Weeklies 3: Manic Pixie Dreamers

Weekly Writings Week Three: Write about true love. Compare true love with puppy love. Do you or your character believe in love at first sight? Manic Pixie Dreamers “You must accept the reality of other people. You think that reality is up for negotiation, that we think it's whatever you say it is. You must accept that we are as real as you are.” -J.K Rowling, The Casual Vacancy Love is Easy. Today I got a boyfriend. It's the thirteenth day of second grade and I have a boyfriend. Her name's Brynn. She's got red hair that I like and even though I'm not really a freckle kinda guy, hers aren't bad. Kinda cute I guess. His name's Jacob. He wrote me a love letter. He says he loves me, and I wrote back that I loved him too. That's how being boyfriend and girlfriend goes. You've got to write a lot of letters and say the word love a lot and people stay happy. You're cute. I really love you. Do you love me? Yes/ No. Should we go on a date? I'm only eight. Haha that rhymed. Poet and I didn't know it. You're so funny that's why I love you. :)))) xoxo I thought it was cus I was cute oh yeah xoxo what are the x's and o's? I'm not real sure, they put them on valentines well then xoxoxo Love is Easy. Love hurts. I'm twelve and I guess they think I'm older sometimes. At least Marcus does. If only Marcus. The boys at school whisper jokes about me. It's because my breasts are bigger than the other girls. I don't know why this matters, but it matters to them, and it matters to Marcus. I found ace bandages and I wrap them really tight around my chest every morning before I get dressed. By lunchtime it's hard to breathe, but it's worth it. It's very worth it. So the boys stop joking and teasing and, well, I don't know about Marcus. No one does. I just hope for the best while I walk home from school breathing heavy in sweaters three times too large. So I don't breathe well, but I breathe better than when he is lonely and finds me. Brynn didn't speak to me today. I don't know why. I sat down next to her at lunch and started unwrapping my turkey sandwich. She was twirling a carrot absentmindedly in her fingers but not eating anything, staring at something I couldn't see. What's wrong, baby? You don't have to call me that. I didn't know you didn't like it. Well I don't. What's wrong? Nothing's wrong. Did I do something? No. Sorry. Can I help? No. Do you still love me? Of course. You're life's not the only one with problems. Neither is yours. You wouldn't understand my problems. Neither would you. I don't want to fight. So we won't. I took her hand and she was nicer. I went home from school that night to what looked like an empty house. There weren't lights on that you could see from outside and the doors were locked. Mom had work. Dad had the thing he called work that happened in a bedroom on the other side of town. Emily was home. Light seeped out from under her door. She was fifteen and I wanted to ask her about Brynn. How to help her, what was wrong with her. So I turned the knob and she didn't hear me because she was laying on her back and there was a boy laying on top of her and they were doing what mom and dad do after they fight and what dad does with someone else across town while mom's at work and what Brynn said she'd do when we got older and smarter and braver. So I didn't want to talk to my sister, about Brynn, or about anyone. I didn't want to look at her, so I left. She never heard me. The bandages and sweaters worked for three weeks. I felt safe, finally. I felt young and pretty and safe and even though it was stolen from me, I felt pure. I felt happy because I let myself forget. He said “I 'aven't seen you in a while, babe.” and in my head I said “Don't call me that.” He said “You're lovelier than I remember.” and he grabbed at my arm. And in my head I said “Let go of me. I'll call the police.” Out loud I said “please.” And he said “Please? Well I suppose, since you begged me.” And he pushed and he pulled and he stole again what twelve year old girls should never fear of losing. And he called me “babe” and I thought of Jacob and I prayed that he'd still love me. And I wondered why people loved each other at all. And I wondered why people care about love, why I cared about love. I wondered what love was. I wondered why anyone ever made love. I wondered why it mattered. I wondered whether love could exist without evil. And then I remembered what Marcus was doing. And I knew it'd be impossible. And I thought I was lucky to have Brynn who was not like my sister, or like anyone. She's crazy. She's secretive. She's harsh. She's manipulative. But she's beautiful. And she's special. And she's kind. And I love her. And sometimes love hurts. Love is confusing. I went to the doctor yesterday. I've got something wrong inside me. It's incurable. I am dying. My mother is crying, my dad came home, for once, and cried, too. My sister slept with mom instead of with a boy. They hugged me. I didn't cry. I am fourteen and dying and the love of my life will not know about it. I won't tell her. I can't tell her. We'll just pretend it's not real. She likes mystery. She likes being interested. I like to interest her. I hope she still loves me after this. “What is this?” “It's heroin.” “Why do you have heroin?” “It's none of yer business.” “Mom, you don't, please stop, mom, please--” “pleaseee! Pleassseee mom! Pleasseee! Just like you said to MY fiance you little slut. Pleaseeee!” she waved the syringe like a magic wand and I cried and it fueled her just as much as the drug. “You're a whore.” She jabbed the needle in the air in front of her, her eyes sunken. “A little whore.” “I'm not...stop it.” I was crying and I said it so quietly she didn't hear me. “Useless slut.” She spat, filling the syringe with the poison that coursed through her veins, tricking her into believing the opposite of what is real and what is right and what is poison and what is life. And inside me I felt him and he wouldn't go away. And I said please please what please..please...my mind forgetting to say what needed to come next, forgetting the words...helpless and useless and ruined. Please...please. And I knew that Jacob was too good for me. He deserved better. He deserved someone prettier and smarter and richer and kinder and funnier, someone who was not ruined. Someone better. But I needed him. And I don't know if he needed me. Hey. What's wrong? How did you get here? I walked. You're shivering, come inside. What's the matter? I don't know. Okay. I do know. But I don't want to talk about it. Okay. Something's wrong with you, too, Jacob. I know. And you don't want to talk about it either. No, I don't. So we won't. So we won't. Jacob, do you love me? I love you a lot. How much? More than anyone loves me. That's not true. I love you and they love you. Your family, I mean. Not as much. Why don't you want to tell me what's wrong with you? Why don't you? Because you might not love me anymore. The same reason. So we won't. So we won't. She fell asleep and I stroked the knots from her hair. In my dream, I stroked the knots from our lives. I've got a depressed mother and a cheating father and reckless sister and I am dying. I've got an addict mother and her fiance raped me and everything's dying. Love is confusing. Why do people believe in love? I am sixteen and in love and I am sixteen and I don't believe in love. And he is not in me but it feels like he never left and never will and he's part of me and there's no ignoring it. And now it. Now it. Why not? I thought you said you were ready? But I'm not, okay? But I love you. I love you, too. So why not? Don't. Please. Okay. And that's why he's better than me. He understands when I say please. It's getting worse and she suspects and I can see it in her and she is better than me so she doesn't ask. She doesn't ask why I can't breathe or why I'm getting thinner. She doesn't ask where I am when I'm at doctor's appointments. She doesn't ask when my parents treat us differently. I'm running out of time. And though she doesn't ask, I know. I know she knows it. But we're running out of time. And why do people believe in love? I love you I know. I love you I know. I love you. I love you. I'm dying. I know. So are you. Yeah. Living gets tiring. Love get's tiring. It all gets tiring. We can't live together. So we won't. So we won't. I love you.