Some Bizarre form of Ventilation.

I am turning the fan on for myself right here. Last October was probably the worst time of my life. It started with the car accident on my birthday and ended with my god son in the hospital. So much happened in between. My friend luke's appendix ruptured and he almost didn't make it. I god a stomach virus and lost a tone of weight. Everything was simply dreadful. This month, from an outward look, appears to be recreating a similar horrifying effect. It started with the fear of lime disease from a tick bite on my birthday and ended with the death of Joe. In between those two things there was a failed french test, the abandonment of my best friend, and possibly worst of all, having to put pumpkin down. This year I have something different. For some reason even with all of this going on, when people ask me how i'm doing I cannot help but say good, content, somedays i say fantastic. I don't know what you call this. He calls it love, but i think it goes beyond that. This is salvation. I think i have a family now.

here is something new i'm trying,
It is called "Some of the Chapter" It needs some editing.

The three of them are driving through a valley somewhere nearby. It is not important that they are nearby, because they could be far away and it wouldn’t change a thing.  They have the radio on loud -a station that’s tunes battle through thick static just to reach them. They are three boys, all friends. The first boy is different because of the way he feels, the second boy is different because of the way he sounds. The third boy feels different in almost every way, and each new way that he discovers is just as important as the ones he has known his whole life. He has been where both of the other boys are now. Together they are hurtling down, out of the valley. The first boy is driving, his fingers slapping against the wheel. The second boy is in the back belting the lyrics as they emerge from the chaotic fuzz. The third boy is in the passenger seat, knowing the tires are spinning towards something dangerous.   Each chorus seems to force them to go faster than the verse before.  This third boy knows something is happening, and yet doesn’t know how to stop it. The gas pedal must surely be flat to the floor. All at once he is angry and sad, and then neither of those two feelings. The three of them are no longer nearby; they are surging forward, closing in. You will not finish reading your chapter; there are merely three paragraphs till they reach you. If you read faster you can maybe get to the fourth, but it won’t make you any happier. 

It is a strange feeling -remembering what you’re own past smells like, a scent that at the time went unnoticed. Being away for so long makes the room seem awkwardly still. The furniture sizes you up, checks you out, up and down, and you’re adulthood is exposed. This is your childhood room. Why had your mother left it the way it was? It’s not like you were off at summer camp. She isn’t home yet, none of them are. This moment is yours, or at least it should be, but the room belongs to your childhood self, not this version. The bed springs creek as you sit down, screaming at you to get off, get out. All at once you are sad and angry, and then neither of those two feelings. You used to spend all your time in here. Your mother’s car is pulling into the driveway, and then you hear the sound of the garage door, and then you feel the same way you used to. This doesn’t make you any happier. 

You are sitting on the bus you ride to work every day. Today is different because there is a man across from you clutching against the rocking motions of the man weeping beside him. You should look away to give them privacy, you don’t. The one man is shaking, sobbing, wailing, flooding the bus, drowning out every sound, you will let the woman and children exit first if this gets dangerous.  You can already feel his anguish pooling at your ankles, ruining your dress shoes. The other man is also crying, though it is a different kind. His crying is deliberate. It is in a way that you would not have noticed if he had not been fiercely holding onto the other man. You assume that they are brothers, friends. They could be lovers. There are no tears; it is more like the howling of a dog outside. You’ve heard this yelping countless times before. The second man looks up at you. He sees that you understand this cry, and he is angry and sad, and you are neither of these things. This doesn’t make you any happier.  

The music is playing so loud that you feel as if your pulse has synced itself with it just to keep your blood from clotting. It is your body’s survival instincts kicking in. The same instincts beg you to hurl between your knees or find a doctor. But you cannot find a doctor and you cannot find your knees right now in this spinning room. People are forcing the walls to tilt inward. If you weren’t the quiet type you would scream at them to turn the other way. They are making you sick. She is making you sick. She has not stopped dancing since you arrived. She dances to your pulse. She is confident, but not beautiful. This makes you sad because you know that it makes her sad. Later, when she is alone, driving in the late night while her hair whips around in the wind and sticks to her wet cheeks, she will not be able to escape this fact. She will try to ignore it. The metallic of your nausea drips down the back of your throat and you wish you were not the one who had done this to her, but you are. You want to grab her and kiss her before she has to go off and be alone again. You are all at once angry and sad, and then neither of those two feelings. All you can do is watch her dance, and watch the hands that try to wrap their way around her while she moves. None can follow her perfect rhythm like you used to. Your head throbs, the music pulses, your blood echoes in your ears and you finally find your knees. This doesn’t make you any happier. 

You are holding the first person you ever made love to. This person is crying and begging for your forgiveness. They are astonished that after everything they have done, you have once again taken them up into your arms. They have a child with someone else now. They have left that child and that someone else to be with you here and now. They are telling you that you are the only person who has ever truly loved them. This makes you feel sad and angry, and just as quickly you feel nothing at all. You have just realized that you never loved them, it was a mistake. Now you cry in a different way. This crying is not for yourself. It doesn’t make you any happier.

The car wretches up over the side walk and the front end slices into the fire hydrant that is just in front of you. The fender is twisted into an impossible new shape. Cars are screeching to halt; their drivers and passengers are rolling down windows to yell. The driver’s side door is shoulder punched open, the boy who is different because of how he feels gets out of the car. He is bleeding. He is moving around the car towards the passenger side door. He is screaming.  The boy in the back, who is different because of how he sounds, is conscious. He doesn’t move. He looks scared. He looks bored. The boy in the passenger side does not get out. He is too far away now and cannot hear the screaming. The water is now pooling at your ankles.