Post by Caden Dean on Jan 1, 2006 19:50:44 GMT -5
Daybreak: A glorious new year, new beginning, first sunrise of the year leaked the hot, bright rays from behind the grey cirrus clouds that had formed in the darkest of the night. The city of Dallas was quite still with the exception of the staggering drunk awakening to strange bed partners, forgotten memories, and headaches larger than life. Moans and groans, screams and kisses, the day has began a new year for everyone under the sun. The rays continue to grow brighter, hotter, and pierce through the cracked mini-blinds of a deteriorating mobile home with a falling screen door. A grayish-blue trailer with built on “white faux shutters”, sits atop a half an acre plot of dead grass, broken down equipment, and scattered children’s toys. The soft hum of an approaching vehicle becomes audible, as a champagne colored Honda Accord pulls into the drive. The passenger door swings open as an average height young man lifts himself out. His hair a mess of raven colored spikes, his clothing wrinkled and black, the young man bounds the concrete steps and eases open the falling door. Once inside, he eases the door shut tip-toeing down the narrow hallway and into a tiny back bedroom. The walls are covered in band posters, the floor covered in clothes, he begins to undress as his eyes catch an old cracked full-length mirror.
Young Man: Happy 2006, Caden Dean, another year as white trash.
He sighs deeply breaking his view of his reflection and tosses the button down black shirt into a pile of clothes by the opened closet. Stumbling slightly from his apparent inebriation, he catches himself on a small wooden dresser.
Caden Dean: Jack Daniels is not my friend.
He regains his balance and slowly eases his way towards the twin bed. Plopping gently onto it, he leans back staring at the ceiling.
Caden Dean: Oh, man! What a night. The more I try to remember the entire night, the harder my head pounds. Thank god, Dale’s still sleeping. If he had any idea that I was dragging in at this hour, he’d slaughter me good.
He lifts his hand from his side and feels an inch sized scar above his right eye and shudders. On the ceiling, a tiny cockroach crawls across. Caden watches for a few seconds then turns his attention back to himself.
Caden: I should have turned him in when I had the chance, ass. Of course, it is kind of hard to concentrate on dialing 9-1-1 when you have a television remote smacking you upside your forehead. Thank god for morphine.
Caden sits up slowly holding his pounding temples as he kicks off his black and white etnies onto the blue shag carpet. He sighs again as he begins to lie down. Nausea begins to swell inside his weak, alcohol filled stomach as he slows his breathing to prevent the vomiting.
Caden: Twenty-two years old, and I still live at home. I still obey Step-father-Hitler, and instead of trying to better myself and escape, I’d rather drown my sorrows in booze or pot and coke. Wasted, that’s all I look forward to doing, getting totally hammered. I’m no better than that obese redneck alcoholic. Unemployed, he sits in the same ripped leather easy chair drinking Natural Light, can’t even afford the good stuff, and watches Nascar. He smokes all of our cigarettes, eats all the damn food before we can renew the foodstamp card, and the, complains because ma doesn’t have the money to afford toilet paper. So he uses my socks.
And, to think, I am on the same gravel road headed for the same unlit tunnel. The only thing beyond the fence is more dry grass. I’m a bloody failure, just like pops, just like Eddie, and just like Dale.
Caden rolls over to lay on his side as he notices how truly messy his room is.
Caden: For three minutes of my life I thought I was normal. Three minutes is all it takes for a six year old boy to realize he is on a totally uneven playing field. Arriving to school in the same ripped, stained clothing I wore the week before. Standing among the orphanage children and homeless in the free lunch line at school, how pitiful I must have looked.
However, for three whole minutes I felt normal and accepted into society. It was before pops was incarcerated for theft, before ma moved us into grandma’s because we couldn’t afford a home of our own, before ma married that loser Dale who beat me black and blue because of my “feminine ways”. I was just like every other kid. It didn’t take long to crush those thoughts.
He took a quick drag from his cigarette and blew out a ring of smoke. His eyes followed the ring as it floated into the air and the fading into the room.
I remember moving into this pit. The local neighbors all stood outside their homes, no one smiled or waved or even said ‘how do’ya do?’ they just stared. Then, life was better. Eddie was going into junior high and I was starting first grade. Ma had just found a decent job at a truckstop diner and married who we thought at that time would be our hero, Dale the construction worker. I remember the first time Dale hit me too.
