Hmm, just for funsies, I feel like sharing part of my newest story. This hasn't been in the least bit edited, so it's not as good as I wish it were. But whatever.
My Shattered Euphoria
Chapter One: West Coast Move
I really wish that I could pinpoint the exact moment when I decided that I was to become such a cynic. I feel as if I used to be such a happy child. Maybe a bit too cheerful at some moments, but being an optimist sure is a hell of a lot more fun than being a pessimist. But I suppose I--
"Miss Adler?"
"Hmm?"
"Would you like to tell me about your childhood?"
I c**k an eyebrow as I turn to look at the other person occupying the space in the room. My admitted psychiatrist, Dr. Andrew Bodine, is doing what any other so-called ''professional'' would be -- staring intently down at a clipboard as if it holds the mystery to life. He is also writing something, though is a bit more subtle about it; his hand-writing motion isn't very noticeable.
He must finally catch on to my looking at him as his eyes shift upward. His head lifts up in alignment with his line of vision and his expression, to me, reads that he thinks I should stop staring at him and answer his random-sounding question.
"What?" I finally voice, trying to keep my tone casual. I am confused, but it's not as if he has to know that. It's only been a couple weeks since I started coming here, and yet he seems to be able to read my mind; I want to keep something secret.
"Well," Dr. Bodine says, glancing back down his stupid clipboard for about half a second. "You just stated that you used to be a happy child, but now you're a cynic."
I flush a bit, realizing that I had indeed been speaking out loud. Damn. I could've sworn that all those thoughts had been in my head. "I suppose I can tell you a few memories," I then reason, trying to appear non-chalant by shrugging.
Dr. Bodine smiles a bit down at his writings.
"What?" I ask, admittedly sounding the tiniest bit whiney. I hate it when people keep things from me. It's annoying.
"You never meant to say all those things out loud," he tells me, smirking at me like I'm an idiot.
"Well, isn't someone smart," I sarcastically mutter out, lying back down all the way on the couch. I fold my arms.
"Well, after four years at Harvard, I would hope I would be." He emphasizes the name of prestigious college like it's a gift from God, or something.
I roll my eyes, clasping my arms tighter to my chest. He may be there for me to help me out with whatever I want to talk about, but he's so damn smug someimes it makes me want to kick him in the crotch and run.
"We still have one-hundred and twenty-two minutes left with our session," Dr. Bodine voices after about ten seconds of silence. "This is your third time coming here and you have yet to tell me a single detail about why you believe these meetings should continue on."
I sigh. "Fine. What the hell d'you wanna know, then?"
"Whatever you wish to tell me," Dr. Bodine replies. I can hear his smug grin coming out through his 'I'm-smarter-than-you-and-you-know-it' tone; it makes me physically shudder.
"Fine," I grumble, rolling my eyes yet again. "I'll be sure and tell you all about my exciting life."
Silence befalls us.
He probably understands the sarcasm that I just used, so I sigh once more. "Alright, so where do I start?"
"Wherever you see fit."
"It was a retorical question."
"Oh. Well, in that case, please continue."
"Well," I briefly pause trying to recollect all my thoughts. I only have a little over two hours, so I'd better get started. I glance back at Dr. Bodine who is staring at me with a curious sort of expression.
"I was born over in Boston--"
"Massachusetts, I know. You told me that during our first session."
"Don't interrupt," I snap, glaring back at him; his calm and collected composure is really starting to piss me off. He looks at me with what could be mistaken for an apologetic appearence.
"You're right," he passively says, smiling ever so slightly. "I am truly sorry, Miss Adler; it will not happen again." Dr. Bodine holds his hands up in a defensive stance. God, I hope that means he'll shut up.
"Anyway,"I begin again, lying back down to a more comfortable position. I'm sure Dr. Bodine will keep his mouth shut this time; well, I'm wishing he will, anyway. "I was born in Boston, but my parents decided that Oregon was a more suitable place to raise a child. And--"
"Then how did you end up here in Denver?"
I scowl even though he doesn't see it. "I'll get there when I get there! Now keep your mouth shut and let me tell my Goddamn story!"
