Dear Nobody,
Tonight I dyed my hair blonde, but I knew it wouldn’t turn out “blonde” after being dark brown—it turned out kind of sandy-butterscotch. The peroxide totally burnt my scalp. I just hope Ryan appreciates it. Even if he doesn’t appreciate it, I hope that he at least LIKES it. I do. It’s a great color. I mean, it didn’t exactly turn out BLONDE, but I didn’t expect it to—my hair is way too dark. I had to look at it for a while to get used to it, but now I like it okay. As matter of fact, I love it!
Of course, when Ryan sees it, I’ll have to scorn it profusely, saying I hate it, and that it came out all wrong. You know, just in case he doesn’t like it—he’ll just think that I messed up, and that I must look even better, when it turns out right.
Oh, man, this is how it started last time, remember? First it’s the little things; like how you accept the way he’ll make you feel stupid when you talk too much. Then it’s how he always forgets money when we go out, and I pay. Or when he has money, he’ll buy himself food, or pay his own way, and not offer to pay mine.
It all starts with how he’ll look me over, and I’ll feel criticized, not admired. And that’s when I start changing myself, dying my hair, buying new clothes, and just hoping that he’ll like it.
Then comes even more serious self-sacrifice, for the sake of HIS happiness, until it doesn’t even BRING him happiness, until it’s just expected—until nothing matters—but HIM being sure that I am always there.
But I still really hope he likes my hair. I bet the sun will make it a little bit lighter. It IS unusual.
I just feel so out of place. Even the dark-haired people around here have clear green or blue eyes. Maybe I’ll get contacts, blue ones. I mean, I’ve already dyed my hair. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t even have done that. Oh, what do I care? Well, around here, I guess I have to.
I REALLY want friends. I hate this.
Today I cleaned my room because mom said she’d take me to the mall if I did. Maybe I could get her to buy me some hippie clothes (the people around here dress like hippies). Maybe then I’d be “cool.”
See how desperate I am?
I keep thinking about Hayley, the girl I met at Curon. I’d write her a letter if I weren’t so fucking lazy…
Dear Nobody,
Well, today was my first day at the rope swing as a blonde. It was, um, interesting. First of all, I felt a little more confident in myself. I was less shy. I had fun. Ryan was there, but he had no comment on my hair.
I’m crushing on him. Yeah, I’m crushing on him.
There’s a heat-wave going on now (supposed to be even hotter tomorrow) and I met some pretty nice people (and guys). Some of the guys down there are SO obvious when they flirt.
Man, I really had hopes for Ryan—he’s STILL my crush. I could fall in love with this guy. I can’t remember feeling this much adoration for any guy. See, he and I are both reserved, a little quiet, and probably try to avoid emotionally embarrassing and/or risky situations (well, I may not be tranquil, but I’m certainly tenacious).
I have no idea if he crushes on me too.
Probably, not as much as I crush on him.
That’s why it’s called a crush.
More often than not, I get crushed.
Dear Nobody,
I’m supposed to meet Mickey at the rope swing around 1:00 p.m. tomorrow. When Mickey is there, we usually see Ryan, but after the faces I made the other day, and the mood I was in, Ryan may never be interested in me again—if he ever was. Story of my life. I should have just played it off sweetly, gushing blind friendliness towards Ryan—and making friendly chatter with his “girlfriend,” by complimenting her on her many beautiful physical attributes. That would have fed my vengefulness, and really fucked with him; but I’m just not like that anymore. Instead, I openly sulked, brooded and feigned disinterest in him. I occasionally glanced in HER direction—to size her up. I think he may have seen that. Oh fucking well. I’m not even all that hurt any more. Maybe it’s just PMS.
I know he’ll be back. Sooner or later.
My magnetism can’t be that easy to resist.
Adrienne’s boyfriend did help console me, though. Even though I was above asking—he said I looked better than the girl my crush had brought—that I was beautiful.
