In Me, Tiffany Anyel [good books for 8th graders TXT] 📗

“Fuck Everyone!” I silently screamed as I drove down ‘highway hell’ on my way home. Too many cars, too many ‘crazy’ drivers, too many traffic lights—just too much for one person—namely me, to put up with, especially right now!

And especially since I decided to have ‘my-world-changing’ epiphany moment, the exact same instant, I almost rear-ended the slowest and dumbest driver, in the history of slowest and dumbest drivers! Err! I swerve to the passing lane, roll down my window, and flip them off.

An old wrinkled woman gives me a your-going-to-hell stare as I zoom past her to switch lanes. Looking in my rearview mirror, I finally spot the old hag, and give her one last ‘middle finger’, when I hear a loud horn, and realize I’m about to drive right off the exit into the valley below, “Shit!” I swerve almost hitting the horn-blaring semi, when he blows his loud-ass horn again

. I flip him off and yell “Shut-it asshole!” as I turn off the highway.

Fuming at a red light and feeling a little un-hinged by my near-death experience, only a minute ago, proves even more—I need a change. That my epiphany moment earlier--was not just ‘a moment’ but a fucking red flag permanently stamped in my consciousness somewhere.

Sitting here waiting, for the stupid light to change, with all but smoke coming out of my ears and nose, I might as well spill. So here’s the beans: Have you ever been stomped on? Beaten up? Ran over? Completely and utterly rung out?

Of course, this is all metaphorical, or at least in my case. I haven’t gotten the pleasure (I’m sure) of literally being ‘the girl bleeding on the pavement.’ But in every other way--yes, I’m that girl bleeding on the pavement. Crying. Tired. And Unhappy. But most of all Pissed-the-fuck-off!!!

I hear a horn, and realize the light has turned green. I make my way to my street, finally pulling up to home—the one place that makes a shitty day, not-so-shitty.

I changed out of my too-tight jeans, and too-big shirt, and plopped on the couch with a bowl of ice cream and flicked the remote as I looked for a movie to watch. Considering my mood, I stopped at the streaming horror movies; Hellraiser that’s a good one! I definitely could raise some hell right about now!

I hear the phone ring. Not right now Lee.

Rolling my eyes, choosing to ignore it--the machine clicks on and I hear Lee’s voice on the other end, “Kate, why are you not answering your cell?” Because I don’t want to, that’s why!

“And why are you not picking up now? I know you just got off work, where else would you be?” I hear his smirk-y laughter over the phone. Shut up Lee.

“Okay Kate, well whenever you feel like crawling out of your hole, give me a ring, will ya?” He hangs up, the machine clicks off. Crawling out of my hole…humph, if Lee only knew how right he was…

Bang! Bang! Bang! “Kate! Are you in there?!” Bang! What the… Quickly sitting up, and wiping my groggy eyes—‘Kate!” I jump, realizing Lee is at the door—no scratch that, about to ‘unhinge’ the door, as he stood there pounding and yelling my name.

I slowly (just for his benefit) walk to the door and opened it saying, “What the hell dude?”

“Where the hell have you been?!” Lee says, standing with all but hands on hips, trying to give me one of his wickedly evil stares—that seemed to look (at least to my groggy eyes) only wickedly sexy and maybe a bit evil.

He rolls his eyes, “And why are you smiling?”

“Because I forget how cute you are when you’re angry,” I say pinching his cheek.

“Kate I’m serious—where the hell have you been?” I shut the door behind him, and walk into the kitchen, “Where do you think? Do you see me right now? I was sleeping.”

“Do you know how worried I’ve been? You could of least called me back before you crashed.” “Oh my god Lee what’s the big deal?! So I took a nap.” I say, turning around facing him.

“A nap?” “Yea, so?” watching him smile for the first time—since banging on my door I ask, “What—why the face?”

Lee stifled a laugh, “Kate, what day do you think it is?” “What?” I glanced at the clock on my microwave—“Shit!”

It was almost mid-afternoon—the next day. I had clonked out somewhere in between raising hell, and sticky ice cream yesterday evening—til now. “Crap! I am so late for work!”

I run to my room, and quickly start scanning my bleak and depressing closet. I had shoved a wrinkled shirt over my head, (over the one I still had on) when I abruptly stopped—walking over to my bed and sitting down.

