20But this extremely arduous to write. To sense Greg's actions was tricky because I am not like him in the sense that I fight with a wife, or am a 28-year-old slacker, or even live in Pittsburgh. (Yes, experience! I've been there!) But I do have something that helps me fight through that.
I am stubborn. I will write as good or as bad as I want or can. (Mostly bad, considering my tankers.) I also believe I could write this because I am bitter. But I am also optimistic. I am a million emotions as all of us are, so writing a chapter like this couldn't be that difficult. To get the right emotion, I tried myself to experience all of my own emotions first. Mostly when I was on my own thrill of tears. I suppose this chapter alone ended up lowering my spirits for Greg in pity for him.
This is extremely poignant in my part because I want people to feel for him with their own minds. The audience of the creation. Not the creature! A writer is like playing the puppeteer or, I will go as bold as saying, God. (Believe me, I'm trying not to be blasphemous!) Why I actually felt so miserable was an interesting element since I, myself, decide how I want my character or characters to go through. If want someone to dive into a tank of sharks, I can willingly dive him or her into a tank of sharks! If I want Greg to become a drag queen, so have it, he'll be that!
But to feel for a character so strongly, I also believe, that this is why he's surviving. His story is surviving because I like Greg. And I like his friends. And I like his life. And I want them to live even if they must go through some rough things all created by me, the creator. And believe me, I won't let any of them off easy as long as it's interesting.
-
After last night's incidence of combat and war, of coughed up words and crushed emotions, I apparently fell dark, down asleep on my own floor of our bedroom. The first thing I noticed as I awoke was the brightened light from the sun peeking through the windows as if it's rays of light were sinking into the room. Morning, huh? Yes, morning. Goddamn! Hello Mr. Morning! How the fuck are you?!
I shook my head pithily as my dark hair flopped around my head mutedly and down to my jaw line as I yawned for only a brief flash. For a moment I couldn't feel any emotion whatsoever, just like every other day for myself. But than the climbing strike of remembrance clambered back down my throat and I coughed as my lungs thumped just thinking about it.
"Good one, Greggy." I muttered darkly, flinging my fingers into my mashed mane and ruffled it up with my own work. I'm just suuuure that helped the situation, but I only stood up trying not to think about it and started focusing on last night's episode.
Hell, fights with Marilyn and me happened all the time! Yeah, I know they weren't usually, that appalling, but that was something to look forward to, yes? In any case, we weren't always planning on splitting each other's stomachs up so I considered this would only strengthen the bond between the McGraths'.
My eyes twisted up to the bed, half-expecting my 'wifey' sleeping gently like a princess in her own crib that we both called 'bed.' But, as things always seem to turn out, my little Spanish beauty seemed to have fled the room as usual before I would come back to the life of the living. Might as well, I'm sure my waking face would have rose the dead anyways.
Shuffling up to my feet, which were strangely still in contact with my shoes until I realized I just strolled inside the house last night without warning, I stretched and decided to go find her. Another old round of hide and seek, with me being the seeker of course. It was my job.
I even went as far as leaving my old clothes on from the other night without merely changing. How simply amazing could I be?! With a flop of the legs, I ran down the stairways, rubbing my fingertips briefly over my stubble cheek, and breezed through lightly to the living room.
"Honey?!" I shouted, hearing my voice drown over the rooms lightly. I silenced myself with a slight smile on my face, just hoping she'd be forgiving to me. My eyes widened a bit when I heard nothing but myself.
"Honey?!"
The smile melted off my mug and into a tight frown. I raised my right hand up and wagged my index finger a bit to the living room, taking a sip of breath through my lips loosely.
Shaking my head, I moaned trippingly with much frustration and turned my head towards the direction of the living room. Nothing, of course, nothing at all. Just fucking nothing. My head slowly tilted back to the kitchen, noticing the peeks of more sunlight rising throughout the house.
Not an amount of time was worn down as I toured over into the kitchen with the slide of my feet and traced inside. No sign of Marilyn anywhere and this only drew the craze of loneliness a little more closely to home. What really disturbed me was how everything was drawn correctly into its spot. How nothing was unsettling which was unusual.
My eyes outlined down to the table; our little table with the red-and- black checkered squares to, apparently 'country up' the little food house. My eyes briskly swept through the words and for an instant I was at a loss of words.
For a moment I couldn't feel again. For a moment all I could practically was capable of doing was gawk down at the paper as if I was executed alive throughout my entire body. Eyes bulging, shallow breathes escaping into my mouth as I only looked upon the words.
