Wednesday February 29, 2012 - 10:16 PM

The guidance counselor at school wants me to talk about it. Wants everyone who was there to talk about it. Even though it wasn’t a school event, there were mostly people from our school there. So he has arranged these sessions with everyone -- they started yesterday, and we had another one today.
He wants us to talk about it.
But I don’t want to.
It’s funny, the only thing that I want to do is to try to find this old movie I remember watching with Uncle Bob several years ago. It was bothering me all week, because what happened reminded me specifically of a scene from a movie.
These past couple of nights I’ve been rooting through his DVD, Blu-Rays as well as his VHS tapes. He hasn’t completely replaced and updated his original movie collection -- shit, he even has a few movies on this format called Beta -- he told me that it was all the rage just before VHS players came out -- in my mind, VHS players and tapes themselves are ancient. But I haven’t yet found the movie I was thinking about. I keep remembering that there’s this old guy like whathisname from that show Aunt Shelly used to love, The West Wing: Martin Sheen. Or perhaps it’s Jon Voight or maybe that guy who was in Wedding Crashers, Christopher Walken. I do know that I saw it a long time ago. So the actor must have been quite a bit younger when the movie was made.
But it’s the scene I can’t get out of my head. Because it’s almost as if what happened was right out of that movie.
And I don’t think I’ll be able to talk about what happened properly until I can see that scene again.
I know it sounds nuts, but I need to do this. And I haven’t mentioned this to anyone. Because what would they think of this guy who wants to talk about a movie instead of the real thing that happened?
So I remember this scene from the movie. I remember it, but there are different images that don’t make sense together, almost like a dream. Maybe it’s really a few different movies or two different scenes that I’m thinking about and confusing them both in my mind. Who knows? Anyways, it’s winter. These kids are playing hockey on the ice of a lake. Then here’s where I’m not sure if I’m remembering a single scene from a single movie, or maybe different elements from different movies: There’s like this guy who’s mad at one of the hockey players, or else he has a vision that something bad is going to happen. I can’t remember which. Maybe it’s both because it is two different movies I’m remembering. I don’t know.
But the next thing you know, the hockey player breaks through the ice and everyone is standing around looking at him. And you can see him through the ice, banging on it, the air escaping from his lips. And everyone is standing on top of the ice, looking down at him, stunned. He can see them, they can see him.
And everyone watches him die.
That’s what it was like on Sunday. Sort of.
But I need to know what damn movie, or movies I’m thinking about. I need to watch that scene or those scenes so I can get those images out of my head and then properly talk about what happened.

Sunday February 26, 2012 - 11:40 AM

I don’t care what anybody says, revenge is not sweet.
Now I can’t be sure, 100% sure, that it’s my fault. But given my track record, why the hell else wouldn’t I believe it?
Why didn’t I just stay away from the hockey game yesterday?
Why didn’t I just stay home?
I’m too upset to talk about it right now.

Friday February 17, 2012 - 8:52 PM

I was watching Sarah across the cafeteria today.

I don’t know why. Dammit, I was doing so good for a while there, and then along comes this Chad guy, sniffing all around Sarah.

He’s one of those good looking jock guys who could pretty much have any girl that he wants. Why is he bothering with Sarah, then?

And why am I so worried about it? And keeping an eye on Sarah now wherever I go?

It’s not like Sarah and I are going to get together again. Or that there’s a chance that we’ll reconcile. I think I’ve come to terms with that understanding. I mean, I have to give up that possibility, especially since she’s not even willing to speak with me.

I mean, the good thing is that I haven’t approached her again, haven’t gone through my pathetic display of hopelessness. Sure, I’m watching her again. I can’t help but pay attention whenever I spot her. But how can I help it?

Sure, a relationship can end, but you can’t immediately turn off the feelings that you’ve had for someone for years.

I can’t, at least. Sarah meant too much to me for too long to just be able to forget those feelings so quickly.

So there’s Sarah, sitting in the cafeteria, not chatting with her friends, but eating her lunch and writing in a journal. She’s been doing a lot of that lately. Well, actually, she always wrote in her journal a lot -- but she often didn’t do it in the middle of the day. She usually only wrote in her journal first thing in the morning or at the end of the day.

Anyways, she’s writing in her journal and snacking on an apple, and along comes Chad, slips into the seat beside her and starts up a conversation.

I wanted to walk over there, tell him to leave her alone, punch him in the head and then walk off. It took everything in me not to do so. Instead, I just got up from my chair and walked out.

