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Description
would you consider me normal? would you picture me in a 50's kitchen, helping mommy make supper for the hard-working daddy?
i wouldn't. not by any longshot.
but then again...you dont exactly know me. that's why what i'm about to tell you...must never be uttered from your lips again. ever.
my name, Avi Johnson, wasn't picked for me with loving care as most parents would do for their children. nope, my mom was reading this book by some guy named Avi and she loved it or something....therefore giving me his stupid fucking name. i hate it. i want to burn it.
never in my life have i been thankful for being alive. but then, why am i still alive? i'm not sure exactly. i have faith that something will go right eventually, and i dont want to fuck it all up by kiling myself. plus, people who kill themselfs are cowards. i am no coward.
lets move on from me in general, okay? i hate sounding so...self absorbed.
i'll start from the beginning...because there is no other way to start.
when i was 10, my mother died. she got hit by a Metro bus. i was there when she was killed.
i remember her hand holding mine as we walked down the sidewalk. she was pointing out these amzing painting that were hung up in shop windows...totally in awe. i was never someone who appreciated art, so i usually just whined, "mommy, can't we go home now?"
she finally got fed up with my bitching and yanked me by the arm toward the bus stop.
"you know, Avi," i remember her saying, "the whole world doesn't revolve around you."
she didn't bother looking both ways. she just crossed the street. then the bus turned the corner and crunched her into the cement. she was completely dead when it passed over her body. her eyes were open, but i could tell she was dead because she had let go of my hand. she never let go of my hand when crossing the street.
i dont know why i bus didn't hit me too. in a way i wish it did. it was a living hell having to see her buried...having these fat old relatives come all dressed in black apologising for something they didn't know jack shit about.
i cried waterfalls that day. and the next. it was my fault. and no one denied it.
soon after my mother died, my dad kind of shut off. he did the grocery shopping and all that stuff, but he was kind of like a robot. his eyes were always glazed over and his body tense. i never once saw him cry over my mom.
then he just got mad. so mad that he would bulldoze anything or anyone that got in his way. if you pushed him too far...
i pulled through elementary and middle school with a C average. i refused to make friends mainly becaue people just bugged me. all of them. they had moms and dads to go home to...who loved them so much. but my family was so broken that i couldn't even ask him to pass the salt without getting slapped.
as i entered high school i met this group of kids who seemed nice enough. they skipped class once in awhile (something i had started long ago) and did some drugs now and then.
then i met him. i donno why, but his friends called him Spike. lame, i know but thats what i knew him as. he had millions of peircings (all with a spike stud) and this buzz hair cut with spikey hair that ran down the middle of his scull.
soon we started going out. i mean, it was bound to happen. we hung out everywhere and he seemed to want me as much as i wanted him. so the day he asked me to go steady with him, i just smiled and said, "sure, why not?" and kissed him. his hands slipped to my ass and he smiled.
he never once mistreated me. that's what people may think now...but that was never the case. no, Spike was the best thing that ever came into my life. he treated me with the respected i thirsted for. i love him.
one night we were hangin' at his house, when his dad came blundering in drunk. he basically fell through the door and went unconscious on the floor, feet still hanging out the door. Spike's face turned beet red as he rose from his place on the couch by me. he shoved his father into the house.
"come with me," he said, not taking his eyes off the slob that was his dad.
i didn't dare argure with him, afraid he might hit me like dad did. i just walked over to him, slipped my arm around his waist and he lead me over to his car. we sat for a minute or two, just staring at the garage door.
"spike?" i said. the silence was killing me. he let his head rest back against the seat and closed his eyes. a thin line of tear came rolling down his cheeks.
i didn't know what to do. i mean...who wants to see a guy cry?
i lifted my hand to his face, and wiped the tear gently from his eye. he opened his eyes and looked at me.
"I love you," he said, not taking his eyes away from mine, " and i mean it with all my heart."
then he took my hand and lifted it to his chest where i could barely feel the pulse of his heart. i smiled and kissed him softly.
the kissing soon turned into a more passionate tounge-tied mess. not that i didn't mind.
before i knew it, clothes were flying and we were both naked.
"you are my angel," he spoke softly into my ear.
i lost my virginity that night...to the man i love.
from that night forward Spike was with me wherever i went. he drove me to school, walked me to my classes, drove me home, called me...
i had told him hundreds of times i loved him and i meant it. he beleived me.
he was mine and i was his. we were going to live happily ever after.
but does life deal you that hand in poker? i dont think so.
we had been going stead for 2 years when Spike moved away. the government or someone found out about his father and announced he "wasn't able to take care of an innocent kid" so Spike was sent to a new home somewhere in New York.
he writes me everyday by email and we chat online every night. he says he hasn't looked at another girl since me, and he never will.
i swear i haven't gone out with any other guy. soneday i know he'll come back, or i'll find him. and then we will have out fairy tale.
we will live happily ever after.

