Halfway to Galveston
Self-discovery is what mold people into the people they are today. The people who allow themselves to be shaped into molds of social and political cliques have not yet experienced the impeccability of themselves. They allow what they see on TV to become personal experiences, and it turns them into an empty shell of a human mind.
The sun blasted itself through my black bed sheets and beat against my head until they finally woke me the hell up. Today was Friday, and my suspension from school was over, and I was due at school at noon. I didn't feel like getting up.
I hate school. And it's not like I hate doing work, or that I hate getting up in the morning or anything like that. People know, when I go to school, I work as if I've been there all year long. But what I can't stand is the social and political standard of it. People don't accept you by those standards if you don't have a high school diploma. They don't accept you if you didn't have enough ambition and drive to get a little piece of paper signed by people who don't know you, can't stand you, and pick your mind and undoubtedly call you insane every minute of every day. But I guess it's a sense of accomplishment- academically. School teaches you, yes. But when I look at it from my aspect, School doesn't teach me what I want. I want common sense, not book and numbers, illusions of real life. What kind of life does completely school give you? What is everyone's ultimate goal? To go to school, graduate, get a career, buy a big beautiful house, and have a family with the first woman you see who seems to have mother and wife qualities. School is the simpleton's mind, the idea of someone who doesn't have creativity when it comes to life. I know what I want, and going to school is boring. I want a new route to life. I want to live life. I want a life that I love, not an existence that I hate. School isn't going to teach me how to avoid the police when I have a suspended license, a piece in the back, and how to sweet-talk my way out of every situation.
Have you ever noticed how people who seem to have street smarts, intelligence and wisdom dropped out of school? My friends are the most amazing people that I have been around, and they are an inspiration to my life. They inspire me to turn into the person I always wanted to be. Not a empty shell, but an actual person, with her own values, opinions, and experiences. You don't EXPERIENCE school. You GO to school, and people who are insane, stupid, and blind surround you. Lost in their own little world of clothes, expensive cell phones, cars, and sex. The teachers drone on in long sentences about things that they ironically know nothing about.
The best teacher is EXPERIENCE. But people don't realize it. They ask me everyday what makes me so smart.
Experience.
I didn't go to school that day, if you haven't noticed. Jordan called me and saved me from my never-ending slump of dreading going to that disgusting school. We stayed at my apartment, which I shared with my ex-boyfriend, and smoked. My ex-was the type of boyfriend, who was absolutely beautiful physically, but we couldn't click mentally, emotionally, and anything else. We had an stressing relationship, mixed with aduse, arguments and we didn't understand each other, and the only thing that seemed to hold us together was the never ending desire for each other, and the pulsing nymphomania between him and I that made one irresistible to the other.
New life lesson: Don't have sex with someone before you know anything about him or her.
YOU'LL NEVER GET RID OF THEM.
So, anyway, after a while, we ran out, and I brought up my dealer, Thomas. Thomas was a petite, muscular Irish man, with blue eyes and an alluring voice that screamed of personal experience and anguish. My mother and I were walking from the car to her apartment, and Thomas and his friends were sitting outside the apartment, by the steps. She looked at him once, and turned to look at me.
"Don't talk to those thugs down there. EVER." Her lips curled into a look of disgust as Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me until I walked into the apartment.
So I didn't.
One day, I was sitting in my mother's apartment with my friend Shaka, and Thomas came to the door.
"Would you like a piece of chicken?" He asked me, affecting a laid back look that clearly told me that he was high as hell.
I am a vegetarian, but I wanted the company. So I grabbed Shaka and went outside. I sat next to Thomas, on the step above him. I noticed how he was trying so hard to talk to me, to get me to tell him something about me, but I remained quiet, my mother's words echoing in my mind. That night, he told me he sold, and to some to him whenever I needed any.
So I did. Jordan and I drove to my mom's apartments and walked around until we found him.
And we did.
We bought a bit from him and ended up hanging out with him.
I brought him and Jordan to the coffeehouse underneath the old apartments and we listened to live music. Well, actually, we didn't listen. Jordan was too high to know what was going on, so he listened to his iPod while Thomas and I conversed next to him. Our conversation was comfortable, detailed and calm, him telling me of his life and analyzing my actions, as well as smiling gently as I told him every detail about the thoughts going through my head. What attracted me at most was that Thomas made me realize that I wasn't in love with my ex as much as I previously believed I was. I really didn't love my ex at all. I was so enthralled with Thomas' personality that everything about him made me think, and I was grateful for the challenge.
It's so amazing how people learn how the phrase, "Looks are deceiving." Is true. Thomas had the look of a thug, with a strong face, and a strong stance and an intimidating stance. His initials were tattooed on his chest. The tattoo on the right, his son's initials, and the tattoo on the left, his own. His personality was a mixture of articulation, intelligence, uncertainty, confidence, honesty and calamity. Everything about this man seemed to interest me in one-way or another, and yet, I had no romantic feelings toward him. My mind had no room for romance; I was just interested in learning more about this person.
After Jordan left, Thomas and I went to the pond at the park and talked.
It's amazing how I had my first intellectual conversation with a man that my mother had urged me to stay away from.
The next night, we picked Thomas up from his sister's house. The look in his eyes was uncomfortably different as he walked down the metal steps toward Jordan's car. Something happened that was retarded as well and confusing, and Thomas ended up having a little blue bag of meth in his pocket, and he was jumpy the entire time, asking us for people to buy it. He was noticeably uncomfortable with having the drug around him, and told us periodically.
His friend Face ultimately ended up wanting to by the ice from us. So I had to drive to Mesquite to get to his house. He gave us gas money and a bag of med.
We drove back to my apartment and went to the rooftop, smoking from the dragon, and absorbing the beauty of the landscape.
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