PHOENIXVILLE, PA
LATE SUMMER, 1997
Dear Nobody,
Hooray! Ryan asked me out today! I went to the rope swing figuring I wouldn’t see him at all. I didn’t even wash my hair, and I wore the same red dress over my bathing suit that I had worn the day before. I offered him a beer and we got to talking. His girlfriend wasn’t there. Maybe they broke up? I hope so, but even if they were still together, I still would have said “yes” (just to test him out).
Mickey gave me the silent treatment for the rest of the day, but I didn’t care.
I was on cloud nine.
Dear Nobody,
I’ve got to reconstruct myself. I’ve got to evolve, and regenerate. That must be why I was sent here to Phoenixville; my destiny wants me to reclaim my true self. I COULD be freer here—I could, maybe, even be comfortable. The ties I bind here could be strong, maybe even honest. I FEEL it—if I could get past the obstructive nature of adolescent relationships, I could build an even more powerful empire. I’ve got new energy; a new opposition to my previous thinking.
I’m excited now that I know my fate. I cannot sleep tonight (today—it’s 6:00 a.m.—and no sleep so far since yesterday). Now, I need my dreams; they have led me to my conclusion (thank you, God). I need them now to unleash the strategy behind my façade (and I need sleep if I expect to keep up this marvelous energy). I’ve just got to remember to be nice and warm-hearted in my overall relations to people. If I feign shyness and waste my given energy, I will only become restless, which can be very counterproductive to this new “Life Project.”
Dear Nobody,
I’ve fallen in love with Ryan. Hard. We all were down at the rope swing with mom’s boyfriend, Joe, drinking a case of beer—I had like eight beers and Ryan had three. Joe was drinking whisky and told Ryan I liked him. It was okay—at least we got it established. Ryan seemed okay with it, but really didn’t show if he liked me—though he did seem a little more comfortable around me after that. Well, since I was getting a buzz on (even though I wasn’t drunk) I was getting loud. Okay: loud, bossy and cursing A LOT, but I was still okay. Ryan seemed to want to leave, but I wouldn’t let him. I told him he had to stay—so he did. Then he said that he HAD to go home because he needed to get up EARLY the next day, so he could get his picture taken for yearbook.
I asked him if he planned on going to the rope swing tomorrow.
He said, “Yeah.”
I asked, “What time?”
He said that it would depend on what time he woke up!
DUH! He can’t even lie right.
Oh, well.
So guess what—the next day, he doesn’t even show up! At ALL! So I got really, really drunk. MAD DRUNK. I went to Adrienne’s and called him to bitch him out. Ryan hung up on me when I started yelling. When I called back his mom answered and told me that Ryan wasn’t there—even though she’s as bad a liar as her son—I was still really polite.
Man, I done fucked up. Haven’t heard from Ryan since. Fucker. Oh well.
I STILL like him though.
Dear Hayley,
Hi Hayley! How's it going? So much fucked-up shit has been happening to me—I don't even know if it's all good or all bad. I don't know if I should be happy or freak the fuck out! Well, I've been getting fucked-up, “for free,” everyday lately and I've been making acquaintances and I fall in love with a new person every day. But there's this one guy, Ryan, that I just can't seem to shake. He's so placid and tranquil—a thinker—like you, Hayley. One thing I'm not—is placid, and I've NEVER been described as tranquil. Passionate, and uh,
ambitious—okay, I guess; whereas you two may be more analytical, where I would be more curious. Understand? Well I'm telling you this because you would get it more than anyone else. So for the past few weeks, we've been talking, and throwing “glances” at each other. It took him a while, but I got some of his ice to break, and his natural warmth melted most of mine. I was still usually quieter around him, but when he came around, everyone else vanished and HE became my audience. And what do I do for an audience?
Perform!