"You're right, Miss Adler," he says, sounding oddly sincere. "I am truly sorry. Please continue."
"If I hear you say that one more time, I'm walkin'," I bark, getting more pissed off by the second. He may have a Harvard degree, but he really should've studied how to be patient and listen for change.
He says nothing, so I take into account that he's following my non-verbal advice in the world of 'listening for a change'.
"Anyway, I got shipped off to Oregon when I was about, seven, eight; and it wasn't for the clichéic reason that one of my parents got a new job, either. They, honest to God, just felt that Oregon was more suitable for children. I wasn't the happiest person in the world about the move, but I eventually adjusted..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Mommy," I addressed, swinging my legs forward a bit; I accidentally kicked the driver's side seat in the process, though wasn't too concerned with the matter. "Why're we moving to Oar-eee-gone?"
"Don't kick my seat, please, Wendy," mom said, not even taking into account that I just asked a question of any sort. "And for future reference, it's pronouned, 'Ore-gen'."
"You didn't answer my question," I complained, folding my arms to my chest. I had asked that same question a few times before, like when the announcement of the move first arose, but I had never gotten much of a suitable answer.
"We just think that Oregon is a more suitable enviornment to raise a child in," dad answered, sounding the slightest bit irritated. He was staring intently out the passenger side window, checking out all of the boring west coast scenery flying by. I had attempted the same, but just ended up dozing off. So far, Oregon had yet to impress the likes of me.
"I get that," I snapped, lifting my arms closer to my neck. "I'm just wondering why Oregon of all places? I've heard that California is much more fun."
"You only think that 'cause of Disneyland," my dad teased, suddenly sounding a bit more cheerful.
"Yeah, daddy," I sarcastically mumbled, rolling my eyes. "That's why."
I had to admit that I was the tiniest bit thrown by the idea. For God's sake, I was eight years old; I wasn't a little kid, anymore, yet they kept treating me as such. It got annoying.
I may have been able to be qualified as an optimist (in comparison to being a pessimist, anyway), but I had been taught at an early age how to correctly use sarcasm. My cousin, Melinda, could practically be called the queen of it, so I had been taught rather well.
Both my parents just laughed at that.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Wait wait, wait."
I exasperatedly sigh, yelling out, "What?"
"I thought that you said that you were only eight when you moved to Oregon."
"Yeah, and?" I snap, turning around to look at my so-called 'psychiatrist.'
"Well, I don't know of too many second graders who can fully grasp the concept of sadistic sarcasm," he tells me, sounding a bit too smug for his own good.
"Isn't all sarcasm sadistic?" I counter, smiling a bit at the ceiling. I place my hands behind my head, waiting to hear what 'Mr.-I'm-so-smart' has to say about that little bit of information.
"Most of the time, yes," Dr. Bodine admits. I can't tell if there's even a shred of shame in his voice. "But it doesn't have to be to be qualified as sarcasm."
"Okay, so maybe I was about eleven," I say, rolling my eyes. "It was like twenty years ago and I have a bad memory."
"Please continue on then, Miss Adler."
"Thank you," I reply, shutting my eyes in an attempt not to appear too overly irritated. "Anyway, as I was saying, my parents just seemed to like the feel of Oregon..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
We arrived in Portland after about a week's drive. Mom despised flying to no end, even though dad continuously tried to inform her that there would be more of a chance for us to get killed in a car crash, rather than flying where there was a very slim chance of the plane dropping right out of the sky.
Well, needless to say, mom was not at all pleased with the bit of information that she received that day.
"So, you're telling me that there's a chance that the plane could just suddenly take a dive and that the three of us could get instantly incinerated in a firey death?" She relayed back, eyeing dad with a certain amount of disgust.
He sighed. "Yes, there is, Rachel, but..." He let out a second breath then and began gingerly massaging his temples. "I honestly thought that that was what you were afraid of."
Mom's eyes widened as she glanced over at dad and cried out, "NO! If I've told you once, I've told you a million times: I hate heights!"
"Yes, Rachel," dad said, sounding a bit too weary to care about much of anything anymore. "I realize that now."
