Faultless Imperfections

Preface

Divorce. It isn’t easy and no one should have to go through it. The first time my parents fought it seemed like no big deal. My mom said a few things and my dad spoke some unchoice words himself. His face was so red that he looked like a volcano. And my mom’s tears were coming down faster than Niagra Falls.

My sisters and I were huddled on the staircase. The oldest, Amanda, had her protective arms around me while Erica, the second oldest continued listening.

I had my knees pulled to my chest, resisting the urge to cry, but the tears came anyway.

The sound of objects like plates and glasses collapsed onto the floor and then there was more screaming. My father rushed from the kitchen and to the living room, hauling what appeared to be a large suitcase.

He cursed some more, pointing his finger at my mother and then left through the door.

But he eventually came back and that made things a little bit easier. Unfortunately you can’t undo the past and the fighting took place for a second time. My dad came back once again as expected, but when third times the charm, he stayed gone.

My sister, Erica; the Goth chick that she is just ran to her room, slamming the door and blasting her loud alternative rock music as high as she could.

Amanda gave me words of reassurance, saying that everything was going to be alright. But I knew that deep down it wouldn’t.

So I wished that I could block out the sounds of the world like Erica or repeat the soothing lullaby of faith like Amanda.

But I can’t. I can only be me and hope for the best.

Of course this all happened four years ago, so why worry about it now?

Chapter 1: This Just Isn’t Me

I coughed for the zillionth time as I repeatedly fanned cigarette smoke from my face. My vision was blurred and I could hardly breathe. I came to terms that this was my Saturday night. When I could be at home studying for my next Trig test, and of course get an A, here I was trapped at a friend’s house party. (And no I didn’t know who this “friend” was, probably just some random person at my school). Anyway I was standing in the far corner of the living room (two girls were making out beside me) and I watched as the other teens got wasted and went upstairs for sex. I definitely wanted no part in that.

Pot and cigarette smoke wafted through the air, until we had our own personal cloud of marijuana and tar. I started to fidget, very much uncomfortable with this whole scene. I wasn’t like these people and I didn’t want to be. The music pounded so hard that I felt myself going deaf (if that were possible). I can totally understand how I felt out of place here.

You see, after my dad left, it was very strenuous on my mom to raise three girls. For the past four years, she had been trying to brainwash us into being perfect (something she said that my father never was) and handle our lives. My older sisters were strong when it came to people instructing them on how to behave. Conservative Amanda was always her own person, and rebellious Erica wouldn’t hear of it.

Now both of my sisters were out of the house, Erica at nineteen and Amanda at twenty-two.

And then there was me little ol’ Stephanie Kate (Kate being my last name). The last bird who hasn’t flown the coop yet. It’s not like I can. I’m only seventeen. But I don’t think my mom was trying to rule me and my siblings lives, she just wanted us to be the ideal daughters, someone she’s proud of. So why was I wasting away at this party, feeling like a total outcast? Since when was I giving into peer pressure?

I looked toward the couch. There were at least six people all crammed together; one of them being my best friend, Monica. I suppose she was too busy French-kissing the guy she was with to pay even a millisecond to me. But I couldn’t blame the guy, Monica was attractive, (not saying that I’m gay or anything) with caramel colored skin and hair so black that it matched the wings of a raven.

I shook my head. In front of me was the kitchen and that’s where I saw my second best friend, Kyran chatting with a group of jocks. She held a red cup (probably beer) and giggled so much that I thought her face might fall off soon. Once again she was another person that drew attention with her delicate Asian features and to top it off, her red-framed glasses. Her fashion was unique; always dressing like the punk rock girl (total Avril Lavinge fan!).

Fishing my cell phone out of the back pocket of my jeans, I checked the time. Almost 10:30?! Shit! My mom was going to have a field day with me. (Yes, I have a curfew. I didn’t mind, it kept in me order, plus I abided by my mother’s rules). I had to get home. Sticking the phone back into my pocket, I grabbed for Monica’s attention.

I tapped her shoulder. (Yes, I’m somewhat timid).

“Monica!”

I knew that she heard me, because she held up her hand, signaling for me to wait. The boy and her soon parted lips.

“Call me?” she asked, slipping him a folded piece of paper which he stuck in his coat pocket.

“Sure, babe, and then later on…” those last words were trailed off, either by the music or because I tuned it all out.

“Okay,” Monica said in the end.

I watched as the boy left the couch, walking out of sight. Monica glared at me, a hard frown settling into her flawless face. I felt like apologizing for ruining her good time, but why should I? She and Kyran were the one’s who dragged me here, I didn’t want to come. So instead of lecturing me on my poor timing, because she couldn’t continue her kissy-face routine, I followed her to the kitchen.

“Come on, K. It’s almost 10:30 for Cinderella,” said Monica.

I fidgeted in my Converse, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I really hated to kill their good fun, but if I didn’t get home, my mom was going to turn into the evil step-mother, and I didn’t like the sound of that.

Kyran gave one of the jocks an affectionate hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. She gently waved as we strolled out the door.

---------

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass window of Monica’s silver Pontiac Solstice as I occupied the back seat all by myself. The window was a bit cracked, and I was relieved that I could take in the fresh sensation of the wind as we drove down Sunset Blvd. My head was no longer swimming from the intoxicating smoke and my skin no longer clammy from the perspiration of bodies. I felt so tired although there was little that I did today.

“Couldn’t you have waited a couple more minutes, Steph, before you butted in?” Monica questioned.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to hook up with Julian?” she said, her face holding a mischievous grin.

Kyran snorted from the passenger seat. “Isn’t he tired of you chasing him?”

“Not hardly.”

Through the rearview mirror, I caught Kyran giving me a quick look.

“Hey, Stephanie, what’s wrong?”

I sighed. “I told you guys that I hate going to those stupid parties. They’re just not me.”

“Right,” Monica began. “Stuffing her face in a book and living the Miss Goody-Two Shoes life, is more of what Stephanie’s into.”

Kyran gave her a serious look. “Monica,” she warned.

“She knows I’m only kidding with her. Jeez lighten up, K.”

“Sorry, Steph,” Kyran apologized. “It’s just that with all our cramming in school and whatnot, we thought that you would want to have some fun.”

“And dragging me to a house party that you guys knew I would hate is what’s considered fun?” I countered.

“Yeah, sorry about that, Steph. I guess we forgot,” Kyran once again said, justifying herself.

I muttered. “It’s okay.”

My heart felt tingly. Kyran had always had a kind soul and would quickly correct herself when she was in the wrong; nothing like Monica, but I still loved her anyway.

For the remainder of the ride, I stayed silent, Monica and Kyran conversing while the volume of a rap station was kept low. I hadn’t known that we pulled into the driveway of my two story house with a double-wide garage until we came to a full stop. Some of the lights were still on.

I checked the time. 10:27.

Opening the car door, I stepped out, but the sound of Kyran’s voice stopped me.

“Hey, Stephanie!”

I turned around to meet her almond-shaped eyes that were illuminated by the lights from the front yard. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you want to do is all on you next time, okay?”

“Wha--” came from Monica, but she was cut off when Kyran nudged her in her side.

“And maybe you can teach me how to cook lasagna sometime,” she continued. I gave a small smile, knowing that was a lie, because for as long as I’ve known K, she’s never shown interest in anything except boys and shopping. But for a split second that did lighten my mood. For a second.

In the end, “Okay,” was all I said.

I waved as they backed out of the driveway, and I retreated to the front door. Never did I want to go through another night like this.