01 - Quiet Peace - A.J.
I flipped the bar with the joystick so that the yellow cube was on top, the red was in the middle and the green was on the bottom. It hit the stack four cubes high and I heard a fairy-like sound as three green cubes dissapeared and points were added to my score. I blinked.
Home. Home should have been a good place. It should feel good to rest after a long tour like that one and then a 7-month album recording in L.A. It should feel good to hear birds chirping instead of girls screaming. It should make me happy. But nothing felt good. Nothing made me happy.
The CD was released a few weeks ago. I didn't get any say in it's name. I sang lead on a cheezy song I didn't write. I hate it. I also hate my brothers. My brothers Taylor and Isaac who have devloped my mouth, who answer my questions, tell my lies, life my life. I blew up at them one day, I remember, before MTV's "Fanatic". Then they let me talk to the fan. I tried it again. Isaac gave me a black eye and a bloody nose.
Music. Music should be my escape. I love it so much. I love the sound of the
notes being played on the piano, I love the feel of a guitar in my arms and
even the roughness of its strings. I don't love the drums. There's nothing to
love about that. I didn't have a choice. Isaac had his dream of being a
guitarist. Taylor had his huge talent on the keyboards. And bass guitar was
not an option for Zac.
Music should be my escape. It is not.
I don't speak very much. I don't have much to say. I never do. I don't get
hyper much, only when I'm with people whom I love and trust. My friends, Sean and Ashley got me hyper a few while back. But I remind Ashley of her dead twin brother. So now I hold her while she cries. Sean has gotten tired of me. I say "hello" to them once in a while. I don't get hyper much. I don't like sugar anymore. It tastes bitter to me. Overplayed, overused and abused, like life. Like my life.
I moved into Mackie's room. Or rather, I was moved there when I didn't begin
to speak. Then I had my own room built. They won't take me to a shrink. They try to forget there's a problem.
The incident happened when we were practicing and they just say "Zac, sing," and I do. In the dull and lifeless tone of one who has nothing to live for. They looked at me like I was crazy and then all of a sudden I sang with more life, love and force than the three of us put together. That's how it
remained. I didn't speak. But around the public eye I sung fake songs, I
laughed joyful laughs that weren't mine, and smiled goofy grins I've copied
from T.V. They cannot tell the real me from the star. Only my family, those
who have seen me, can. My mother cries.
Mackie entered the room. "Zackie, can I play Spice Girls after you?"
I looked at the Playstation and pressed power. "Sure. Go ahead."
Mackie looked bewildered. "I-I thought after. . . "
I was already out of the room.
I find that when you fall into the pit of depression it is hard to climb out. And everytime you go back in it gets deeper. I'm in over my head. I don't care.
My hair is still like silk, I care about washing it. I love it so much. It's so pretty. Nothing is very pretty now to me. I don't like bright clothes anymore. I like them dark and baggy. I've taken to army clothes. They are comfortable. A comfort. I didn't think I had many of those.
I try to remember when I started this. Sometime. . . sometime back then. Maybe when my girlfriend of a year and a half left me for Taylor. Or when Ike broke 3 ribs . . . 3 of my ribs.
When I had no say and all of the screams were for my body, for who they don't know. . . that made me do things so maybe they'd see. Maybe they'd leave me alone. But Ike and Tay took the fall like they always take everything that is mine. And in the public eye, I must remain the smiling moron that they all think me to be; the one with the simple pleasures that they are sure they can all please. Well, here I am. Make me happy.
I don't know how it came to this. . . it came this way so quickly. I hallucinate some times. I think I see things moving so easily like when I was little and I thought I saw the Ninja Turtle wall stickers in my old room wave and me and say "hello." Maybe I am crazy. But I won't see a therapist. I only talk when necessary, why would I talk to a shrink? Heh. "Look into my eyes; I don't need therapy." Will Hunting said that. Normally it would amuse me. No, I
don't need therapy. You do, Will.
I walked into my room and took some pajamas from my drawer. I headed to my adjoined bathroom. I like baths. Look, another comfort. It does comfort me, actually. It does make me feel serene. I turned on the water, always more hot than cold. I put in some bubbles and began to take off my clothes. I let them drop to the floor. No need to shut the door. No one comes in my bathroom. I dropped in some vanilla scented bath beads from Ashley. Ashley doesn't love me. She loves who I remind her of. No one loves me. They love him. They don't know how to love me.
I let myself soak, wondering what would would happen if I would stay here
forever. I sunk down deep in. So warm. So happy. So perfect. I sunk in to the
bottom and let the air go. I let the heat overcome me. I let it blanket me and
my body before it, too, like everything else would turn old and stale. I
opened my eyes and breathed the water in. I didn't feel woozy. I felt warm and happy. I didn't make any plans of leaving my happy place. Here I am serene. Here I am accepted.
Music should have been my one savior and grip onto life. It wasn't. . .
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