Standing there, I felt my knees wobble like that gelatin shit your great Aunt use to make for the reunions. But my eyes still fell hard- pressed against that sheet of paper, and in a long hazing flash I collapsed down to my knees, closing my eyes and shoving my grimy, rough hands to my eyes as if I were to save them from plunging out of shock.
-
"What happened?"
Already the whispers were appearing everywhere and it was only Sunday morning. My sunken eyes fell across the floor as I sat hunched over on the Madisons' couch, not even inching my body. This was strangely odd for me; a deep illusion, for I always felt a need to be jolting and moving. It was the McGrath way! .My way.
There was a long pause as Thomas and Terran were standing in the kitchen, thinking I couldn't even hear while sipping coffee and discussing it. Ha, bullshit! Of course I could hear everything they were saying because it wasn't like I was stupid or deaf, or I even attempted to ignore it kindly.
In realism, I wanted to. I really wanted to, but I just couldn't do it. I just placed myself on that couch of theirs as numb as I could be feeling at that direct moment. I don't even think I felt numb. I just felt nothing.
Terran was probably looking up at Thomas with careful, green eyes waiting for an answer as to why this 'slum' was sitting on her couch as miserable as could possibly be. I started to ponder with my back turned to them, if she was afraid I was hurt badly.
Thomas took a sharp breath of air and mumbled out as low as he could, "It's Marilyn."
"Big shock there..."
"No, seriously."
Tommy Boy strived again as I just cringed word after word resentfully. I even quivered my head a bit trying to hold back tears as Thomas tried to explain the great, big story. How he found me tearing up the living room trying to see if this was just some huge, shitty-ass prank pulled against me, weeping like a lost kid and muttering something about how amusing this was. Oh, ha-ha, nice prank guys. Real great!
The couple's words slammed against each other like a train wreck that I did not care to hear anymore. Soon it was peaceful again as I bit my under lip and waited as anxious as I could get. The stillness of the room was killing me, even if I chose to be still myself. Thick walls of white always remind me of asylums. I suppose it was all right for the time being. I did feel a little crazy.
Before I could let my thoughts run out gradually, I could hear the two trundled over in my direction. It seemed to me that they paused as for a struggle to find the words. Well, the right words, anyways.
'Give them all day,' I thought. 'Not like you need to go anywhere.'
"Greg,"
I didn't even bother looking up anymore. I already knew it was Tom. Even if I cared to even stare up I don't think I could actually perform the amazing feat. An annoyed sigh couldn't breath between my lungs, so I just stood there, agitated with any little sense in the entire room but tried to make an effort of not showing it.
The Madisons hesitated another time for a succinct moment. Slowly I could hear the couch creaking lightly underneath the person that was sitting down delicately. My crunchy, smashed eyes continued staring out to their pale white walls.
Gradually I felt a hand running through my hair caressing my scalp and I sucked in a bit of deep sigh still trying to hold everything together like plastic glue. Terran leaned in closer to me because I heard her sigh slowly close to my ear. Her fingertips paused when she came to my cheek.
"You alright, Greggy?"
Quickly, I shook my head and fumbled for words, which clearly shook out of my mouth. Just like they wanted all along. I felt interrogated by all her touching but even than that did not lose me.
"N-no." I whispered out, trying to find that little fucking voice inside my own throat. I suddenly grew annoyed as if she knew nothing! She didn't know because she didn't know how fucking hard this throbbed. She didn't know, simply because, she was not me.
I bit my under lip tightly, just completely begging for blood to rip up out of my skin; peeling it raw. My attempt to hold in the low moaning cries from my mouth was merely improbable as I lowered my chest down to my waist to stare down at their floor. A blur of tears shelled onto my eyes.
I only wept again and once more; I felt Mrs. Madison's smooth hand run down my spine calmly. Usually I would have felt dirty, having some other guy's wife stroking my skin, clothes or no clothes, but today she felt like a Mom. Not my mom, I don't assume my mom ever wanted to look at me, but it felt platonic even if she was one of the most beautiful girls I ever set eyes on.
"Greg, ." she whispered lightly rubbing my right side gently. "It's all right, okay? We'll take care of you. We will, won't we, Tom? Please say yes."
I can't even tell you what Tom said since he didn't say yes. I'm sure he didn't even nod his head, because Terran was actually the leader of the house. Always the bold one opposed to the sweet husband who was only standing across from his wife wearing his Pittsburgh steel outfit for work, with crossed arms and a forlorn look upon his face.
And Terran. The doll with the bell-bottoms, and light blue sweater covering her body comfortably with nothing else but a ponytail in her hair, held me there, making sure that she wouldn't send me out of my ass. For once I was extremely jealous of Tommy-Boy for having her, even if I wanted my Marilyn back.