I hated my job. I even hated—that I even hated my job. So, why the rush—besides being incredibly late! to get back to it??

Hello, Bills? Well yea, there’s that—unfortunately. But I had built up quite a ‘nest egg’ over the years, and fortunately—for me, had enough saved up to last me several bills in the future.

No, stripping me down to my bare ass—was the truth, my naked

truth: fear—yes, that ‘oh-so-scary’ four letter word, that has so ‘terrifyingly’ kicked me in my rear—over and over again.

I guess at some point in my life, I had just decided to keep binding over. And guess what? It kicked my ass every time! Since it mattered—fear has had the ‘horrifying’ pleasure of tying a huge knot around my every decision.

I hear a curious Lee walk over to my bed, sitting down. “What’s wrong?”

I quickly wiped my eyes, letting out a sniffle. Lee sounding concerned bumps me on the shoulder, “Is it about you being late? I’m pretty sure Joanne will understand once you talk to her.” “Yea I know. It’s not that.”

“So what is it?” I get up from the bed, and sounding a little muffled, as I tangled with pulling the first shirt over my head said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m okay.”

Knowing Lee I could probably guess what he was thinking, something along the lines: Stop lying to me Kate

! And Lee knowing me knew I always

had to sort it out on my own.

Sighing, and looking not too pleased, Lee gets up, “Okay. Well, I’ll let you get ready for work.” He shuts the door behind him.

I stood staring at my closet for I don’t know how long. Fuming at my drab pathetic wardrobe and disheveled mess of a closet—I begin yanking clothes off hangers. Throwing shirts, shoes, pants, and anything I saw out.

Feeling like Bernadine from Waiting To Exhale, I begin quietly—yet furiously, quoting the part, “Get your shit! Get your shit! And get out!”

Okay, fact: I didn’t have a ‘man’ in my life (not even a cheating one). But me anger, my frustration—my unhappiness! didn’t come from the choices and actions made by someone else—but the choices and actions not made for myself.

I had given up: On my-self. On my-dreams. On my-life. Even my pathetic crap of a closet (which explains some of the giving up on me part). Year by year, month by month, week by week, day by day, hour by hour…piece by piece—choice by choice.

Finally sizzling down, I turn around, looking at my littered room—clothes everywhere (and I do mean everywhere), my bedroom looked like a tornado had come through—only stirring up my already ‘flung’ clothes.

Spending most of my energy ‘stirring up the tornado,’ I calmly tidied up my room. I had all but three outfits in my closet. I chunk-ed the rest.

I went to my drawer, changed into an appropriate outfit for the task at hand, and left my room. I see Lee in the living room, eating a sandwich, watching Hellraiser. (Go figure.)

He notices me standing in the archway, and I watched the surprised look on his face, as he looked me up and down, “You wearing that to work?”

“No.” And before he could respond, I say with a bit of gusto and a hint reservation, “I’m quitting my job today.” “You’re quitting?” “Yes.” And instead of asking why—which I was waiting for, Lee surprises me saying, “Good for you.”

He meets my surprised smile, with a bemused one of his own, “So…where are you going in that outfit? The gym?” I reflexively look down at my attire—spandex pants, with a matching top, and sneakers. Yes, I was ready for a work-out.

“Maybe. But first I’m going running.” “Running? You? Okay

.” Lee said, sounding confused, looking mildly amused, as he finished his sandwich.

We say our ‘good-byes’ and ‘call me laters’; then I set out running. Running for my life.

Two weeks. Five days. Two hours: Running.

“So...what…brought...this...on?” Lee said, through shuddered breaths—running alongside me (for the first time), he wipes a towel over his sweaty face.

I pause—considering, “I don’t know. I…just felt like running.”

And in his—best yet, Forrest Gump voice, Lee ‘so Forrest-ly’ replied, “You just felt like running?” I bump him on the shoulder not-stifling a laugh. He turns his head smiling.

I guess it had to be said—I’m just surprised he beat me to it! But who knew better than Lee how our ‘sense of humor’ worked.

My Lee: my confidante, my friend. He always knew just what to say—or not say. But his ‘simple’ question did have me thinking ‘complex-ingly’ for the answer, as we circled yet another lap in the park.

Two weeks, five days, and