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.

Jenna

Jenna is the main character in my upcoming novel, Spun.  She is a recovering meth addict with an alcoholic mother, a dead father, a torn-up life and an uncertain future.  Jenna is also an aspiring writer, carrying a notebook with her at all times in which she expresses her dreams and hopes, fears and desires, poems, images and observations.

Jenna:

Paige has Kevin.

Even Mom has Frank.

Is there, and if so, where and when is there, someone for me?  I’m filled with longing, or, rather, emptied of everything else.  “There isn’t any me anymore,” said Hemingway.  So say I, when I’m going home, alone again.  I say to myself, Paige loves me, my mother loves me, but do they really?  I scrawl in my notebook: 

     Paige has Kevin.  Kevin has Paige.

         I always go home

                                                      Eventually.

         Mom has Frank.  He has Mom.

                                                      Who has me?

I would’ve liked to make P.’s rm. a genie bottle, cause rgt. now, I feel like a genie trapped in a bottle,

bottle = home, but it confines me to its glass belly, no one gets in or out, and the most I can hope for is the glass breaks.

I want to be in love.  That’s what everyone else has, rgt.?  Paige/Kevin, Mom/Frank.  They hate each other but if they weren’t in love they wouldn’t still be together, or would they?

Who would I be willing to throw myself under?