Crazy (standard:drama, 1400 words)
Author: JM	Added: Mar 29 2002	Views/Reads: 3417/2399	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
See for yourself...

My mother died when I was very young.  A drug overdose.  I don't tell
people that, though. I just say it was a car accident, or cancer, or 
whatever comes into my head at the time. Once, though, without thinking 
I told one of my teachers that an ant bit her, and then I had to make 
up a whole story about her being allergic to ants and not having her 
ant allergy medication around.  I think poor old Mr Harslett thought he 
learned something new that day.  The reason I don't tell people about 
the overdose is that they end up feeling sorry for me, and I don't want 
them to.  They all assume that I must have a really bad homelife if my 
mother committed suicide.  She didn't kill herself, though. She was 
just out with some friends one night and they were having a seventies 
revival night and got back into drugs again. My Dad said that the 
doctors said that she had developed an allergy or something to 
something in one of the drugs, which is why she died.  Anyway, I'm sick 
of people just assuming things like that, that my parents are druggies 
or my mother was depressed.  It makes me feel like I've done something 
wrong.  It makes me remember what happened with Brian last year, but I 
don't want to remember. 

Brian's been my best friend practically since I was born.  We went to
the same kindergarten, same primary school, and same high school.  It 
sounds like cliche, but he's the only one who ever really understood me 
or got what I was talking about half the time. When we were younger, we 
used to race go-karts together, and play in the sandpit and build big 
racetracks in the sand. When we got a bit older, we started to go 
swimming and camping and race motorbikes together. He'd stay over at my 
house and we'd talk all night, about school and teachers and how much 
we hated guys like Tim McCartney and Eric Polley. No matter how much 
the rest of the world was shitting me, as it usually was, I could feel 
comfortable if I was around Brian. He seemed to have the answers for 
everything. For example, if I asked him why Becky George wouldn't go 
out with me even if I asked her, he'd tell me how she was a slut and a 
moll and that she wasn't worth me worrying about. Brian could always 
make me feel better.  I could always make Brian feel better too. He 
wasn't worried very often, but when he was, I usually had the answers 
for him. Like when he asked me why he seemed to like boys better than 
girls, I told him it was because he could see that all girls, like 
Becky George, were sluts and molls and not worth worrying about.  For 
some reason, he seemed to think that answer was funny.  I still don't 
know why he ever hung around with me.  I'm not exactly the most popular 
or good-looking or funniest guy on the block, but he seemed to like my 
company.  He was even a year older than me, but he didn't seem to mind 
what other people thought.  People always seemed to generally ignore 
him, but I don't know why, because, I'm not really an expert on the 
subject, but I think that if I was a girl I'd think he was maybe one of 
the best looking guys I'd ever seen.  Not that I think that, but if I 
was a girl I probably would.  But for some reason, maybe because he 
hangs around with me, nobody seems to pay much attention to him.  Then 
one day last year, he was staying over at my house when he went to the 
toilet in the middle of the night. I fell asleep, and when I woke up he 
wasn't in my room. I found him in the bathroom, blood making a sticky 
mess on the floor, surrounded by little white pills. 

My father thinks he's in love with a woman called Carolyn. I try to tell
him that he can't really be, because he still loves Mum, but he won't 
listen to me.  He says something about moving on and not dwelling on 
the past.  I told him he was making a huge mistake. He ignored me. 

My mum loved the Beatles. She had about every record they ever made,
including bootlegs and stuff. Because my Dad thinks they were a bunch 
of pansy wankers (in his words), I got to keep all her albums. They're 
all I ever listen to, basically.  I hate all that new shit that 
everyone listens to. It doesn't mean anything, not like "Eleanor Rigby" 
or "The Fool on the Hill" or "Day Tripper". Brian likes the Beatles 
too, but not as much as I do. I think that if I ever have a daughter 
I'll call her Eleanor, after Eleanor Rigby, and if I ever have a son 
I'll call him John, after John Lennon.  My mother would have liked 
that. My father would probably say I was a faggot and never speak to me 
again. He has Carolyn now anyway, but I don't have anyone, not even 
Brian. 

Yesterday my father hit me because I told him that Carolyn was a whore.
She is, though. I know that if I'd asked Brian, he would have said that 
she was a slut and a cow and didn't deserve a stepson like me. I think 
he's right. I told Carolyn so and she went red in the face and looked 


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