The real reason he wanted them to go on that long drive, however, was for the nearly nonexistent peace and quiet he acquired whenever they left him alone (which was almost never). During these rare moments he took pleasure in long walks through the thick forest surrounding their log house. His favorite spot in the forest was a small clearing about five minutes from the edge of trees. No humans ever bothered it—it being nearly impossible to find and all—and he only had to run from one of the local black bears one time. He would sit on the fallen log for hours on end, delving into his own deepest thoughts, exploring his mind as if it were a foreign land. It felt like that at times; there were moments when even he couldn’t understand his own thoughts.

   Today he contemplated his most recent dream. There had been a man, and he felt some inexplicable draw to the man though he had never seen him before. It was like seeing a long-lost acquaintance in a crowd and feeling that flicker of recognition even though you couldn’t recall their name for the life of you. If only he could remember the man’s face…

   Something was crashing through the surrounding bushes. He froze, strained his ears, dread and reluctance (Another bear? But they’re out of season…) pooling in his stomach.

   Crash—snap—crunch—shuffle—rustle—stomp stomp stomp—mumble?

   Bears don’t mumble. He blinked and listened closer as the grew louder, clearer. He could make out a few words, which confirmed his assumption that this bush-whacker was indeed human.

   “Stupid cousins. Made me come along. Didn’t want to. AND THEY LEFT ME BE—ouch!”

   Something (someone) very short and thin literally fell into the clearing, landing face-first in the daisies. It didn’t move for a few seconds, wallowing in self-pity and wounded dignity, and he decided then that he should speak. His parents had always taught him to help any poor lost stranger in the woods, though until now he hadn’t had any chance to practice.

   “May I help you?” He asked mildly from his log. He then realized how rude he sounded and added, “Are you okay?”

   The short person staggered to his feet and ran a hand through the squashed blond spikes on his head, trying (futilely) to revive them. “Hi, I’m Luca.”

   He gasped. The boy’s pixie-like features seemed so staggeringly familiar he nearly fell from the log. It was almost as if he knew him very well from somewhere, but he knew they had never met before—his parents never allowed him to go anywhere or meet anyone his age, so this boy was the first…well, ever—but that hardly explained the image that flashed behind his lids: fire, a charred body laid among the debris, blurred vision—tears?

   “Hey, dude, are you okay?”

   He shook his head, crashing back down to earth with a jolt. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

   Luca patted himself down as though searching for broken bones. “I can move, so yeah. But… looks like my shirt kicked the bucket. Stupid bushes.” Luca bunched the hem of his baggy shirt up and prodded a very obvious rip in the fabric, just below his ribs. He looked heartbroken—perhaps the shirt was a favorite?

“Hey, what’s your name again?”

   “Malachi,” he said quietly, feeling unsure as to how to act. This was, after all, the first boy his age he had ever met. Were they supposed to bump fists or something? He had seen two boys do it on TV. Luca wasn’t making any move to fist-bump. TV must have been wrong.

   He examined Luca’s appearance more fully; the boy was much shorter than he (at least a foot) but had an unexpectedly deep voice. His build was lanky but compact and somewhat toned—the build of a fighter. His shock of icy blond hair was odd enough to Malachi, but what really stood out were his eyes. The right eye was dark brown, and the left was an unnatural amber.

   Luca seemed to be sizing Malachi up as well. The mismatched eyes took in Malachi’s height, his longish dark brown hair and matching eyes, his pale skin, his dark clothes. He scrutinized him for only a moment, and then his face lit up with a friendly smile. “Hi, Malachi. My god, your name sounds so old…”

   Offended, Malachi snapped, “Well yours isn’t exactly ordinary either!”

   Luca laughed. “Jeez, chill. Your name isn’t bad, okay? It’s just the first time I’ve heard something like it.”

   “Are you sure, Lucas?”

   Luca blinked, his brow furrowed. “My name is Lu-CAH, not ‘Lucas.’”

   Malachi clapped a hand to his mouth, dumbfounded. Why did he say that? “I—I’m sorry, I don’t know why I—I just blurted…” Luca waved it away.

   “It’s alright. Well, I have to find my cousins—I’m visiting them for the rest of summer break, y’see—and I have no idea where the hell they disappeared to, and I need a shirt.”

