Meghan

Meghan:  He touches me, and I expect more.  I mean, where’s the thrill, the shiver down deep, the roller coaster ride, stomach in my mouth, rush through my crotch?

When my mother was drinking, she and I used to have these great talks.  I was ten when I asked her what was so great about sex, why did people do it?

She told me that it’s all about the orgasm, which feels like when you’re careening down the tall slope of a rollercoaster, that feeling in your gut that goes through your crotch.

Well, so here I am, and I’m not getting it.  I mean, if eventually I’m supposed to feel the rush of going down so fast you can’t breathe except to scream… shouldn’t I be feeling that tension of slowly rising up the coaster?  That, “it’s gonna happen, something’s gonna happen, something’s gonna feel good, feel better than anything” – like that?

Now his hand moves over my shirt, rubbing circles over my nipples. 

Okay, that’s not bad.

I’m starting to get it, starting to feel it, but then –

Not.

I shut down.

I get off the ride, metaphorically speaking.

I remember asking my mother what the big deal was about putting your privates together with a boy’s.  She said – besides the rollercoaster part – she said, you know the emptiness you feel inside sometimes?

I did and I didn’t.

She said, well, when a man puts his penis inside you, it makes you feel whole.

I want to feel whole even more than I want to feel the rollercoaster rush.

But all I feel is Mathias’s random groping.  Reaching lower, but I get nothing.

What is wrong with me?

Meghan

Meghan:  has just come out of rehab for the second time, and she’s only seventeen!  Meghan has appeared previously in OGW 12/3/09 and 6/10/10.

Meghan:  Seriously.  Seriously.  Is this it?  Sitting in a damp church basement room that smells like old turkey gravy, listening to some bleached blond in a sweater set who’s trying to look thirty-something but it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s actually fifty-something, listening to her tell us that the “Our Father”, the fucking “Our Father” is really the (fucking) “Lord’s Prayer,” and we should look it up.  Seriously.  I should look that up.

     “Thank you Sharon,” the group says in one voice, like the automatons, the sober robots they are.

     “Eat me Sharon,” is what I say, but under my breath, so they don’t hear.

     In my hand, I hold on tightly to the form the chairperson has to sign to prove I came here, sat through this bullshit for a whole freaking hour of my life that I’ll never get back.  Sat through this, my first AA meeting.

Grimelda (aka Stacy)

Grimelda (aka Stacy) is a friend of Meghan (OGW, 12/3/09).  Stacy is what’s known as an unreliable narrator – if you can make sense at all out of what she’s saying, she rambles so much.  It may be that she smokes too much pot.  It may be that she’s reluctant to expose her true feelings about losing her best friend.

Grimelda (aka Stacy):  Do you look at your toilet paper after you wipe, even when it’s pee?  You at least look after you poop, everyone does, or else how would you know that you were done wiping?  Well, it’s true, you know you do it too!  Truly, I’m not trying to be gross, I just have a hard time getting to the point sometimes.  Sometimes… LOL! More like all the time okay?  I admit it. 

What’s my point?  Oh yeah…

I glanced at the toilet paper wad in my hand, and I mean glanced, so it’s not that gross or that weird, I know what you’re thinking… oh yeah, I know, get to the point.  So I looked down at the toilet paper in my hand, and saw it tinted reddish-brown.  I’m getting my period, I thought, that explains everything.  OMG, I can’t tell you how happy I am.  It’s like I’ve been given this little glimpse that everything might turn out okay eventually, even though my life actually really sucks, plus I won’t be able to have sex – well, I could, it’s not against the law, but anyway Mark is definitely going to expect me to give him head for at least a week because the whole period thing freaks him out.  He’s so immature, why don’t I have at least a college boyfriend, I never should’ve gotten involved with a boy in my own grade, but he is hella cute and I should, I guess, consider myself lucky because he is also a pot dealer, and I love my weed, true dat...  What was my point?

