Reminiscing For A Dream
by Samantha
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Hmm, no names, so no disclaimers I guess. Three Doors Down own the lyrics.
Notes: A little bit of fic for you guys/girls.
Feedback: Yes please!
::I'm here without you baby but you're still on my lonely mind I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time I'm here without you baby but you're still with me in my dreams And tonight it's only you and me::
I don't understand why you aren't here with me. Ok looking around maybe I do. It's just a motel room, not enough light, dust bunnies colonizing under the bed, cobwebs kissing the corners. But you'll have that. When you spend half your life being shuffled from foster home, to foster home, and kicked out of enough halfway houses, you come to make any little space you can home.
So here we have home, or at least my variation of it, coming in you don't see much, certainly nothing that looks special at all. Let me explain some of it. First we got this shitty blanket, ratty, blue and white plaid, I know what you're thinking, it's just the kinda blanket this place would provide. Not true though, it was my favorite blanket at my grandma's when I was little, she died when I was five. We went to view the body at her house, mom already drunk off her ass, wasn't paying much attention to me as my barely three foot frame snuck off into the viewing room.
I slid the door shut behind me, closing out the din from the living room, only one of those old grandma lights was on, you know the ones I mean, they give off the sort of golden yellow light instead of the normal light others have. So now you gotta imagine the little shit I was, already thinking I was bigger that my britches and all that shit, and I go straight up to see grandma, not knowing what the hell I was gonna find in that box.
Looked just like she was sleeping.
I'm serious, real peaceful and all that. Sucked though all the same, and standing there I could feel my eyes fill all up, tears spilling as soon as I saw her face, I wiped at them with heel of my hand, but they came too fast for it to really make a difference. Instead of standing there I backed up, stumbling over a little footstool and catching myself on the corner of the armchair. Blindly feeling I pulled the folded blanket to my eyes burying my face in it, and crying for all I was worth, crying for the one lady who always made me feel special. Crying for all the safety I could already tell I was gonna lose. I took the blanket home with me that night; it was in a lot better shape and all that. But it still carries the sentiments with it; it still can make me feel safer when things are going to shit. Then you got the shirt I'm wearing right now, I usually wear it to bed like this, it's a soccer shirt from one of the travel teams where I grew up the 'Renegades', seems appropriate now huh? It's this faded green thing, doesn't even cover my stomach anymore, but it's my favorite.
I know what you're thinking, me doing team sports? And you're right, it belonged to my best friend Jessica when we were eight, used to hang half way down our thighs, she had like twelve of them I swear, played soccer forever, probably all through high school too, but unfortunately I don't know about that. Anyway, I took it from her back then on one of the many nights I spent at her house I wore it, and somehow just never got around to giving it back.
I don't think I've had a friend like her since then, no one I could share everything with, and not even worry about it. Maybe no one has friends like that after they get older, you grow up and your dreams they seem to be bigger, scarier, more something that the entire future is resting on. When you're younger it's all dreams, wishes and worries to be whispered under sheets and through tin can telephones, not the hopes that sharing could mark you as a failure when they never come to be.
Not to mention as you get older you realize just how untrustworthy people in this world are, how ready to sell you out for a free meal at Burger King and all that. Maybe I'm bitter, but I sure as hell have a right to be. Next is the source of many an odd look from those around me, an ancient record player, when I say that I mean ancient in terms of a seventeen year old.
I try to get what I can on vinyl, but you trying looking for the new No Doubt album on a record in this town. Not gonna happen. I got the important ones anyway Nirvana, Snoop Dogg, you know, the classics. Then I have the Janis Joplin, and Etta Jones that my mom gave to me, crying and wasted she stumbled after me as child services led me away from the apartment, carrying the record player, and two records, cord trailing behind her, hair a mess, wearing boxers, a tank-top, and a dirty robe, flapping behind her like some sort of banished angel, drinking away her sorrows.
It's a scary sight to an eleven year old leaving the only life she's ever known. The dirty apartment that you can't get the smell of weed out of, clothes with holes that have always been there, mom who never read a bedtime story, or kissed away your tears. I was scared as hell and pissed as shit, tugging and kicking getting them to go back for that record player, but I got it, and managed not to loose it through all the next years of being shipped about.
It's late now, laying here along, one of the overhead bulbs just blew, and now it's even darker in her, here I mean. But her is what's on my mind anyway, no way to deny that. She's crawled inside me like no one else, and weighs heavy in my stomach, I wish I could get her out, but like an addict, she's almost a comfort now, a constant worry and want I can't get rid of.
Not that I really want to, I'll talk about it a lot, but never do anything about it.
I flip over onto my stomach, kicking my legs in the air as I twist the ring you gave me on my finger, a silver band, with a small red stone laid in it, a Christmas present. I gave you some crappy little dime store bracelet, but hey, it's the thought that counts right? It's gonna be the thoughts with this ring too, it's gonna be one of those things, like the blanket, the shirt, and the record player, late nights it's gonna keep me sane, keep me close to you, see already I'm using it to pretend you're here.
I guess I know why you're not here, it's an empty place, only four items taking up any real room, and none of those would mean anything to you. For me they fill the place though, make it home, leaving only the emptiness in me, a space waiting for you. It's been days since I've seen you, and the hole's only getting bigger.