   Malachi felt compelled to help. “I can lend you one. At my house. We have a phone, too, if you want to call your cousins and have them pick you up.”

   Surprisingly, Luca agreed. He didn’t hesitate to accept help from a stranger, and Malachi got the feeling this boy had the kind of personality that trusted everyone immediately. Though not always a good type of personality to have, it certainly benefitted in a situation like this, when one was stranded in the middle of a forest with no way of reaching one’s family. Luca seemed to have an endless amount of things to say as they took the short trek from the clearing to the log house. Malachi listened for the most part and found Luca’s remarks about everything quite interesting. Luca told him about life back where he lived; working at a used bookstore, going to see movies with friends in the theaters, attending public school and having to eat their lunch (“You wouldn’t believe the pizza, man—it looked and tasted like the bloody lunch ladies used the crud from the dustpan as a topping!”), among other things.

   As they climbed the wooden stairs to the first floor and front door, Malachi silently thanked whatever higher being there may be that his parents had not yet arrived home from their shopping trip. He didn’t know what they’d say or do if he walked in the front door with some strange, talkative teenage boy they’d never seen before.

   “Holy—you’re house is HUGE, dude!” Luca exclaimed, craning his neck to try and view the roof. “You must be rich or something, eh?”

   Malachi shrugged. “We’re well-off, I suppose.” He shoved the front door open and motioned for Luca to enter first. “Come on in. My parents aren’t home yet.” Luca obeyed and stepped inside the darkened house with no hesitation whatsoever. “The light switch is on the left,” Malachi told him as he shut the door.

   “Where?” Luca’s voice said, wandering to the right.

   “Left. Other way.”

   “Oh, the left,” his voice said airily as it drifted in the opposite direction. There was a very loud thump, coupled with a hissed curse. “I thought you said it was on the left!”said Luca accusingly, his voice muffled as though he was covering his mouth with his hands.

   “Forget it.” Malachi sighed, reaching to the left wall and flicking the lights on. He expected to see Luca a few feet away, but didn’t. Confused, Malachi scanned the living room and attached dining room for the boy and found him on the other side of the dining table, in-between the chairs and the wall, though how he managed to get there without crashing into the table was miraculous. Then again, he did hit a wall…

   “What are you doing over there?” Malachi asked mildly.

   “You told me to go this way!” Luca snarled from behind his hands.

   “No, I said left. You went right, then backward, then right. Are you sure your cousins left you? It seems most likely that you lost yourself.”

   “Are you always this condescending to your guests?”

   “No, sorry, you’re right. Come on, I’ll get you a shirt. The phone is…um, somewhere. I’ll look for it while you change, okay?”

   Luca instantly brightened and jogged to Malachi’s side, following him (in a very puppy-like manner, thought Malachi) up the stairs to Malachi’s room in the loft. He stood leaning against the wooden railing as Malachi dug through his dresser drawer for a shirt that might fit Luca’s small frame. The closest thing he could come up with looked as though it would be a floor-length dress on the boy, but it was only temporary, after all.

   Luca accepted the shirt with a sunny thank you and switched tops, and Malachi saw the flash of what appeared to be a scar twisting from Luca’s right shoulder to bottom left rib. The too-big shirt billowed around his torso and down to his knees, concealing the scar instantly. Malachi blinked and had to refrain from chuckling—his estimation was off by only a foot or so—but remembered the scar and sobered immediately, wondering whether it would be polite to ask about it. Probably not, he decided, and went instead to search for the phone. To save time, he went to the phone’s charger and hit the ‘page’ button, which cued the phone to start beeping so he could find it.

   The noise was faint, but he followed it to the kitchen, where he spent a few minutes trying to determine its whereabouts. For a moment he half-thought it was coming from the fridge, but that couldn’t be right. He instead opened a few cabinets, the pantry, and the trash bin, but no luck. All the sudden Luca pranced into the kitchen, Malachi’s shirt flowing behind him like a cape, and made a beeline for the fridge.

   “What, are you hungry or something?” Malachi asked, puzzled.

   Luca opened the fridge and said “Found it.”

   “Found what?”

   “The phone.”

   “Why the hell—you know what? I don’t want to know,” Malachi muttered darkly. “Go ahead and call your cousins if you want.”

