. Giving me his phone number, I called him a few days later. We made plans for May 5th. A Saturday. There was a Behind Lies Ruin show that night and we decided to chill at the mall and then go to the show. Well his friend Yippy, if you will, decided to show. All three of us hung out, and we enjoyed it. Of course, the teens we were, got bored. We went back to his mom’s house, and got ready for the show. That’s where it all started. We had all been playing around, talking, and wrestling. Somehow I ended up on my back, him lying in my legs and kissing his tongue that was sticking out at me. Then we kissed. It was wonderful. A bit whorish, but well worth it. He said to me, about four months after our relationship started,
“Him: you know the first time we kissed . . .
Me: I sucked?
Me: Lol
Him: right then i knew that i never wanted to kiss any lips but yours ever again.”
Oh how corny. I know. But it was sweet and he meant it.
I believe that was one of the happier nights of my life. Ignoring the fact he got high later on. I told him if he wanted me, he’d be done after that night. That blew up in my face. Tonight was quite a show. I was amazed. The angsty screaming from Minasse, the screams. The loud drums and guitars. It was beauty embodied. I met a lot of people that night that I am still quite friendly with. Tu is the funniest of them all I believe. By the time the show was over, he had sweated out all of the toxins in his blood and his high had ended. In the car ride home, after more kissing, I asked what we were. Are we dating or not? What is going to happen? The answer I received was grand. Yeah, we’re dating. In my head I’m doing a personal “yay! yay! happy dance thing” and grinning from ear to ear. I was crushing horribly. We clicked; the chemistry between us was like no other. And he was cute.
1-1-07
Chapter 2
The next few weeks were heaven. Our times together, passionate, and memories to last forever. He had the most edible scent, masculine, clean, and totally mine. But there was one thing I didn’t know. Growing, vermillion, sweaty, nasty lies were being conceived. The night at the scene he had made a promise to me. One he’d break on numerous occasions in the future. Of course I forgave him. He had promised to quit smoking weed. At the time, that is all I was aware he did. Oh how horribly incorrect had I been. Still to this day he hasn’t quit with this addiction of his. Just five days short of 8 months. He promised me again and again. It took him about 6 months to see the impact on me and he’s still having issues and lying. Oh what a boy. But I do love him.
Our lives were simple really. Once or twice a week I’d go to his father’s home. If he even deserves the title father. We’d talk, fondle, or watch the death box usually. I do swear that it kills brain cells faster than even the history channel can make them. Other times we’d both be on a lap top, not paying much attention to each other. We were both fine with this arrangement. I enjoyed being with him oh so much. It was the only time I didn’t feel, well quite frankly, alone. Yes, I had friends. And I loved them dearly. I still do. But I was never whole with them. It was quite a pity. But with him it was different. I could be me. No exceptions. I hadn’t a need to hide anything with him, because I knew he’d be okay with it. With no one else, even family did I feel that. I believe one thing that held us together and gave us something to converse about was music. Such a passion almost all people hold. We had similar taste and agreed on almost everything. Everything but Twiztid. I’m sure many of you have never heard of them, but have heard of ICP, Insane Clown Posse, which they are similar too. Think that. I absolutely detest rap, to a point that I don’t even consider it music. It isn’t a genre; it is a bunch of ignorant fools attempting to rhyme, slaughtering the English language, which I have come to quite appreciate. My feelings are strong indeed. He loves there horribly degrading music. It took time, but he made me grow to love it. Just like the rest of his not so appealing qualities. They have some quite humorous numbers. Look them up. Back to the point. Everything about him I loved. Always, hopefully. Now don’t go and tell me I’m being naïve. I know it is only high school. I also am aware that it most likely will not last forever. But here is for hope. |
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