Familial Frustration (standard:non fiction, 1686 words)
Author: Girl	Added: Feb 27 2001	Views/Reads: 4168/2679	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
slightly exaggerated account of a trip i once took

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

life he desired. He enjoyed living vicariously through my stories of 
road trips, parties, meeting famous bands and getting the phone numbers 
of their lead singers. I suppose I enjoyed the audience. As far as the 
rest of the family goes he was a stranger by choice, I was a stranger 
by circumstance. 

As soon as we were out of range of the condominium and the prying eyes
of my family I lit a cigarette. I tried not to call attention to it. 

“Man, when you gonna quit that shit?” Daniel demanded. 

“Hey if you just had to spend ten hours in transit with Nana and Grandpa
Mike. You’d be craving something too.” I was ineffectively trying to 
hide my defensiveness. 

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t crave that. Why do you do it anyway? Do you think
you look cool? Get over the image.” 

“Daniel, you know that’s not what it’s about and you know me, I’m not
like that. I hate showing people this side of me. I don’t know. I think 
it’s just some subconscious desire to harm myself. Some slow form of 
masochism.” 

He shut his mouth. I was self-conscious. After a few silent minutes he
commenced speech again, on other subjects. He told me about his 
girlfriend, his sex life, his “nerd herd” of friends as he refers to 
them. The boy must go months with limited conversation. Once I am 
around he pours information out as if he is never allowed to discuss 
himself. We talked for a little bit over an hour. I wished he were my 
brother or that at the least we could be on the same coast. 

It was dusk upon our return. We were late for dinner. Upon entering the
room we were struck with a wall of sound. The chaos of the room was 
reminiscent of my old middle school cafeteria. It seemed as if all 
fifteen people were attempting to be heard at once. I served myself 
some food, all of which was served informally in buffet style. This was 
merely asking for a mess. I seated myself with the five other third 
generations Leavitts, my back to the adults. After everyone became 
comfortably seated I began to hear whispers from the rear. I soon 
realized that I had slightly exposed my lower back. Slightly exposed my 
tattoo. I hoped it horrified them. 

It is in this sort of situation that the rationale for considering
myself the misfit of the family becomes apparent. I am not a Leavitt by 
given name unlike the rest of my cousins. I am the only female under 
the age of forty-nine. I live on the east coast. My dad is a jackass. 
The rest of them perceive me as spoiled because I am an only child and 
I have my own car. I am the criminal. I am the wasted potential. I 
didn’t take my SATs five times. I got a facial piercing when I was 
fourteen. I date older guys. And now I have a tattoo. I would enjoy 
informing them that their children would be just like me if they were 
able; some of them are, albeit mildly. They just do not have the means 
or the courage to go about it. The amusing part is they don’t know the 
half of it. I am not an unscrupulous or immoral person. I am not 
extreme. At worst I am foolishly irresponsible. They are naïve. 

Looking around the room during the evening festivities, I realized how
little I actually knew about some of the people there. Certainly there 
were those that I knew quite well due to either our common interests or 
the fact that they forced themselves upon me. But there were a few 
faces in the room that were no more than familiar. The typically 
quieter ones- I did not know them I suppose because I never cared to 
inquire. My grandfather, for example, a generally soft and stoic 
presence in the background. The activities of the night had been 
centered about celebrating him, his life, his love, his financial 
generosity with the rest of us. I had been commissioned to compose a 
short biographical narrative in his honor to be physically enacted by 
my younger cousins. The results were, by my standards, less than 
satisfactory. I found the basis only within suggestions from others. 
For lack of a better option I used clichés and kitsch literary devices. 
The final product was not a reflection of me, rather a combination of 
catch phrases and other’s memories. 

Following the tribute but preceding the Hanukkah extravaganza, I slipped
out into the darkness. I was angered by the sudden religious revival in 
my family. They did not believe in God, they merely took refuge in the 
idea of belonging to this organization known as Judaism. Personally I 
thought it was hypocrisy and disrespectful to those who had legitimate 
faith in the teachings. I would have no part in it. So I wandered alone 
into the serenity of the evening. I sat down on a bench at the edge of 
the complex. The sky was beautifully peaceful; a deep navy blue that 
blended into the horizon. The stars flickered mildly as they blazed 
bright in the unfathomable distance. A cat strolled by. He was 
intrigued by my existence. He circled me just near enough so that his 
tail flirted with my back. Occasionally I would encounter other guests 
of the resort. We engaged in pleasant small talk as they continued 
along their way. I opened up my notebook and began to write. 

I sat for hours and filled the ashtray with my dirty habit while
scribbling thoughts onto my paper. My accumulated frustration was 
washing out of me. Suddenly I heard a noise coming from the grass. I 
glanced around and saw nothing. Figuring it must be a small frog or 
some such creature I went back to my pen and paper. Seconds later 
‘fwoosh.’ The sprinklers had turned on. I watched my words become a 
mass of unintelligible gray inkblots on the deteriorating paper and 
laughed. So here I sit, notebook in hand. I have dropped my last pen 
and I don’t particularly care to look for it. I am saturated. 


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