   Luca gave him a V-salute and started dialing, pacing in a small circle as he waited for the other line to pick up. It did so almost immediately. “Hey, it’s—well, I’m fine, I swear—none of that! I’m fine—what? NO! Jesus, Sula. No, I’m at…Hey, what’s your last name?” He addressed Malachi so suddenly he almost didn’t notice.

   “Narain.” Malachi told him.

   “Wow, nice name. I’m at the Narains’ place. He found me in the forest after you guys ditched me, you assholes.” The buzz of a female voice drifted over to where Malachi leaned against the countertops, the tone obviously aggravated but somewhat relieved. “What are you talking about, Sula? He’s an OK guy, really! He lent me a shirt and let me use his phone and everything…” Luca’s face dropped. “Oh…okay. Okay. Thanks. See you.”

   He pushed the ‘end call’ button and mimed slamming the phone down on the counter. “Jesus, she’s ridiculous sometimes.”

   “What’s wrong?” Malachi asked curiously.

   “She freaked out when she heard I was at your place and she wouldn’t tell me why. Do you know her?” Malachi shook his head. “Oh. Well, she’s just weird. She said she’ll be here in five minutes, which means she’ll be speeding and probably fall off the side of the mountains, so we have some time to spare.”

   “Should we be worried?” Malachi asked, concerned.

   Luca shook his head. “Nah, she drives like a maniac all the time. I accredit her miraculous survival thus far to sheer dumb luck.”

   Malachi smiled. “Why the British accent?”

   “Cuz I felt like it, so there.” Luca stuck his tongue out childishly. “Hey—are you Irish?”

   He blinked. “Yes, I am. How could you tell?”

   Luca winked at him. “Two years of craniofacial anthropometry, bebe. I can read yo’ fayce.”

   Malachi full-on laughed. “From British gentleman to a macho gangster?”

   The smaller boy’s smile faded a little. “Not a gangster. Not ever. No.”

   Malachi internally grimaced. He had said something wrong. Damn it! And just when things were getting relatively un-awkward. It figures he’d screw it up sooner or later, but he had hoped for it to be later. He liked this Luca, his odd personality, his liveliness, his sense of humor. Since Malachi hadn’t been around many people, he had no idea how to communicate with people in general, but he definitely wanted to practice with Luca, who seemed ready to accept any verbal mishap Malachi might have made up until that point.

   Luca frowned. “Hey, don’t give me that look, okay? I have my reasons.” When Malachi didn’t smile again, Luca sighed and explained further. “My family has had a few run-ins with gangs back home, so it’s easy to see why I’m a bit standoffish about them.”

   “I’m sorry,” said Malachi. “I didn’t know.”

   “No, you didn’t,” said Luca with a grin. “So don’t apologize for something you had no idea about, okay?” Malachi nodded, and Luca clapped him on the shoulder. All the sudden, a car horn honked very loudly from outside. Luca leaned over the sink and parted the thin curtains, then groaned. “Oh my god,” he said, mortified, “She’s here already. I don’t even want to know how many laws she had to break to get here so quickly!”

   Malachi laughed again, glad the tension was gone but sad to see Luca go. “It was nice meeting you, Luca. You’re the first…” He trailed off, not wanting to sound odd by telling him he was his first friend ever, and at nineteen years old, too. It would sound pathetic.

   Sadly, Luca seemed to possess a sort of ESP. “First friend? Really?” Malachi nodded, ashamed. To his astonishment, Luca didn’t make a big deal of it. “Damn, dude, you need more friends. Want to come to my cousins’ place tomorrow night? We have an X-Box 360. Lots of food. It’s a bit loud sometimes, but that’s what makes it so fun!” Luca laughed.

   “But doesn’t your cousin hate me?” Malachi reminded him as he tried to squash the excitement that bubbled in his stomach. “Sula.”

   Luca waved it away. “Sula thinks she’s all that, but their house runs in a democratic manner. We vote on everything, and if my other cousins are okay with it, she has to put up with you.”

   “Gee, thanks.”

   “N-not what I meant, um…I meant to say—”

   Malachi grinned, “I know what you meant, I was joking. Go on, go home now.”

