Window Paine

The Moone family was known to be, well, unique.
There were four children in our house--five, if you count Mom on the days she decided to drink one beer too many. Sometimes there were more if my sisters or brother had friends over. I seldom ever invited friends to my house. I was once too afraid to even have my one-time boyfriend come over...for fear that he would see how my family was when we were at home...which was how we were at school...but one would like to dream that life's different at home.
“Do you think I have enough gas to sit here all day?”
Every morning, at about seven-fifteen, we would perform our ritualistic ride to Reardan. My only brother, Alex, would be sitting in the driver's seat of an old Honda accord, revving the engine as he smoked on a cigarette, in a race to see which one would blow out first. I would sit in the front passenger seat--on the days where I got to the car first.
My second oldest sister, Wednesday, would walk to the car and answer Alex’s question--on some mornings more profanely than others—with: “Shut-up, Alex.”
Alex would get out of the car, pop the seat to let her into the back and then hand two cigarettes to her from a pack he always carried in his front shirt pocket. She'd light one, take a long drag and then close her eyes. Alex would then tap his fingers on the top of the car and we would all wait quietly.
Except for when Alex honks the horn by stepping on the wheel with his foot.
“Alexis! C’mon!”
And then, my first oldest sister, and Alex’s fraternal twin, would walk out the front door and over to the car. On her good days she’d have her face buried in a book as she walked and then would climb into the back seat as well. And then on every other day:
“What is this?”
“Cherry's got shotgun.”
“Like hell she does!”
“You’re so right, she does so have it. Now get in car.”
“I don't believe this shit.”
Alexis would get in the back seat, swearing or muttering as she did so.
Alex would then climb back into the car, revving the engine again as he closed the door, and back the car out.
“Here's the deal, people: I'm not going to put up with what happened yesterday. I am not going to chase you guys through town to bring you home. If you don't feel like getting to the car on time, you can ride the bus or walk thirteen miles home!
“Yeah,” we’d all reply with the enthusiasm of a sloth.
“I fucking mean it. I'm not a babysitter or your taxi service.”
“We get the point, Alex.” Alexis stated.
“Wednesday, I didn't hear you, I--”
“Fuck you,” Wednesday replied, a cigarette still in her lips.
“No, fuck you!”
“Fuck you!”
“Will the two of you stop it? There's entirely too much fucking going on in this car!’
“Yeah, like you'd know, Alexis”
“Shut-up, Wednesday!”
“Why? Is this still a free country?
“Shut up, Wednesday!”
“Fuck you all.”
I had read that an extensive vocabulary was valuable and while we were not efficient with wordplay, my family was able to conjugate any four-letter word combination you could think of. If there was an assignment on the various verb tenses of “fuck”, I’d still like to think I’d get a 100% on it.
Alex--along with Wednesday--preferred to do their chain-smoking on the way to school and, consequently, the car—along with my clothes, hair, backpack and sense of well-being, was coated with the heavy stench of nicotine and death. I always waited for one of my teachers to ask how many packs I went through daily or when they could use my lungs to demonstrate the effects of tar on a smoker.
On any other day, the smoke, even with every single window open, would waft its way to where I sat, and I wouldn't care or even get a sight cough. However, on that morning I coughed.
“Smoke bothering you, Cherr?”
“Yes, but do you care?”
“No.”
“You should quit.”
“I don't tell you to smoke, do I?”
“Whatever, Alex”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’re up to our asses in whatever. Don't have any money, faith or fucking sense to know any better, but, gosh darn it all, we's got ourselves plenty of whatever.”
We attended the school in the small town of Reardan. At one time you could classify it as one of those “blink and you’ll miss it” type of towns one goes through on their way across the state of Washington. I still find it amazing that people know where the town is.
Everyone in town went to the same school—well, the same campus--with the elementary, junior high and high school on the same spot. You could start as a kindergartener and every teacher would know just about everything about you by the time you walked in as a freshman.
Tragically, that’s how my experience went. I had three older siblings who preceeded me, so by the time I got to eighth grade I had a lot of shit to deflect and a lot of standing up for myself to do. I wouldn’t stoop down to the reputation that proceeded me as I was not my brother or sisters. There was no way in Hell I was going to be slumped-in with them. We were collected known as the “Looney Moones”; apparently someone thought they were very, very witty with their wordplay.
We could've lived in Spokane and gone to a school so massive that we would blend into the ether and never stick out. But no, we went to a small farm town school where everyone pretty much knew everyone and if you were labeled as an outsider, good luck and Godspeed that you're ever accepted by the others.