Well, one day my mom's boyfriend got drunk, and came down to where we usually hang out. He bought us a case of beer. We were all drinking—I had eight beers in about forty-five minutes (maybe an hour). I wasn't drunk, just buzzing a little.
My mom's boyfriend was the most fucked-up. He looked at my crush and asked Ryan if he had a job, and when “my” guy said, “No” mom's boyfriend said, “Well, Mary Rose really likes you, so you bet you have a job now!”
Let me say that when I drink, I like to BE the party—I make jokes and inspire the drunken debates of conversation more than anyone else in the room. Well, I was in rare form compared to what my crush was used to seeing of me. He laughed at all of my jokes, and I caught him looking at me, but maybe that was in shock, since I was being so contrary to my “usual” self. Ha—I was getting pretty drunk as the night progressed. I borrowed somebody's shirt, and I threw up all over it. Ryan was watching. I didn't want to gross him out, but I had to sit down. Somebody goes, “SHE'S PUKING ALL OVER YOUR SHIRT!”
I go, “I'm not puking on it, I'm CUSTOMIZING it!”
Everyone laughed and so did he.
Well, a while later I started getting bitchy and bossy, but had a sense of humor about it. I don't think he expected me to be the type to get rowdy. But I was. VERY rowdy. We had fun, but I don't think he expected it.
Long story short, I caught him in a lie, but I acted like I didn't notice. That disappointed me—nothing hurts like being lied to. But I surprised him a few times that night with my deceptiveness—but I didn't lie. So I figure we're even, and I crush on him even more, now that I'm comfortable with him. Well, it turns out the next day (after the night of surprises) Ryan stands me up.
I was devastated.
So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of—I got even drunker than the night before, and called Ryan and cursed him out until he hung up on me (another thing he probably thought me not capable of). He thought I was “above” that I guess. You know; like I was ultra-passive or something. NOT when I'm drunk. So when he hung up, I called right back and his mom answered and said he wasn't there. She probably guessed I was fucked-up. Ryan was probably pissed.
Yep, looks like I blew that one.
So I go get this cute guy that I'm attracted to, but wouldn't “date,” and we were making out in my basement. When my mom got home, I guess she was locked out of the house, and I was too busy to hear her knocking on the door, so she breaks a window to get in—and found us. She wasn't that pissed, but we left anyway. I came home late that night, and woke up around four a.m. under the coffee table in the living room. I was still fucked-up.
My mom comes downstairs and says, “What are you doing?”
I said, “Leave me alone, I'm camping.”
See, I'm weird when I'm drunk, but at least I have a sense of humor about it.
Anyway, guess I scared the shit out of Ryan. So much for pretending to be tranquil; should have been myself from the start. I wanted Ryan to like me—no matter how much it hurt. So now I end up with the one I could love, shaking his head like, “What the fuck?” and some guy I just thought was cute—is almost in love with me.
I call it karma. It all balances out.
Maybe Ryan just needs time to digest what's been going on. Besides, once I get in somebody's system, it's pretty hard to get me out completely.
Ryan has a Virgo mom, and you're a Virgo, so maybe you'd be able to help me with him.
Okay, well I love you tons, and miss you tons!
Love forever,
Mary Rose
Dear Nobody,
Well, today mom pulled some crazy shit. We were getting along so well. We were hanging out together, being a family; almost like when I was little. So I get back from the rope swing and there’s a note on the table saying that she went to meet Joe and that she’d be back at 7:30 p.m. Well after 7:30 (a LOT after), mom comes home with my McDonald’s dinner, and surprise—Joe—her abusive ex-boyfriend (or fiancé—or whatever) was with her! I was SO ENRAGED! So when they were out on the porch smoking cigarettes, blowing smoke into MY house, I locked them out. Deadbolt, wood stick, locked windows. And I barricaded the front door with furniture. They were out there for two hours before Joe started yelling something and got a garden tool and tried to pry through the kitchen window. That’s when I threw her wallet and keys out the window and they left.