Description
would you consider me normal? would you picture me in a 50's kitchen, helping mommy make supper for the hard-working daddy?
i wouldn't. not by any longshot.
but then again...you dont exactly know me. that's why what i'm about to tell you...must never be uttered from your lips again. ever.
my name, Avi Johnson, wasn't picked for me with loving care as most parents would do for their children. nope, my mom was reading this book by some guy named Avi and she loved it or something....therefore giving me his stupid fucking name. i hate it. i want to burn it.
never in my life have i been thankful for being alive. but then, why am i still alive? i'm not sure exactly. i have faith that something will go right eventually, and i dont want to fuck it all up by kiling myself. plus, people who kill themselfs are cowards. i am no coward.
lets move on from me in general, okay? i hate sounding so...self absorbed.
i'll start from the beginning...because there is no other way to start.
when i was 10, my mother died. she got hit by a Metro bus. i was there when she was killed.
i remember her hand holding mine as we walked down the sidewalk. she was pointing out these amzing painting that were hung up in shop windows...totally in awe. i was never someone who appreciated art, so i usually just whined, "mommy, can't we go home now?"
she finally got fed up with my bitching and yanked me by the arm toward the bus stop.
"you know, Avi," i remember her saying, "the whole world doesn't revolve around you."
she didn't bother looking both ways. she just crossed the street. then the bus turned the corner and crunched her into the cement. she was completely dead when it passed over her body. her eyes were open, but i could tell she was dead because she had let go of my hand. she never let go of my hand when crossing the street.
i dont know why i bus didn't hit me too. in a way i wish it did. it was a living hell having to see her buried...having these fat old relatives come all dressed in black apologising for something they didn't know jack shit about.
i cried waterfalls that day. and the next. it was my fault. and no one denied it.
soon after my mother died, my dad kind of shut off. he did the grocery shopping and all that stuff, but he was kind of like a robot. his eyes were always glazed over and his body tense. i never once saw him cry over my mom.
then he just got mad. so mad that he would bulldoze anything or anyone that got in his way. if you pushed him too far...
i pulled through elementary and middle school with a C average. i refused to make friends mainly becaue people just bugged me. all of them. they had moms and dads to go home to...who loved them so much. but my family was so broken that i couldn't even ask him to pass the salt without getting slapped.
as i entered high school i met this group of kids who seemed nice enough. they skipped class once in awhile (something i had started long ago) and did some drugs now and then.
then i met him. i donno why, but his friends called him Spike. lame, i know but thats what i knew him as. he had millions of peircings (all with a spike stud) and this buzz hair cut with spikey hair that ran down the middle of his scull.
soon we started going out. i mean, it was bound to happen. we hung out everywhere and he seemed to want me as much as i wanted him. so the day he asked me to go steady with him, i just smiled and said, "sure, why not?" and kissed him. his hands slipped to my ass and he smiled.
he never once mistreated me. that's what people may think now...but that was never the case. no, Spike was the best thing that ever came into my life. he treated me with the respected i thirsted for. i love him.
one night we were hangin' at his house, when his dad came blundering in drunk. he basically fell through the door and went unconscious on the floor, feet still hanging out the door. Spike's face turned beet red as he rose from his place on the couch by me. he shoved his father into the house.
"come with me," he said, not taking his eyes off the slob that was his dad.
i didn't dare argure with him, afraid he might hit me like dad did. i just walked over to him, slipped my arm around his waist and he lead me over to his car. we sat for a minute or two, just staring at the garage door.
"spike?" i said. the silence was killing me. he let his head rest back against the seat and closed his eyes. a thin line of tear came rolling down his cheeks.
i didn't know what to do. i mean...who wants to see a guy cry?
i lifted my hand to his face, and wiped the tear gently from his eye. he opened his eyes and looked at me.
"I love you," he said, not taking his eyes away from mine, " and i mean it with all my heart."
then he took my hand and lifted it to his chest where i could barely feel the pulse of his heart. i smiled and kissed him softly.
the kissing soon turned into a more passionate tounge-tied mess. not that i didn't mind.
before i knew it, clothes were flying and we were both naked.
"you are my angel," he spoke softly into my ear.
i lost my virginity that night...to the man i love.
from that night forward Spike was with me wherever i went. he drove me to school, walked me to my classes, drove me home, called me...
i had told him hundreds of times i loved him and i meant it. he beleived me.
he was mine and i was his. we were going to live happily ever after.
but does life deal you that hand in poker? i dont think so.
we had been going stead for 2 years when Spike moved away. the government or someone found out about his father and announced he "wasn't able to take care of an innocent kid" so Spike was sent to a new home somewhere in New York.
he writes me everyday by email and we chat online every night. he says he hasn't looked at another girl since me, and he never will.
i swear i haven't gone out with any other guy. soneday i know he'll come back, or i'll find him. and then we will have out fairy tale.
we will live happily ever after.