   Luca feigned a sob (quite convincingly, actually) and shuffled slowly to the front door. “Y-you don’t wa-wa-want me anymore? But Malli, I thought what we had was special…”

   Laughing harder than he ever had in thus far in his entire life, Malachi playfully shoved his new friend to the door. Luca brightened, dropping the act, and saluted him goodbye, shutting the door behind him. Malachi watched him enter the car and drive off, smiling. It was only midday and already he had so many firsts completed; first friend, first guest in the house, first real laugh… even his first-ever nickname.

   He liked the nickname the best.

Did any of you read the Critters of the Night series? Y'know, those children's books about the...whatever the heck it was? I loved that book when I was little. Purple Pickle Juice. Yush.

Anyways, this blog has nothing to do with Purple Pickle Juice. Sorry. Well...no, it sort-of does. I used it in Drama in an attempt to get a few of my classmates to laugh during an exercise where they had to stay straight-faced no matter what. The rest of us took turns and tried to get them to smile or laugh or w/e, and when it was my turn... well, it was my turn twice. The first time I went up and screamed (and I mean screamed)
PURPLE PICKLE JUICE MAKES PUPPY GO BOOM!

Sadly, though, it was a fail. Ah, but the SECOND time, my fellow cracker-uppers (oh, that sounded so wrong) told me to go speak Japanese at one of them. I was doubtful that it would work, but decided to give it a shot. I got realllly close to this one girl--Christina--and said (in a cutesy voice)

KONNICHIWA! DAIJOUBU DESU KA? <3

Surprisingly it worked! Then it was MY turn to be all moody and not smile no matter what. This one kid, Orlando, kept trying and trying to crack everyone up (LAME ATTEMPTS) and his friend, Wiley tried to help him. For the most part, however, Wiley was just disgusting and disturbing. Bordering on sexual harrassment, actually, but I figure karma will take care of him... NO, HE DIDN'T LITERALLY HARRASS ME. But it was bordering on it... *shudders*

Anyway. Lalalala, day went on, think I failed my Chem test, volunteered twice to read in English class (Rip Van Winkle) and got complimented for my "Audio Book Voice," came home, got chores done, met and talked to Liz, decorated tree, ordered xmas gifts online, etc., etc...

Not a very interesting evening.

OH, but I got SOAKED. It decided to downpour all day today (YAY! <3 I luv da rainnnn!! ^^) and I was too thrilled to put my raincoat on this evening before the bus dropped me off, so I got SOAKED. It felt so nice... the rain was really heavy and cold, and the air was chilled, and there was a slight wind... ahhhh... lovely lovely LOVELY weather. How I missed thee, Sir Rain. <3

lmao, anyways.

Ily all, especially Joey, and I MISS NICCI!

--emily

Have you ever had days where you're just inexplicably depressed? Seriously... Like all the sudden it just HAPPENS and you feel like crap and don't have the energy to smile or laugh, and you're also feeling pretty damn abnormal 'cos you can't think of any logical explanation for the flash-depression and you're afraid to bring it up with anyone, especially parents with psychology degrees since they'd probably psycho-analyze your subconscious till you really DO feel crazy ("Is it about your mom?" NO. "Have you been having any outrageous thoughts recently?" They mean 'suicidal,' and gee, thanks for having such faith in my maturity...)

Mayhaps it's just teenage angst. There seems to be enough of it floating round school nowadays. Breakups and pregnancies and abusive SOs and parents divorcing and siblings drinking and driving (and this is all what I've heard being said/sobbed in the hallways as I walk to class. NONE of it is happening to me.)

Oh. Just had a revelation of sorts... What if THAT is what's getting me down? I've been known to empathize too much. Sure, a little empathy is good, but TOO much can be a serious problem. This is one of the reasons I had to rule out being a therepist like I used to want to be; I dwell too much on other people's problems. For my own problems I have a Que Sera Sera view on life. For other people's I have a nagging urge to let them sit down and talk it out. I do this with my friends all the time; if one of them is having issues with parents or boyfriend/girlfriends, I let them unload. I like doing it, but this depression seems to shadow me after the initial 'unloading' is finished.

So this might be WHY I'm depressed (maybe, hopefully...) but the question is HOW to fix it? I can't wear earplugs to and from class. Well I could, but I would look and feel absolutely ridiculous.

