Love Notes

I wake up to incessant screaming. It is deep and commanding, and damn if it isn’t directed at me. It is way too early for this shit to start. The only words I am able to make out are fat ass. They are unmistakable; I hear it enough and know better than to holler back. I slowly remove myself from the warmth of my bed where I feel safe and protected.

I take in the surroundings of my new room. The walls look as if someone has vomited Pepto-Bismol all over them, and the floor has awful rose-colored carpet. The walls will certainly need to be painted, but I’m afraid I am stuck with the carpet. It’s quite obvious that I am going to need an area rug because I am so not a pink girl.

All of a sudden, I hear the screaming again, and if it’s at all possible, it is even clearer this time around. Charlie, get your fat ass in here! I can’t help the sigh that releases from my mouth as I slowly walk into the room where the screaming originates.

The minute my dad notices my presence, I can tell that he is seething with anger. I don’t say anything because to do so would be utterly pointless. Any words that come out of my mouth while he’s this upset will surely set him off even more, and I would live to regret them. This is normal for me. I can’t do anything right and never have been able to. I am such an enormous disappointment to him.

Charlie, what did I ask you to do last night that you didn’t do?

I am trying to recall what it could be when, like a bolt of lightning, it hits me, and whatever color I might have in my face must be gone. I know what he’s talking about, and I screwed up. I always screw up. I don’t mean to; it just happens. I forgot to do the dishes. I know…stupid, right? My parents are the personification of cleanliness. They hate anything left unclean or clutter not picked up. Everything must be perfect, just as this family is supposed to be perfect. Our family may look perfect, but I assure you, looks are deceiving.

I take a deep breath before I answer him, unable to keep my voice from quivering. I’m sorry; I forgot to clean the dishes last night, but I was tired from unpacking. I went to rest, and I ended up falling asl…

He doesn’t even wait for me to finish the word asleep before he barks out, What are the rules Charlie? We have them for a reason. What if company had stopped by? How would that look?

I can’t stop the thoughts running through my head. No one even knows us. Why would we have company when we just moved here? Of course, I don’t say this aloud. Things are awful enough. If I voiced these thoughts, it would only spur him on, and that is something I don’t want. He always threatens to take my jeep away, and if that happens, then I am as good as lost, trapped in this hell. That is his one constant threat even though I bought it myself with my own money before moving here. Somehow though, he always uses my jeep against me.

He looks at me with cold calculating eyes and I can see his brain spinning several different scenarios. I could take your Jeep away… I feel the beginning of tears threatening to come out, but I am desperately willing them to stay put. I don’t like to cry in front of him, ever. He lets his words sit for a moment before he continues. But then I would have to take you to school, and I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with you.

I slowly release my breath and thank the Lord for allowing me to keep my prized possession. My Jeep is my one and only saving grace. I desperately try to erase the look of relief that I am sure is showing on my face, but there is no doubt that he saw it.

However, you are to go to school and home, and that’s it. No job hunting, no nothing for two weeks. Got it?

I nod my head that I understand and turn to leave when I hear him say my name again. I slowly turn back around, scared that he has changed his mind about my Jeep.

Instead of angry, his voice is hateful and snarky. You clearly don't care if you repulse anyone. You truly should try harder to lose weight. I think you may have even gained a few pounds over the summer. Now go. You’re dismissed.

I turn and leave as quickly as I can. I don’t want him to see the effect his words have on me. Deep down inside I am screaming at myself. Don't cry; don't cry. Don’t ever let him see you cry. Don’t show weakness. I can't ever let him see that vulnerable part of me because he will grab hold of it, and break the rest of me, piece by piece. If that happens, then I am afraid I will never be whole again. It would utterly crush me.

I walk back to my room as casually as I possibly can. The tears start to stream down my face the closer I get to my door. The sad part is I think he's right. The normal thing to do around here is to ground me, and then make digs about my weight or harsh comments about my looks. I guess I deserve this. After all, I know what I look like. I certainly don’t need anyone to remind me.

I quietly shut my door and put my iPod on. Music is the only thing that will calm me. As words are playing through the speakers, I realize it's a song that couldn't describe how I am feeling at the moment any more perfectly, and the words couldn’t be any truer.

I stand in front of the mirror, and look at myself. I see a tear stained girl standing there with nothing noteworthy to look at. My eyes are my best and only positive feature, but they don’t outweigh the negative. I have dark auburn hair that hangs past my shoulders in long layers. On a good day, my hair is tamable, but on most days, it’s somewhere in between curly and straight. I see chubby cheeks and a double chin as well as a nose that resembles a ski slope reflecting back at me. There is nothing remarkable here, just an overweight, ordinary girl.

Chapter 2

I wake up with the reminder of what today is, and I can’t help the heavy feeling that’s weighing me down and the reason for feeling that way.

I’ve lost count of the number of times my dad’s company has transferred him. We now reside in a small little town north of Atlanta in Nowhereville. I am starting my senior year at a new school, and my mother assures me that this will be the last time I will change schools before I’m off to college. College cannot come any faster for me. I can’t wait to get out of here, live on my own, and stay somewhere for more than a year. Finally, a place I can call home, even if it’s just a dorm room.

I despise starting a new school, although I should be a pro at it by now. That’s what happens when your dad’s job transfers him from place to place. Then there’s the constant annoyance of having to explain why my name is Charlie; that in itself is always a conversation and a half. Yes, I have a boy’s name, and yes, my dad seems to have had a wicked sense of humor (amongst other things) when I was born. I’m not sure what my mom was thinking by allowing that, but it is what it is. If you ask me, giving your child a funky name is a form of child abuse.

I love music. There isn’t a way that I can even articulate into words how much I love it. Music is an escape from everything that is wrong in my life. I love to sing. That doesn’t mean I am worthy of a record deal, but I have a pleasant, and what others have called angelic voice.

I had joined the school choir at my last school, and left behind a couple of friends, but with all the moving I never get to keep them for long. I love music. There isn’t a way that I can even articulate into words how much I love it. Music is an escape from everything that is wrong in my life. I love to sing. That doesn’t mean I am worthy of a record deal, but I have a pleasant, and what others have called angelic voice.

I attended my last school long enough to be part of the annual musical production. I had received a solo and the privilege to sing in front of the whole school. After I had sung my solo, it seemed that everything had finally fallen into place. People seemed to like me for me. I felt comfortable, at least as much as I would allow myself to be. I could be somewhat funny and show another side of myself. I didn’t have to worry as much about the extra pounds I carried because nobody seemed to care. Well, maybe except for my dad and me, especially since he reminds me almost every day of this. Despite finally feeling a level of acceptance at school, I have never found anyone to accept me unconditionally.

As far as boys are concerned, I have never had to worry about them since I’m not much to look at. Oh, I’ve had some guy friends, but I was never anything more than that to them. Sure, I would have liked to have gone out on a date, but to be honest I never found anyone I liked enough, either. There is also the fact that the thought of bringing a boy home to meet my dad makes me feel physically ill. It terrifies and scares me more than anyone could ever understand. There actually is no telling what my dad would do or say.

I psyche myself into getting my ass up to start getting ready, reminding myself that it could be worse. At least I am starting on the first day of school and not mid-year, so maybe my new student status won’t be immediately obvious. I try to tame my unruly mass of hair. I am unsuccessful. It is starting to resemble Medusa, but that’s not exactly what I am going for on the first day. I may not be much to look at, but I at least want to look my best and give some kind of good impression. Mostly, I hope just to blend in and not draw too much attention to myself.

The worst part of starting a new school is the looks you get from everyone. I would almost prefer to be invisible.

When I am as ready as I am going to be, I head towards the kitchen to grab some breakfast. Stopping short as soon as my feet touch the linoleum, I spot my dad drinking a cup of coffee at the bar. I inch my way into the kitchen, hoping against hope that he ignores me and pretends that he can't see me. My hope crumbles when I hear, Charlie, is that what you’re wearing? It looks like you’re trying way too hard.

Aw, stupid hope.

I glance down at myself. I have never professed to be fashionable in any way. However, I do pride myself on wearing clothes that fit and don’t make me look frumpy. I dress for my size and shape. I am wearing a pair of slimming boot-cut jeans, a dressier tank top, a short sleeve cardigan that covers some of my butt, and a pair of wedged sandals to help me look taller and hopefully slimmer. If only I was a little taller, then I would’ve been better proportioned.

I can’t help but question his remark and try not to let it get to me; try being the operative word. My mom chooses the perfect time to walk in, still dressed in a robe. She must have heard some of this conversation because she looks at me with indifference, but says that I look okay. I choose this moment to bolt.

My relationship with my mom is strained, at best. We rarely speak, and most of the time she acts like a shadow. She allows my dad his freedom of speech, sitting back and letting him say whatever he pleases, regardless of the impact his words have on me. I don't know how many times my dad has been on a rampage, and she has made an excuse to up and leave the room. She wants no part of it. I have tried talking to her about it in the past, but that has proven to be futile. Her only advice is to stay out of his way. The funny thing is…, I do.

It doesn't seem to matter though.

No matter what I do, I anger him.

As soon as I climb into my Jeep, I feel as if the weight of all the bullshit falls away, and I am instantly better. You know how some people have a sanctuary? My Jeep is it for me. Maybe that is because I paid for it with my hard-earned money from a job I had to beg to have. I worked so hard for several summers to save the money to buy it. Summertime was never as fun for me as it is for most teenagers.

Or maybe it is?

It meant not being home to endure whatever my father dished out at me. When most teenagers were out with their friends having fun, I was busy begging for a summer job. So yes, I love my Jeep. I have named her Lexie. Why Lexie, you ask? Because, quite simply, Lexie is a girly name. She is white, and her top comes off. I pull my iPod out of my backpack and plug it in. That’s the first thing I do every time I get behind the wheel. It’s my ritual. Music soothes the soul; at least, it helps soothe mine.

Before I know it, I have reached my destination, and I’m pulling into the senior parking lot. As soon as I park, I take a deep breath before exiting my beloved Jeep. I look around and see clusters of students all over the parking lot. Every school is different, but there are always the usual groups. You generally have your skaters, jocks and cheerleaders, preps, and the nerds and over-achievers. I also see a herd of rednecks; it is Georgia after all.

You know that feeling that someone is watching you? You don’t have to have eyes in the back of your head to see it. You just know. This is what I am feeling the whole entire time, and it has my nerves thoroughly rattled.

I finally spot an enormous building that says Admissions Office, and walk over to it. I never received my class schedule and need to retrieve it. I hate not knowing what classes I have ahead of time, and I am desperately hoping that my schedule includes choir class. That may help me make some friends, or at least make the transition a little easier.

As I’m walking into the building, I look down to readjust the strap of my backpack and smack directly into a person coming out of the door. Not only do I bump into this person and fall, but I also fall hard, all the way down and onto my very padded ass. Shit, so much for not drawing attention to myself. Without even looking up, I feel mortified and internally slap myself for my stupidity. The instant that I do look up, a set of perfectly bright, blue eyes captivate me. I mean like bright blue, the kind of blue that reminds you of the ocean on a tropical vacation. Eyes I can’t help but get lost in. They are almost magnetic. I quickly pray that it doesn’t look like I am gawking and instantly snap my mouth shut. I pull my eyes away from his and take in the rest of him. He is by far the best-looking guy I have ever seen! His shiny dark hair is such a contrast to his bright blue eyes. He has a beautiful face, although something tells me he wouldn't appreciate that label. The thought makes me giggle and almost makes the fall on my ass worth it. He is broad shouldered and muscular, and he looks as if he’s an athlete of some kind.

Suddenly, I snap out of my trance when I hear him ask me if I’m okay. As I am attempting to speak, he reaches a hand down to help me to my feet. I feel a rush of heat travel through me, causing goose bumps to pop up all over my arms. I don’t doubt that this reaction I’m having is based solely on my embarrassment, as well as my lack of walking skills. Not to mention, he is extremely easy on the eyes. Score one for me in the klutz department. There goes any hope of making a favorable first impression at my new school.

Fabulous.

As he’s helping me up, I realize he has spoken to me again, and I still haven’t answered him, just like the dumb ass I am. I look him in the eye, and finally find my breath. I’m sorry. I looked down for just a second and I wasn't watching where I was going, and I’m just sorry. I look up to see him looking at me and smiling.

It’s not a problem. I make it a habit to pick pretty girls up off of the floor. He tosses me a wink and walks away.

If it's possible that I heard him correctly, his words have just totally shocked the hell out of me. I