20% off. 9 out of 10 dentists recommend sitewide savings. Use TOOTH20

The Pavillion of Discomfort.. (An episode of my life..)

“It’s a plague”, I whispered to myself, nodding my head in order to agree with my statement, “It truly is a plague”. I grabbed the loosely threaded corner of my representative ‘Slipknot’ t-shirt as I pushed the graffiti covered door that divided me between a fine line of somewhat semi-clean air and a heavily ‘Impulse’ fragranced air which mixed with the smell of pot smoked earlier by two grade ten students. As I pushed the cold, silver handle of the door, the frame entertained the words “DTS is a slut” in bright crimson, only visible when the door was ajar. I let out a heavy sigh as I took a step outside to lap up the air that recently some protestors were complaining about, it may be tainted but it was the smell of salvation compared to the girl’s toilets which haunts with bad odors.

I looked around at the emotively recognizable surrounding of scattered teenagers lost without a cause, some dragging an open permanent texter on the walls in boredom, marking the ancient barriers in ‘midnight black’ and ‘sunset red’ for generations to come, the bold obvious and visible marks being just as insignificant as the those who scarred the walls. Some kids just sat around wondering if their parents have finally ended their bickering and ‘has someone gotten hurt? Should I stay the night at my mates’, some stood leaning their backs on walls with their hands over their eyes, covering them from the brutal summer sun, waiting for the day to end and others just wonder around, dragging their feet heavily behind them, looking for hope of some excitement in their lives, beyond the life they know, beyond the burdens of judgments.

I turned back to stare at the girl’s toilet door which promptly sported the words “pussy lips” in enormous fluorescent yellow letters. The door opened wide and out came a pair of giggling girls dressed in intense coloured t-shirts and microscopic pants, living in their own little world of sleazy males and ‘Paris Hilton’ trends. They drifted past me, the stale smell of cigarette smoke following their traces to the journey of a destination unknown. To places that my mind had learned to block away, places I have immune myself from.

A warm breeze hit my face, the way my parents would have slapped me if I were to be gay or pregnant, a powerful slap on my cheeks, the kind of disappointment and disapproval. I let out a toned down, slightly forceful cough. “I don’t want to be here!!”, I muttered under my breathe, “What the fuck am I doing here?”

I put my damp hands into the front pockets of my black jeans, wriggling my finger on my thighs as I motioned myself, walking step by (a very slothful) step towards the bench my friends were sitting on, slowly drifting past the people, people whose names I’m alien with, people whose opinions means nothing to me, people I avoid having any contact with, people who’s ‘social status’ I care very little of… Just people… People of this town, the so called ‘future’ of the planet… Just people…

The words of my teacher echoed in my head as a rude, inconsiderate girl brushed pasts me, her shoulder banging against mine. “It’s just a circle of people not thinking. No, it’s a waste of your time to abuse them in anyway! Just put it in this perspective: In a couple of years down the line you will be making a life of your self, having a steady job while they still talk about the same crap, living on the dole with little mini-me’s all around ’em..Just remember that, just ignore them!”

I leant next to the hot, red brick wall watching my mates take photos of the new exchange student from Finland who was making faces at the camera. Squinting my eyes to adapt to the sun’s rays, I burnt my pupils on the off white chewing gum stuck on the grey shaded brick tile laying broken and out of place on the warm ground.
Through the three years of living in this town I have become the victim, the predator, the pimp, the whore, the lover, the abuser, the innocent, the guilty… Through my young, fragile eyes I have seen peace and violence, love and hate but the most powerful memories always were the most negatively ill and grim ones. The most memorable quotes were the crudest ones and the most unforgettable people were the most monstrous. The touches were always forceful and the kisses impassionate.

There was never a proper reason, never a core to the stupidity, the rudeness. The drugs in their blood drove most to their actions and for the others it was the bottle of liquor. Occasionally, of course, I got to meet someone who would hopelessly try to run away from their trapped lifestyle, running around in circles, round and around. They don’t get far, no, they never get too far. They just fall back to square one of sex, alcohol and living on the dole. There were very little success stories of escapes from the town, very few were able to ever break habits and find a fresh start. A new beginning away from the interwoven miseries and gossip…

How can you fight something that isn’t even holding you back? How can you unlock a chain that you believe is wrapped around you when it’s just imaginary? How does one find serenity when living next door to denial? Questions always entertained minds but answers never came cheap. Not as cheap as drugs and sex would. No, answer never came…

And as the sun pierces its hot pins of rays into my skin I wonder how long it would be ‘till I runaway? When will I be able to point my middle finger out of the stained bus window with my suitcases making rattling sounds on the compartment under my feet, knowing I would never look back at the town and the people that ghosted it? How long, I wonder… How long…

Journal Comments