I stifled a laugh from my position in the back seat. I wasn't too sure why I found their argument so amusing -- though I figured that it was nice not being the one in trouble for once in my natural born life.
"Anyway, do I turn onto I-5?" Mom suddenly asked in a hard voice. Her head was bowed down a bit as she glared at the road ahead. I couldn't tell, but I believed that she was more enthusiastic for a subject change than she let on.
"Yeah, I think so," dad replied, sounding like the last thing he wanted to do was speak to her at that exact moment in time.
The car lurched to the left as mom turned it onto Interstate-5. And how boring the interstate was. Nothing at all worth mentioning was even on the stupid thing.
I, being a mere eleven-years-old at the time, found my attention wavering as my boredom grew.
"See, Oregon's not so bad," dad commented, possibly talking to me; though it was rather hard to tell -- he was staring out the window as he spoke.
"Actually it is," I argued, rolling my eyes. I leaned forward in my seat in an attempt to be better heard over the rush of traffic flowing outside. "D'you know what this place could use?"
"An eccentric amusement park?" Mom suggested, sounding as if she were trying her best not to laugh. Obviously, she was more pleased with me at the moment than dad -- it was a nice change of pace.
"Well, yes," I admitted, flickering my eyes out the window for about half a second. I really didn't disagree. "But I'm talking about the lack of children that I've seen so far."
"We've only seen the freeway," mom said, her tone the slightest bit impatient.
"And God knows that if Boston can attract people, than Oregon sure as hell can," dad coolly remarked..
"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?" Mom snapped, glowering over in the only male's direction; he immediately wore an expression of remorse for saying such a thing.
"Well," dad quietly said. He rubbed the back of his neck and refused to even look in mom's reaction. "I guess that..."
Silence came for a few select seconds.
"Spit it out," mom barked. I happened to notice that she was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.
"I don't like Boston!" Dad admitted with a scowl, throwing his hands up in disgust.
"Why?" I interrupted, raising an eyebrow at him. "I was born there, mom," I briefly nodded to the aforementioned woman, "was born there. You were--"
"Actually, your father was born in fancy-a** Philedelphia," mom interjected, saying the name of the Pennesylvanian capital as if it were some infectious disease.
"Really?" Both my eyebrows shot up, most likely to the point of them disappearing underneath my brunette bangs. Why I had never learned this little bit of information, I didn't know.
"Mmhmm," dad hummed, glaring out the window as if it was the highway's fault that he was somewhere different from mom and me.
"Then why'd we live in Massachusetts?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"I hate to interrupt you again, Miss Adler, I really do, but--"
"Goddamn it!" I yell out in a blind fury. Literally blind, as I do not sit up and my eyes stay shut. I am comfortable in my physical position and am not too keen on ruining that. "D'you wanna hear my story or not?!"
"Well, yes, but I am just wondering why it was never mentioned that your father was born in a different state than you."
I, as best as I can with them still shut, roll my eyes. Why is it, when he asks me to tell a story, he interrupts me with so many irrelavent questions? A certain thought then hits me and I smile as I imagine a huge satellite falling down on Dr. Bodine's huge, balding head.
"Miss Adler?"
I sigh, annoyed with the fact that I was torn away from my most precious fantasy. "What?" I reluctantly sit up and glower at my psychiatrist.
"Would you please answer my question?"
I shrug, trying my best to contain my almost overwhelming irritation. "Is it really all that important?"
"Well, quite frankly, yes," Dr. Bodine replies, as if it is the most obvious answer in the world. His thin-rimmed glasses are about two seconds from falling off the tip of his nose, I'm sure. And, I have to say, I'd laugh if they did. He crosses his legs as best as he can and balances his chin in his palm, looking at me like I'm nothing more than an amusing distraction.
"And why is this?" I ask, not giving a s**t about any sort of reasoning.
"Because it might tell me a few things about the type of person your father grew up to be, and, by association, the kind of person you grew up to be."
I roll my eyes once more and lay back down. Goddamn it that guy knows how to piss me off. "Well, to answer your ridiculous question..."
scrubskitten Community Member 
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