Tuesday, November 17, 2009

NaNoWriMo, Scott's Story, Chapter Sixteen - In Scott's Eyes

Chapter Sixteen - Addiction - In Scott's Eyes
1993 - Mom is 44, I am 19, Julie is 16
I am tired. I hate the holidays. Julie is a druggie idiot, and Mom is a drunk. Gramps just told me I need to bring in some wood, and I don't want to. These days, he looks at me in disgust, always inspects what I eat, and has been angry with me over the grocery bill. I can't stop eating. It's the only thing that makes me feel happy. I love food. And I'm pretty sure it loves me back. I eat all the time. I think about eating all the time. I eat because I'm hungry. I eat because I'm sad. I eat when I'm angry. I eat when I'm bored. I eat because something looks good. I eat because it tastes good. I feel so comforted by food, it's kinda strange. But at least I don't do drugs like Julie, or drink like Mom. Food is not such a bad thing in comparison.
I just got home from work. I hate Target. Those people all suck, and the customers look at me funny, and the kids laugh at me. It's hard work, restocking and doing inventory. I sweat a lot. Today was a bad day. On the way to work I stopped at Burger King, got six burgers, a large fry, and a Coke. I guess it didn't agree with me because I got the shits. I was right in the middle of stocking the linens when it hit me. I ran to the bathroom, sweating, didn't think I would make it. And I guess I didn't. When I got home to change, there was shit all over the back of my pants. I didn't even know it was there. And I worked for a couple hours after that stomach attack. No wonder people were staring and laughing at me. Why didn't anyone tell me? I'm so embarassed and humiliated. But I've been gaining a lot of weight lately, and it's harder to reach back there. I thought I took care of it, but I guess I didn't. Maybe I need to go on a diet. Or at least stop eating fast food, especially before work. I can't believe I shit my pants. I feel like a disgusting pig.
Julie is pulling in the driveway, she'll probably want me to come down to the family pre-party up the road. I'm not going. I don't want the family to see how fat I am. Not yet. I don't even want to see them at the real Christmas party. But I guess I can't really get around that, since they'll all be up here at Gramps house. Maybe Target will call me in to work, so I can skip out on it. Julie has been doing all sorts of stupid shit lately. I don't know what her problem is. She's on drugs, partying all the time. And fighting with Mom a lot. But Mom's been drinking a lot too. I don't understand why they act so stupid. I don't even like to be around them anymore.
"Hey Scooter."
"Aren't ya glad to see your sister?"
"Shit, well, don't get too excited." She's already got a beer in her hand, and it's obvious it's not her first one. But she seems like she's in a good mood, anyway. Maybe they're not fighting today. But I don't really care, to tell you the truth. I'm tired, and I just want something to eat.
"I'm tired, just got off work. Not too excited about anything."
"You comin' to the party?"
"Why? Don't you wanna act a fool with me and all your lovely cousins?"
"No." I find some chicken in the fridge. Yum, cold chicken.
"How's school been?"
"Fine. Glad we're on break. It's hard. I think I'm gonna change my major." I slice a piece of chocolate cake. Yum, cake.
"How's workin' at good ol' Tar-gay?"
"It sucks. Busy. Lots of tards shopping for Christmas." I don't tell her I shit my pants at work today. I don't tell her I hate my life. I find some top ramens in the pantry and put 'em in a pot to cook. Yum, ramens.
"Well, you really should come tonight. It'll be fun. I think the Gaines' are having a party too, some of us are gonna go down there for a bit, get away from the old folks. You should come."
"No, I don't wanna be around all you drunks." She gives me a hug, but I don't really hug her back. I'm tired. I don't really like her very much these days, and I don't want her this close to me for very long. Somehow, she might be able to tell that I shit my pants today. That I lose control of my bowels more often than I'd like to admit.
"How come you're so hungry?"
"I haven't eaten all day." She looks at me like she knows I'm lying, one eyebrow raised in question. I look away and stir the ramens. Four packages of ramens. God, it looks like a lot. But I'm starving. Maybe I won't eat it all.

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