Wednesday February 15, 2012 - 5:14 AM

Valentine’s Day was harder than I thought it would be.

And I’m embarrassed to admit something that helped me get through it.

I don’t normally like pop music or top 40 stuff -- most of my favourite music tends to be stuff that was released a generation or two back. I do like some new stuff, but they tend to be alternative bands and not the kind of stuff that you’d hear on the average radio station. Maybe that’s why I like Q92 so much -- they do play new stuff, some top 40 rock and pop songs, but do a great job of mixing it in with a lot of the older things that I like: Led Zeppelin, The Who, Pink Floyd, ACDC.

Anyways, there’s this top 40 song from a few years back they’ve been playing in a semi-regular rotation on Q92 that speaks to me. It’s the song by Simple Plan called “Welcome To My Life”

Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place?
Like somehow you just don't belong
And no one understands you
Do you ever wanna runaway?
Do you lock yourself in your room?
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you screaming

Yeah, I don’t really know much about their music, but this song says it like it is. These guys actually get it. I went and downloaded the song from iTunes and ended up just playing it over and over and over again.

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life

Geez, my buddies, who have similar tastes in harder, edgier rock music would cringe if they knew I was up all night last night, playing this song over and over again.

But it helps. It really does.

Monday February 13, 2012 - 6:36 PM

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.

I think it’s going to be hard. But I’ll get through it. I spent the entire weekend closed up in my room listening to music and playing X-Box games, just trying to get the image of Sarah talking with Chad out of my head. I spent hours playing through Ultimate Spider-Man. Sure, it’s an older game on an older game system, but it’s a pretty awesome one. You spend part of the game playing as Spidey and the other part playing as Venom.

It’s not as good as the Spider-Man 2 game was, which I still enjoy farting around with, but it’s still pretty decent. It has an incredible open environment to roam around in, some good challenges and intense fighting action.

Lord knows I can use the fighting action to let off a little steam.

For the past couple of months I’ve been pretty good while sitting on the bus. Pretty good about picking a spot where I can’t see Sarah and she can’t see me.

But this morning, for the first time since we broke up, she was sitting in a seat across the aisle just a few rows ahead. And there was nobody blocking my view. I tried to focus on my Gameboy, tried to read my magazine, but I couldn’t help continually looking up trying to catch another glimpse of her.

And I try not to think about what Sarah and I would have likely have planned for tomorrow. And with that, of course, wondering if she's going to be doing something with this Chad guy who's been hanging around her a lot lately.

This must be what addicts go through when exposed to that thing -- whatever it happens to be for their addiction -- that pushes them over the edge. I guess, for me, Sarah is that thing. I'm over her, I'm really trying to be. But when I get close to her, when I see her again, I have to "get over it" all over again.
Tomorrow is not going to be easy.
Fuckin' Valentine's Day. Another seasonal "in your face" reminder of lost love. 
Yeah, like I need that.

Wednesday February 22, 2012 - 10:12 PM

I sat on the bus beside Harley today. He’s one of the guys in my group of pals. Well, actually, Harley is one of the guys who is on the edge of the group. I mean, within our group of pals, there have been times when I’ve been closer buds with Neil or closer buds with Jagdish. But I’ve never felt particularly close with Harley.
Not that I feel close with any of them lately. I’ve been sticking by myself a lot lately. It’s been so long since I’ve actually made any effort to hang out with my group of buddies it makes sense that any attempt to get re-acquainted with them would be through Harley, the guy on the periphery. So on the bus ride home today, I sat near Harley. I knew he would start up a conversation almost immediately.
Anyways, Harley was talking about hockey. It’s funny to see him all enthusiastic about hockey this year, because a few years ago, during the NHL hockey strike, he was really pissed about the whole thing. He quit hockey that year and for several years after he refused to even put on a pair of skates or even play a quick pick-up game of street hockey. He sort of followed Team Canada in the Olympics, and now he seems a bit more pumped about hockey in general.
Harley said that it’s time to have another one of our challenge games with the Sudbury guys and that he’s been organizing an outdoor game on Windy Lake - it’s to take place this coming weekend on the ice near the old Elk’s Club hall.
The Levack guys are challenging the Sudbury guys. See, from our town -- actually it’s not just Levack, but it’s Levack, Onaping and Dowling. Well, that’s not really true after all, because several years ago we amalgamated into the Greater City of Sudbury; but we still think of ourselves as a unique town -- there’s quite a large group of us that take the bus in to school. Anyways, whenever we participate in after school types of events, they always take place in Sudbury, the veritable centre of the universe around here. It’s always tough to get any of the students who live in Sudbury to actually show up to anything that takes place out here, even though it’s only a 45 minute drive.
One of the only exceptions, of course is the occasional Levack vs Sudbury Hockey challenge. Levack no longer has its own high school, or hockey team, but the team used to be called the Huskies. So that’s what we’ve named the Levack team. The Sudbury guys call themselves the Wolverines -- partly named after the Sudbury Wolves junior A hockey team and partly an ode to the X-Men comic book character.
Harley asked me if I was interested in playing, and he showed me the sheet of names of players, said that the Huskies could use a couple of more players. “Whaddya say, Pete?” he asked. “Tired of moping around like a big cry baby and sobbing in your milk over Sarah? Ready to play a man’s sport again?”
Harley has this way of saying things in a blunt fashion, not really holding back or worrying about perceptions. This had a tendency to piss people off, but at least you always knew exactly where you stood with him.
But my mind was already too busy to take issue with the way he’d said that, because I’d been looking at the list when he was talking, and spotted Chad’s name on the list of the Sudbury team.
I smiled.
Man, it would be a good chance to take my frustrations out on him, maybe a nice cross-check across the forehead, or a body slam right onto the ice.
“Yeah, Harley,” I said, a huge grin on my face. “You can count on me. I’ll be there.”