Alexis and Alex felt the initial sting on their first day. We didn't have a lot of money and it must have shown in what they were wearing. The bitchy elite thought Alexis was an open target because she was a bit overweight at the time and didn't fit into their mold. Several of bi-elites witnessed one of their friends receive a near concussion when Alexis swung her satchel bag (which carried her books and, strange at the time, a curling iron and small jar of coins) and contacted the temple of the loudest and boldest of the group. Alex had better luck: he had some pot with him, so he made a few instant friends and, with a bit of sleight of hand, about a hundred and fifty bucks that first day.
Wednesday was able to quickly make friends in the junior high because she was so freaking outgoing all the time. It was like when she stepped up to the doors they either magically opened on their own or everyone fought over themselves to hold the door for her and her illustrious and imaginary train--even though she simply wore jeans, a tank top and a flannel. It was the early nineties, so I guess that had something to with it.
And that leaves me.
“Cherry!”
“Christy.”
Christy usually began the day with a long list of the things she didn't do the night before, like her homework or "diddly shit," but on mornings when she said only my name it usually meant something was wrong in her life or mine. On that day, I kind of prayed that it would be about her.
“Is it true?”
Shit, it was about me.
“It is. You broke up with him, huh?”
I wanted to get by at least first period before having to talk to about the issue, but alas.
“Why?”
“I got tired of being compared to this girl, that girl. You.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Like how?”
“My tits aren't as big as yours.”
“I don't even think mine are big.”
“Don’t care, Christy.”
We had walked only a few steps towards the building, but I could feel the daggers flashing out at me from all directions.
“God, does the whole f’n school know?”
“Just about. What are you going to do in seventh period with Josh in Home Ec?”
That was a great question. Prior to recent events, I’d find a way to sneak out of class and we’d go make out under the stairs in the high school gym, behind the floor tarps. However, now, I had no clue on what to do.
“Nothing.”
“Doubt that.”
“I don’t need Josh’s opinion or to see him to have a good day. I don't care. He can rot in Hell.”
“You're taking it well.”
“I can let it get to me and let it ruin my life or I can take the high road.”
“Well, you know he's going to start something, Cher. Remember when I went out with David one time and what he-”
“We were friends for a long time before we got together. Josh isn't going to do that to me.”
“And you really believe that?”
I wanted to.
The Daniels Family Five. I could compare them to the seven dwarves, but we would then have to double up on Grumpy and Dopey. Josh was the oldest, followed by David, Michael, Noah and Jonah. Separated, they were just kids, but together you had a mob or at least a representation of the power of Biblical names as they would surround and pummel your ass into the ground. At least that’s what Josh told me when we first met when I asked him what brought them to Reardan.
Apparently, the Daniels’ boys had dished out a bit of “Samson-like” shenanigans at their last school. Problem was, none of the “victims” would name them as the attackers and then their parents threatened to sue the school for slander and they moved shortly after.
“He's not that shallow.”
“Can you say the same thing for Chad?”
Rebecca Petty came up and threw her arms around the two of us, weighing us down a little bit. Becky was not exactly light on her feet and her clothes looked like she raided Kurt Cobain’s trash, but she knew how to handle people, literally. Any flippant comment about her was either ignored or she’d pound the snot out of whoever said anything without working up a sweat or her temper. She did however, have an Achilles heel: Chad Piekarz.
“Can we say the same thing for Chad, what?"
“Chad will start something.”
“Start what? What's the deal?”
I looked ahead, thinking that everything would be cool with my day. We lived in a modern society and logic dictates people behave in a civilized manner. We work diplomatically; we didn't resort to tribal warfare...we didn't skin or smite our enemies. However, I was ready to swing my backpack like a sling and fire one freaking big stone in the middle of Josh's forehead as he walked towards me in the other direction. He wasn't alone though.
Chastille Bergeron was at his side. I never really hated her. I never even really knew her. However, the thought of slamming her face against the wall was high on my list of things to do that day. I couldn't though. No, the blame lied with the walking pile of excrement that was holding her hand. The same walking pile that held my hand...and heart...just a few days ago.
I avoided eye contact and rushed into my first period class room. The last thing I wanted him to see was any emotion. Why give him the satisfaction of showing that I was hurt by my replacement? And would he really want me to slam him in the balls?
I made a beeline to my desk and sat down. I still had my jacket on...never made it to my locker.
“Oh, I can see why you're pissed this morning,” Becky chipped in as she straddled the desk in front of mine.
“I'm not pissed.”
“Yes, you are. Say it: I'm pissed.”
“Fine. I'm pissed. No, no I’m more than pissed.”
I so wanted to punch Josh in multiple places...with an iron fist...that was still molten from being in the crucible.
“God damn it!”
“So much for the high road,” Christy responded as I threw my backpack over my head and against the back wall.