Since there's no fix for it, what the heck do I do? This crap needs to go away soon. VERY soon. I like smiling, I like laughing, I like smiling to make other people smile... and I HATE it when people go "Emily, what's wrong? You're not smiling today." And when I say "I don't know, I just don't feel okay today," everyone starts the Guessing Game. And the very first thing they assume is that it's something SO related. For the last bloody TIME, people, THERE IS NOTHING WRONG IN THAT AREA!

Gah, sorry, angsty. And the sleepyness! I've been so friggin' tired recently--Joey can attest to that. He's caught me dozing off on webcam a couple times. At first it was because I wasn't sleeping very well, but these last few nights I've been sleeping perfectly fine. Yet I'm still so tired I can't even smile...

Perhaps I shouldn't have written this... Joey's prolly gonna be all worried now. But I'm gonna post it despite my instinct to delete it because maybe one of my readers can help me to think up what the cause is... And how to fix it. I really, really, really don't like being depressed like this. Hope it goes away very soon. So please, readers, help?

--Emily

I remember this so well it's as if it happened yesterday. I was in the back room of our old church, and I had just finished tying the green "ordinary time" cord around my vestiment in preparation to altar serve, and I looked out one of the tiny glass windows that overlooked the court yard and saw wedding pictures being taken. The bride wore a ball gown--obviously very detailed and expensive--and her bridesmaids were wearing wine red dresses that (surprisingly) looked very good on all of them. The photographer flashed picture after picture, and I tsked just as the Deacon entered.

The Deacon was a very stocky old man with thick black glasses and a slightly deformed skull, as if he were made of clay and someone had leaned on one side of his head with the heel of their hand, denting it inward and downward. I used to be afraid of him when my family first started attending the church, and mentally referred to him (somewhat meanly) as Deacon Quasimoto. Really, though, he was quite nice. When he learned I was studying Japanese, he babbled an unintelligable phrase that confused the crap out of me until he told me it was Polish. After that I called him a showoff.

(Anyways)

The Deacon entered the room and patted me on my shoulder as a greeting, peering out the window besides mine. "They're having a very extravagant wedding this evening," he explained. "The Parish Hall is closed until midnight. Mary Anne isn't too happy about it." Mary Anne was a bustling old woman who ran all the "backstage" functions in the church.

"I bet she isn't. How extravagant do you mean?"

"About a hundred and fifty guests." I must've made a noise of disgust because he looked down his nose at me and gave me an amused look. "I take it you don't like big weddings?"

"No, 'cos you can't possibly enjoy everyone's company or ensure that everyone's happy and having fun. Plus it's way too expensive. Why make everything so fancy just for one day? Why not spend all that money on each other over a long period of time, in little incriments?"

Father Troncale was in the room for the last bit. He laughed, "My goodness, you're wise for a small child." He always joked on my age since I was the oldest altar server currently doing their duty for that mass. I was actually over five and a half feet tall by this point, and almost sixteen years old. I made a face at him and stalked off to light the candles, leaving them chuckling to themselves.

Weddings.

Every girl's dream, right?

Not so. I know several girls who LOATH the idea of a wedding. I sort of want one, but not the typical wedding. Actually, I've put together a mental list of DON'TS over the years...

• NO huge, floofy, expensive ballgown. Hell, not even a white dress if I have any say in it. White is boring and awkward and...and... ick. I'd rather "go down the aisle" (to be discussed in a moment) in pj's than in a dress. I haaaate dresses.
• NO church setting. Sorry, no. This cradle catholic sees no reason for god's approval when it comes to my love life.
• NO 150+ guests. Not even 50+. 10 is comfortable...
• NO rituals. "Can't see the bride before the wedding," "new, old, borrowed, blue," NOTHING.
• NO wedding march. Old, cheesy crap. Screamo would be verrry interesting, wouldn't it? xD

And instead of a reception, I think it'd be better if the bride and groom just went home. Relaxed. After all, it is their first day/night together, why waste it dancing awkwardly and dealing with drunk relatives and friends? Ew.

I'm unconventional, aren't I? xD

Ah well. I just think it's riddiculous, the money people spend... >.>"
If you're reading this and you DID have a big wedding and DON'T regret it, I'm proud of you! I'm very happy for you. Very.
It just isn't my style.

--emily