Friday February 10, 2012 - 11:23 PM

I walked by Sarah again today in the hall. Again, didn’t turn my head, didn’t let on how much I still loved her, how much I still missed her.

I was just playing it cool.

And pretty proud of myself, too.

I made it to the end of the hall before I turned to look back.

And saw her laughing with this Chad guy. He’s one of those good looking jock types, plays on the volleyball team, is a member of the cross-country running club and can often be found during spares or after school using the weight room. Most of the girls I know have always had a crush on Chad.

They’re both standing at her locker, she’s retrieving some books and he’s all hanging on her locker door and telling her some sort of amusing story.

The sound of her laughter coming down the hallway is both good to hear and yet slices into my heart like the cold steel of a blade.

Dammit, I was doing so good there for a while, too.

Tuesday February 7, 2012 - 10:46 PM

It’s amazing what a couple of good night’s sleep will get you. Maybe it’s all the fresh air and back-breaking snow shoveling I’ve been doing lately, but something’s working right.
I did end up going back to sleep the other night. I dropped off again at maybe half past midnight. Last night, I slept the whole night through as well. And I did dream, but it was normal stuff -- none of the nightmarish stuff that’s been plaguing me lately.
It’s interesting. I saw Sarah today, and, instead of getting all freaked out and staring at her, and wanting to follow her, I just kept walking. Sure, my heart was in my throat, and beating a million beats per minute. But I just kept walking, and I think I made it look like things were cool and I was over her.
I should be an actor. Like I said, a couple of full nights’ sleep works wonders.
The thought of actually being "over" her and being able to play that part reminded me of something, though. A conversation that Sarah and I had not all that long ago. Back in the fall of 2010, in November, I think, Sarah and I were driving back after seeing the latest Harry Potter movie in Sudbury.
We were in her father’s 76 Impala -- a brown beauty of a car with a convertible top. Of course, it was too cool out to have the top down, but man I loved driving that car.
That was the great thing about that car. Sarah loved to drive it, and so did I. It was fun, too, because when she was driving, I’d be undoing her front zipper and slipping a hand under the waist band of her panties, rubbing her with my finger while she drove. And when I was driving, she would either be playing with my nuts or stroking my cock.
That night, she was giving me one of her nimble and expert hand-jobs when the conversation turned to University. Sarah was talking about heading off to Carleton University in Ottawa. She is a brilliant writer and has always wanted to be a journalist. Ever since I’ve known her, she’s always loved to write. I’m pretty sure, in fact, that one of the only reasons I’ve taken to following the guidance counselor’s advice and writing these journal entries is because on some level I’ve equated writing with Sarah. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, writing this stuff gives me the sense of being closer, somehow, to Sarah.
And it’s funny, too, because this Frank guy who leaves me comments from time to time mentioned that he thought I’d make a good writer. I guess I must have picked up at least a little bit of talent from Sarah and maybe it even shows.
Anyways, Sarah wanted to get in to the journalism program at Carleton, and I wanted to stay here, attend Cambrian College. I’ve always said that I wanted to take the Heating, Ventilation and Air Conditioning program, but that’s just been an excuse to stay here in town and keep doing the things that I’m doing until I can figure everything out.
I’ll be fucked if I really know what I want to do. I need a few years of just living and not going to school in order to figure out what that might be.
They should make that mandatory, you know? I mean, how the hell does anyone who’s 18 know what they want to spend the rest of their life doing? College or University should start a few years after high school -- give kids a chance to figure out what they want to do. It’s all too damned rushed. No wonder our generation is so damn fucked up.
But I wasn’t about to admit my reason for wanting to stay around here to anyone -- least of all Sarah. There, see how that’s working. The guidance counselor would be damn proud of me, I think. I AM admitting it now, and admitting it to anyone who happens to read this. So it’s not like I’m just admitting this to myself. I’m admitting it to the world.