But, that isn’t relative to now. I stopped being normal when the police first came to the trailer to arrest Dale. It was probably the seventh time that month I had gotten a severe beating for being to girly. He hates me for other reasons, but mainly that. He says ma destined me for homosexuality by just naming me. ‘Caden is a gay’s name. If I had a right mind, I’d beat ya just for that.’ Regardless of my sexual preference, what it is, what it’s not, no one should be assaulted because of their appearance and style.
‘Caden, you’ll never amount to nothing painting your eyes like some girl. Caden, what kind of man wears black nailpolish? Caden, you’re going to hell for your ways. I never asked for a step-daughter.’
He mimicked as he stared into the filth of his room. Caden reached for a cigarette pack beside his pillow. Removing one, he lit it and continued his self-loathing.
Young Man: Happy 2006, Caden Dean, another year as white trash.
He sighs deeply breaking his view of his reflection and tosses the button down black shirt into a pile of clothes by the opened closet. Stumbling slightly from his apparent inebriation, he catches himself on a small wooden dresser.
Caden Dean: Jack Daniels is not my friend.
He regains his balance and slowly eases his way towards the twin bed. Plopping gently onto it, he leans back staring at the ceiling.
Caden Dean: Oh, man! What a night. The more I try to remember the entire night, the harder my head pounds. Thank god, Dale’s still sleeping. If he had any idea that I was dragging in at this hour, he’d slaughter me good.
He lifts his hand from his side and feels an inch sized scar above his right eye and shudders. On the ceiling, a tiny cockroach crawls across. Caden watches for a few seconds then turns his attention back to himself.
Caden: I should have turned him in when I had the chance, ass. Of course, it is kind of hard to concentrate on dialing 9-1-1 when you have a television remote smacking you upside your forehead. Thank god for morphine.
Caden sits up slowly holding his pounding temples as he kicks off his black and white etnies onto the blue shag carpet. He sighs again as he begins to lie down. Nausea begins to swell inside his weak, alcohol filled stomach as he slows his breathing to prevent the vomiting.
Caden: Twenty-two years old, and I still live at home. I still obey Step-father-Hitler, and instead of trying to better myself and escape, I’d rather drown my sorrows in booze or pot and coke. Wasted, that’s all I look forward to doing, getting totally hammered. I’m no better than that obese redneck alcoholic. Unemployed, he sits in the same ripped leather easy chair drinking Natural Light, can’t even afford the good stuff, and watches Nascar. He smokes all of our cigarettes, eats all the damn food before we can renew the foodstamp card, and the, complains because ma doesn’t have the money to afford toilet paper. So he uses my socks.
And, to think, I am on the same gravel road headed for the same unlit tunnel. The only thing beyond the fence is more dry grass. I’m a bloody failure, just like pops, just like Eddie, and just like Dale.
Caden rolls over to lay on his side as he notices how truly messy his room is.
Caden: For three minutes of my life I thought I was normal. Three minutes is all it takes for a six year old boy to realize he is on a totally uneven playing field. Arriving to school in the same ripped, stained clothing I wore the week before. Standing among the orphanage children and homeless in the free lunch line at school, how pitiful I must have looked.
However, for three whole minutes I felt normal and accepted into society. It was before pops was incarcerated for theft, before ma moved us into grandma’s because we couldn’t afford a home of our own, before ma married that loser Dale who beat me black and blue because of my “feminine ways”. I was just like every other kid. It didn’t take long to crush those thoughts.
He took a quick drag from his cigarette and blew out a ring of smoke. His eyes followed the ring as it floated into the air and the fading into the room.
I remember moving into this pit. The local neighbors all stood outside their homes, no one smiled or waved or even said ‘how do’ya do?’ they just stared. Then, life was better. Eddie was going into junior high and I was starting first grade. Ma had just found a decent job at a truckstop diner and married who we thought at that time would be our hero, Dale the construction worker. I remember the first time Dale hit me too.
But, that isn’t relative to now. I stopped being normal when the police first came to the trailer to arrest Dale. It was probably the seventh time that month I had gotten a severe beating for being to girly. He hates me for other reasons, but mainly that. He says ma destined me for homosexuality by just naming me. ‘Caden is a gay’s name. If I had a right mind, I’d beat ya just for that.’ Regardless of my sexual preference, what it is, what it’s not, no one should be assaulted because of their appearance and style.
‘Caden, you’ll never amount to nothing painting your eyes like some girl. Caden, what kind of man wears black nailpolish? Caden, you’re going to hell for your ways. I never asked for a step-daughter.’
He mimicked as he stared into the filth of his room. Caden reached for a cigarette pack beside his pillow. Removing one, he lit it and continued his self-loathing.