Mom called from a payphone. She told me if I didn’t like living there with him, I would, “HAVE TO FIND SOMEPLACE ELSE TO LIVE!” Yep. My own “mother” chose an abusive, asshole boyfriend over me and my eight-year-old sister. Fucking bitch! She only loves me when it’s convenient. I’M the one who is always there for her. I’M the one who is her DAUGHTER—and that word means nothing to her.
She said she was driving him two hours back to his parents’ house; that’s four hours of driving for that asshole.
Well, its 3:20 a.m. and she still isn’t home yet. I hate it—how dare she choose him over my baby sister and me? HOW? She cannot possibly love me. At all. She causes me so much pain. I could deal with my life if it weren’t for her. I’m just a human after all. I’ve got my plate full. And I already feel like vomiting.
All I ever need is love. Just love. Love makes me happy.
I mean, now that Joe’s gone, I feel okay, I guess. So long as he stays gone. But I am still very hurt. Very hurt, but okay for now. Well it’s almost 3:30 a.m. (ten more minutes) and she still isn’t home. So nice she can take off work for such things, but when we’ve got plans or something, she has to work—undoubtedly.
Oh well, from now on I’ll just focus my energy on fun, nice things. But for now—I’m going to bed to try and sleep.
Dear Nobody,
I just did some dope that some guy from Reading gave me.
I feel like the star of my own movie.
I feel like the queen of my own Queendom.
I feel like the prize of everyone’s game.
I feel like the model of my own designs. I feel like the diamond in a musty cave.
Oh, how indescribable; I could be the author of a million theses and still not be able to describe this…
Dear Nobody,
Its 6:00 a.m. Here I am—still buzzing from last night.
I’m buzzing so hard that I can barely feel my fingertips.
I had better be sleeping. I’ve got school in a couple of hours.
I took my picture twice with my new camera. I look pretty (but fucked up).
I can’t remember coming home. I think Traci’s parents gave me a ride.
I love alcohol. I love pictures.
I love pictures of me and alcohol.
I wonder if I did any drugs last night?
I look so pretty.
Its 6:05 a.m. Shit its early.
I’d better go to sleep while I can.
Good morning!
Dear Nobody,
Well Mary Rose, you are so fucked up right now. Heroin. Sweet heroin. Look, I can’t even write I’m so fucking high. I’ll…
Dear Nobody,
Okay, that was last night. I’m not high now, but I was then (DUH!).
Dear Nobody,
Man, I’m losing my tan. I used to be REALLY tan until I started sleeping all day and only going out at night. Maybe I should start going to bed earlier so I can get up and go out in the sun? Well, we’ll see.
WERNERSVI
LLE, PA
LATE SUMMER, 1997
Dear Hayley,
Have I got a story for you! Let me begin at the beginning, and when I get to the end, I'll stop. Remember when you called me a few months ago to tell me that your friend had died, and how you thought there was some bad dope going around the east coast? Well, you were right—right as rain.
It was a Sunday. I woke-up really hung-over with scrapes all over my knees, elbow, and hands—and I was covered in black mud. I must have fallen down a hill—because the night before I had gotten extremely drunk AND I'd been tripping on micro dots. I wished I was still tripping, and wanted to buy more, but I had no beans. So I went down into the basement and got those six beers left over from the night before. I drank them all before I left the house. Then I went to the woods, where people hang out on the trails and just chill and get fucked up, or swim (it's by a river).
My usual asshole acquaintances were there—none of them who would know a drug besides pot or alcohol if it fucked them up the ass. But then on the other side of the trail was a group of college kids, so I went over and started talking to them. They were getting more alcohol, so they said they would bring me back a forty ounce—and when they came back—they brought this girl with them. The girl, Vickie, didn't stay long, but before she left, she asked me if I wanted to go into Philly with her to get dope. I finished my forty, and off we went. By then I was buzzing, but I still really wanted dope.
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