Anyways, back to that night, the night we were coming back from the last Harry Potter movie. There was a scene in the movie about the School of Hogwarts that reminded Sarah about something she’d read about Carleton University. Something about the underground tunnels that completely connected all buildings on campus so that you don’t need to go outside at all. Apparently, if you lived in residence on campus, you could attend classes in your pajamas, never needed to take a step outside in the snow all winter. She thought that would be the coolest thing, and was hoping that she’d be accepted into residence there.
She started talking about all that, and I immediately became flaccid in her hands.
“Peter,” she asked, still trying to work some life back into my now unresponsive cock. “What’s wrong?”
I’d been about to say it, about to tell her why I got so tense, so upset when she talked about University, about moving to Ottawa -- that I knew what would happen. She would move away, and at first we’d miss each other, call every day, write letters, send emails, make trips on the bus back and forth. But then after several weeks, maybe even a month or two, she’d make new friends, begin a new life with new people that had more in common with her. We’d slowly start to drift apart. She’d stop returning my calls.
We’d stop being a couple, two people who knew they were destined for each other, and we’d become friends. Then, maybe after only half a year passed, we’d barely be in contact with each other at all.
The mere thought of it, of being apart from Sarah, of losing her like that, it burned a hole in my heart. Whenever we talked about differing paths after high school, Sarah always reassured me that we’d be together forever and that we were soul mates and meant for each other. She talked about these future fantasies she had of the two of us, some time off in the distant future, both of us in our thirties, a married couple, and doing fun couple things in our home and on our various vacations.
But I knew the whole thing was inevitable if she moved away. I’d seen it happen to a friend of mine a couple of years ago when his girlfriend’s family moved away. It didn’t matter how much two people tried, or how much they both wanted it not to happen. It happened. People grow apart.
I’d been about to tell her this when I spotted a pair of eyes low on the road in front of us, two sharp points reflecting the headlight beam. Then a second pair almost above the other. They belonged to two small dark shapes sitting in the middle of the lane immediately ahead. I tried to swerve to miss them, but they started skittering off in the same direction I’d swerved.
The car hit them with a sickening double thump as the tires rolled over them, and Sarah screamed while I adjusted the car back into the proper lane. An oncoming driver who had to brake as I’d swerved laid into his horn, but I barely heard it for the maddening thud of my heartbeat in my eardrums.
We immediately smelled the unmistakable and putrid scent of skunk in the air.
We’d hit a pair of skunks.
“Holy shit,” Sarah said. “Did you see what they were doing?” She paused. “I think they were fucking.” And then she started laughing. “Man, we’re bad news to a skunk’s sex life.”
I didn’t laugh though. I didn’t think it was funny. It was disturbing to me. We’d just killed two animals attempting to come together and mate. And it happened at the same time we were talking about our own fate as a couple.
It disturbed me deeply.
But I didn’t realize until now just why.
The damn thing was symbolic of the break-up of Sarah and I. It was -- what the hell does my uncle like to talk about when discussing movies? It’s when the director sets up a scene that alludes to something that is going to occur later in the film -- it was foreshadowing. Yeah, that’s it. The skunk death was foreshadowing things to come for Sarah and me.
This event just mocked me, reminding me that the whole thing was inevitable.
But there was one other thing that disturbed me about that night.
Once I caught my breath and got the car back under control, I realized that my cock was rock solid again. Sarah had removed her hand when she shifted back over in her seat while we were swerving on the road, so she never noticed. But I wonder what she would have thought about that.
Fuck, I’m still not sure what I think about it.

