Cherish

Cherish, teen mother and Outsider Girl, tries to find some time for herself and discovers it’s “not about me”.  Cherish also appeared in OGW April 1, 2010 and May 20.

Cherish:  Seven am, before the boy is awake.  He got me up at four, then he went back to sleep.  I tossed and turned, got up, made the coffee for my mother and me, sat down at my computer.

Free time.  Writing time.

Only there’s an email from the Disney store about a sale on hoodies, and next thing I know I’m browsing their site for about an hour, and I’ve put like sixty dollars on my PayPal account and I’ve bought the boy stuff like a white tee shirt with Jack from Nightmare Before Christmas on it which I figure he can get away with wearing to school ‘cause the uniform is a white shirt.

I want him to stand out.  I want him noticed.

That’s how it is now – screw me getting noticed, nobody ever noticed me for the good things anyway.  And now I don’t have to worry about me anymore, it’s all about him.

I haven’t written one word.  I have like six pages of a children’s book, one I’m writing for him, my sweet little boy.

For him.

When will it be for me again?

Was it ever?

But guess what -- I have a beautiful boy going into kindergarten this year, so who the fuck am I to complain?

Only, I can’t help it.  I want a boyfriend, friends, a new hoodie for me, a full night sleep going to bed before one and up after nine and then a day to write and draw like I used to but—

He’s awake now, tugging on me leg, smiling in my face.  Then he sneezes, and the dripping boogers make him cry so I have to go now, have to clean his face.  Story over.

For today, it’s not about me—

It’s Not About Me.

Gabby

In respect of LGBT WEEK… Gabby is an outsider girl with a lesbian Mom.  Gabby learns that just being lesbian doesn’t make you cool, and her Mom’s girlfriend is as annoying as Mom’s last boyfriend.

Gabby: “Gabby, what’re you doing?” Ellen yells to me, even though I’m only in the next room.  Her tone says:  “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not as important as what I’m about to ask.”

“Folding laundry,” I say.  My tone says, “Your laundry so’re you sure you want to get on my case now?”

“Get me a snack.  Gab-by,” Ellen whines.  “Gabby!”

     “Get it yourself!  God!  I’m folding your laundry right now —“

     “Gaaaby, my feet hurt.  You try wearing three inch heels for eight hours.  What’s your problem anyway, just get me some of those pita chips and some of that spicy hummus from last night.  It’s not that difficult, I’m not asking for you to come up with a gourmet -- Gabby?  Are you listening to me?  Come on Gabby, I’m serious.  Your mother always tells me what a good kid you are… Gabby, are you there?  Gabby, what’re you doing —“

     “Alright, alright!” I say, dropping the laundry on the dining room table.  Anything to shut Ellen up.

     I hate Ellen.  I wish my Mom were home.  This is so Cinderella.  Lesbian Cinderella.

You think it’s going to be different when your Mom reveals to you she’s coming out as a lesbian, I mean, I thought that.  Not just different as in no smelly guys tracking mud in the house and sneaking glances at my chest.  I don’t know why, but I thought when my Mom made peace with her sexuality and got a girlfriend, our life was going to be all about fresh flowers, impromtu fashion shows, sunglasses and floppy hats, makeovers, ice cream straight from the carton… I thought when Ellen moved in it was going to be like the perfect sleepover party.

Ha!

Reality?  Since my Mom got with Ellen, not only is life at home not girl talk and sleeping bags in front of the TV, I can’t even have a real sleepover party with my friends.  Seriously, no one is allowed to sleep over at my house anymore.  None of my so-called friends’ parents want their kid to sleep over in a house full of lesbians.  They like think life in my house is a non-stop orgy or a sex ed. class or something, which is almost as funny as me thinking it would be a non-stop ice cream sleepover.

I want my mom to be happy, I do! I think as I spoon hummus into a small plastic bowl, exactly two tablespoons because Ellen’s on Weight Watchers.

     A tear slips out of my eye and slides over my cheek.  I wipe it away quickly, but another tear follows, then another, then faster and faster, and I’m crying, and I can’t stop and all I want is someone to get a snack for me, to love me.  Right now it feels like I don’t have two Moms, I have two children.  And they’re not the cool kids on the block like I expected they would be.