Right.  I’m getting my period, and that’s why I’ve been bursting into tears and feeling like my life is starting to suck worse than ever.  It has nothing to do with my life falling apart, ripping at the seams, a hole in my life that I’ve been picking at all week making it bigger.  The hole is my friend Meg getting taken out of public school as if that will help, and it’s not her parents who are making her do stupid things like get high and steal her Dad’s coke and throw up after a few of us were just over there hanging out but Meg got out of control again…

Jesus fucking Christ, even I don’t know what my point was anymore.  Too much coffee!  Too much Red Bull!

Oh yeah, and my period.  I’ve been PMS’ing, and that’s why I can’t keep a smile on lately-seems-like-forever-but-it’s-not-really.  My heart has literally felt heavy, like a rock in my chest I’ve been dragging around.  No more Meg to share a locker with!  No more Meg to show up at school in a bumblebee-striped black and yellow, sparkling, I kid you not, leotard and matching yellow tutu with black tights and knee-high combat boots to cheer me up.  Or to piss off Miss Gotham.  Or to add color to our usual black on black combo.  Or just because her mother was wasted all weekend and didn’t do the laundry and her Dad’s girlfriend is too young to even know how to do laundry and I am definitely losing my mind, can you tell here?

But it’s just PMS. 

Whew.

I’m a nice kid, and I don’t usually go all mental and want to kick some parent ass.  Meg’s parents are Aholes and I don’t want to go all mental on them, I just want my friend back here with me, making the insanity more you know real or something.  Making it okay.

I will not kill her parents.  I will get through this.  We will get through this.  Although I’m going to their house today, and I think I’ll make use of my PMS and go ahead and be weepy and screamy and crazy because they deserve it.  Then later, I’ll be all, “Oh!  I just got my period!  No wonder I was behaving so badly!”  Yeah, that’ll work. 

See?  I feel better already.  

Meghan

Meghan is a new character.  I sat down to write and thought, "I'm tired.  The Red Bull doesn't cut it for me anymore"... wrote that down for the hell of it, and Meghan emerged!  All I know about her so far is what you read in her Outsider Girls entry.  Her father has a drug problem, maybe her mother too, maybe Meghan herself.  We'll see...

Megan:  I am tired.  The Red Bull doesn’t cut it for me anymore.  My father let me try cocaine once, and it got me up, but not enough, you know?  I mean, it felt good and all that, like it was supposed to, I guess, but

     I am never smoking pot again.  No, really.  Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s what I said about the coke

     Of course I found his stash, well, Stacy who wants to be called Grimelda – no shit –

     “Stop, just stop!” that’s Grimelda, and she’s all yelling and shit at Angel to stop rubbing her back against the edge of the door cause, and I agree, it’s going to really hurt her.

     Grimelda found my dad’s stash of cocaine in his sock drawer of all places, I mean how lame a hiding place was that?  Also a rectangle sample of the same granite we eventually did our counters with

     They weren’t even his regular socks.  Just the holey ones without matches in a drawer covering his coke.

Fuck. Never. A. gain.  No.  More.  Pot 

“Yeah sure,” I say to the offer of a shot of vodka in my Red Bull.  

     Once I heard Daniel Pesco’s dad found his bottle of vodka in the freezer frozen, and Daniel was in like so much trouble, and he’s such an idiot which is why we don’t hang out with him anyway and

     OMG, my mother flipped out when she caught Stacy I mean Grimelda and me into Dad’s stash, she was like, “Fuckin’ A’ Richard—“

     Dad prefers to be called Dick.  No, just kidding.

     I think I want to die here now.  I’m never smoking pot again. 

“Angel, it does not itch that much you’re just stoned!” She better just stop before I before I

     Dad was like, I mean later, when Mom was gone, after she’d stormed off, after she’d made an appointment with me I mean for me to see her shrink

     Dad was like, “Meghan, you just have to ask, honey, you don’t have to steal anything from me, I’m your Dad!”

     I think I’m going to die here.

     I think I might as well.

     Angel stop rubbing your back against the fucking door and everyone just chill out why are you yelling

     Oh yeah, that was me.