Sunday February 5, 2012 - 11:42 PM

The dreams have stopped.
For now at least.
I dropped into a dead sleep right after lunch and slept for 10 solid hours.
Fucking snow. This morning I hated it, but I think it was the snow that helped me finally hit the proper point of mental and physical exhaustion. We got dumped on over night with somewhere between 30 and 40 centimeters of snow. Holy shit. Again. Uncle Bob's snow blower is on the fritz -- likely because it's been used so many damn times this winter due to winter storms like the one we just got. At least our friggin' power wasn't out like I heard happened to over 80,000 poor slobs in central Ontario.
Uncle Bob and I went out there and started shoveling the snow around 9:15 this morning, and, without the snow blower, it took the both of us close to four hours to get the snow cleared.
The drifts in the middle of the driveway were almost three and a half feet high in some places, and the two ends of the driveway (we live on a corner lot with a big long wrap-around driveway with entrances on two different intersecting streets) were plowed in at least five feet high by the snowplows. Man, that was the hardest part, that heavy, salt and sand encrusted snow. I thought we would never be finished.
Anyways, when we came in for lunch, all sweaty and exhausted, Aunt Shelley was pestering me, the way she always does, about how little I eat. I guess this time she was right, because I haven’t been able to eat a solid meal all week. Anyways, she was pestering me about how little I was eating, and suggested she call the “on-call” doctor so I could get in to see him, when I almost collapsed at the table. From exhaustion, I guess.
I left my plate virtually untouched and went into my bedroom.
Without changing or anything I fell onto my bed and passed out.
I'm pretty sure Uncle Bob convinced Aunt Shelley not to call the doctor, and not to pester me anymore, just to let me sleep the day away, because I woke up in exactly the same position I'd collapsed in, still dressed and everything. Thank God for that.
It was glorious.
Ten freakin' hours of uninterrupted, dark, empty, blissful sleep. I think that's all I needed.
I’ve been up for about 10 minutes now, feeling fully awake. Fully rested.
For the first time in what feels like forever.
Don’t think I could sleep now if I tried.

Wednesday February 1, 2012 - 11:47 PM

It’s always the same, now.

I know I’d previously said that dreaming of exactly what really happened that night in Uncle Bob’s truck was the worst kind of nightmare. But I was wrong, because these new nightmares I’ve been having the past few days are far worse. I can’t get rid of these maddening dreams.

To sleep, perchance to dream. Aye there’s the rub.

It doesn’t matter what time I fall asleep, whether I stay up late or go to bed really early -- it always starts the same -- hot, heavy and frisky, then the blowjob, then Sarah’s father shows up all of a sudden.

But it ends differently each time.

One time he’s standing there and he starts to fall apart. Chunks of his face start dropping off in bloodless pieces, like some sort of animated 3-D puzzle, until there’s nothing in front of me but a pile of his pieces all quivering on the ground like some strange new flavor of Jello.

Another time, his eyeballs start bleeding, then his nose and blood starts gushing out of his mouth and ears. I stand there in front of him, unable to move as these rivers of blood quickly rise up around both of us.

Yet another time he’s staring at me with that hurt look in his eyes then starts sweating profusely. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he starts melting. His flesh starts crawling down the sides of his face like giant beads of sweat or tear-drops, until his head caves back in on itself, and he melts like some Dairy Queen cone that has been sitting in the sun.

This last time -- the thing that woke me just a few minutes ago -- he starts aging in front of me. His hair starts going grey, like some sort of mad time-lapse photography, then his skin starts to crease, wrinkle, and sag. In less than a minute he’s standing in front of me like a goddamn zombie, his flesh all dried out, completely devoid of color and cracked, and I can’t look at him. Instead, I look down into the car where Sarah is, and I see her zombie face staring back at me, my cum dripping down the side of her face from a huge crack in her cheek.

“Peeeeeter,” Sarah says, her voice like the whisper of wind through crusty dried leaves, “I want you in my mouth again.” And when she moves her tongue out to lick her lips, a sad pathetic echo of the way she used to do so when she was trying to turn me on, her tongue falls out of her mouth and lands with a sickeningly loud slap onto her lap like some piece of thick raw meat landing on a cutting board.

It was the slap of the meat that broke me out of my sleep a few minutes ago.

I jumped out of bed and started looking around the room, convinced that somewhere in the room, somewhere just out of sight, I’d find Sarah’s severed tongue. It took several minutes before I was able to convince myself that it was all just a terrible dream.

I was at about that time when I bolted for the bathroom where I puked my fucking guts up.

It’s been tough, too, since I’ve hardly eaten anything this week -- can barely get anything down.

These dreams are driving me fucking nuts.