If Only You Knew What Went On In My Head

Long story short, Wendy and I had to say goodbye after a couple nights. I had the girl's number though, so I knew we'd keep in touch. Her brother was a fine guy, and he was courteous and all, asking me if I needed any money or anything. I said no, but he sort of waved this big checkbook in my face, trying to grab my attention. "Ya can't just be on the streets all summer," his eyes beamed. "Ya just can't."

I shrugged without even knowing it. "I'll probably get a job part-time or something, I don't think art classes'll be all day long." I wasn't sure though. I'm never sure about anything, really.

Wendy slipped herself in between us, giving me a hug and all. It was actually a nice hug. Not like those killer hugs that break your goddam limbs into dusts, but it wasn't one of those dead fish ones either. Genuine is probably the word to describe it.

Then she went on blabbing about having to call them if an emergency happened or if I felt kind of lonely. I don't think I'd call her up though. Not because I'm never lonely or because my life is perfect or anything, but because I probably wouldn't be in the mood. I swear, if I were minutes from my death on the floor, and not in the right mood, I wouldn't call the ambulance. I'd just wait until I die, frankly. I guess I'm just that kind of guy.

I smiled and waved, but her brother kept poking his nose into my business, asking if I needed reservations for a hotel or anything. You could tell he was a nice guy and all, but he was nosy as hell. I replied, kind of like in some sort of film or something, "You really need to listen to me, because I'm telling you the truth. I mean this, I'm okay." The two siblings eyed me mysteriously. "Trust me."

I slipped my bag over my shoulder, and Wendy shouted out something really nice, something that went like, "let's keep in touch!" or something like that. I'm never really sure what people say. I never pay attention that much.

After a while of walking, I decided to go call a taxi. I had this one taxi on my contact list, a very lousy driver and all, but he always got me where I needed to go. His personality was awful, but most taxi drivers in Cali don't know every building by building. This guy, as much of a prick he was, really knew California. Hell, he knew every building that every existed in Cali, and he also knew a whole lot about New York. And that says something in the taxi world.

The telephone took a while, so I sort of started tracing circles with my finger on my ragged-looking jeans. I imagined my jeans being this pond of water and frogs jumping inside with a huge plop! sound. I'm very childish for my age, I know.

My taxi guy finally picked up. "Peter, 's that you on the other end?" I asked in this Bugs-Bunny accent. I don't know why I did it though. I'm very strange.

He replied back with a nasty hello, asking who the hell I was and stuff. "It's me, Alex Delarge, I've taught you so much, my little droogie. Ready for a bit of the old ultraviolence?"

"Gerard, what do you want? I'm all the way in California now..." he anwered, all sore.

"I need a ride, and I got a couple bucks in my bag, mind giving me a lift?" I asked him this all professional-like, but I was scared as hell if he was going to say no. I wouldn't want to be the poor soul who has to stay a night in the treacherous city of Los Angeles. I'd rather stay a night along the streets of Saint Mary's, Georgia, where the tumbleweeds are even lonlier than me. At that split moment, I sort of wished I was there. But I thought about it more, and knew I'd lose my sanity after a week in one of those abandoned places.

It took him a hell of a time to answer. "Look, kiddo," he said, finally. "I can't do Jersey, it's halfway across the damn country."

"I'm in Los Angeles right now, and I need to get to Baking Ville," I spoke kind of fast. Peter had this hot temper that I didn't have the time to fool with. When I have the time, I fool him all I want. But, right now, there was no time.

"You mean Bakersville, buddy?" I snapped my fingers. The strangest thing was that I never remembered learning how to snap. In fact, I never actually did it until just now. It's sort of funny how those things work.

"Yeah, Bakersville," I answered. I said a lot of other stuff too, to convince him and all. After a long while, when the sun was setting, Peter had reached the destination with this pink taxi. I smirked uncontrollably, stepping myself into the passenger's seat and pushing my bag into the back.

I really didn't want to start a conversation. I just told him where to go and sat silent for a while. He kind of broke the ice though. "So, where are those parents this time?"

"Ya haven't met them. They're these hot shots, Mary and Cameron," Peter nodded. He wasn't too phony, I'll tell you. He had these large, violet eyes that scoped the whole taxi.

There was another strange thing about him too. Peter was one of the smartest people I've met. Boy, was he smart. You'd think he was a polite little scholar if you say his college degrees and PhDs. Yes, that's plural. Peter is like a modern Einstein, I swear to it. Too bad he takes all that knowledge for granted and drives a taxi all day. You'd sort of feel bad for the guy.

"What the hell do you need in Bakersville? I'm running a tight schedule." I hated it when people told you that you were lucky to have them around. I really do. I mean, if I wanted to I would've walked around to a billboard and call out another taxi. But, I kind of liked the feel of his taxi versus other peoples'. I never knew why though, but his taxi felt like home.

"Goddam it, calm down," I hissed. "I need to get to this art school, okay?"

Then he started smoking, and didn't even offer me a taste. Usually, a buddy of yours gives you a taste of the cancer stick. But Peter wasn't a buddy, he was a selfish little prick.

"Why can't you be like me, all planned and such? If you were, then you wouldn't need me driving you in the first place," he blurted out rudely.

I decided to shoot the target a bit. "But I can't be like you, you're too great. You're a real prince, very poised and amazing. You're too great," I shook my head and sighed. "You're too great..."

"Now look, not everyone can be as great as me, but you have to try, kiddo," he nudged me with this flattered smile. "Look, don't set your standards too high. One day, you'll be almost as great as me."

I wanted to vomit right in this seat. The world can be so fake. Even Wendy and her brother had this kind of false vibe to them, the way they acted like their life was so perfect and all. Even those good people had some phony to them, like I bet Wendy had bragged in school about her grades before. She probably talks about herself like a hot-shot or something, and probably calls her brother up to form meetings and stuff.

They'd probably throw me out of their friendship circle knowing I'm a flit and all. I thought she could tell by the way I talked or by the way I looked at her. She was probably just clueless and can't sort a flitty person from a normal one.

I flicked at my thumbs for a while and asked Peter if he'd be stopping soon.

"Ya late or something?" Peter asked. I didn't even look out the window or anything, I just slung my bag over my shoulder and went out, throwing a couple bucks onto the backseat. "I'm perfectly fine," I said, and looked down to my feet, exiting the vehicle.

I always do this. After leaving a car or something, I look down to my rugged converse until I can't hear the buzzing of a car anymore. Then I lift my head, and see the place, or in this case, school.

Looked more like a prison to me.

Notes

I know there are a lot of side characters, but they're only there to show how much Gerard hates society and fake people and so on. And Wendy will be sort of important later in the story c: