every-non-reason

[every-non-reason]

Hey - Scout here!

I've posted a couple chapters of this developing story on this page! Hit "BEGINNING" up above to get started, or "About" to see what it's all about. Thanks for stopping by! :D

[every-non-reason]

08/26

Damn it, now I’m thinking of Gabriel.

It never really occurred to me that I’m standing in the same place that he once stood in. That he was also sixteen with siblings to protect once. It never occurred to me that there was once another person totally sentient to what was happening in here. 

But he was right there. Once.

Whenever Mom would have us dress up for stuff, she’d always grab his collar or his tie in some way to try and fix it.  I always thought it was kind of aggressive, but I was still younger and stupid and didn’t know what to do. That’s when Gabe would bat her hand away and start raising his voice, and she’d start raising her own. It would be Dad, me, and sometimes a toddler Lily who would snap them out of it, remind them that we had to look nice and pretend we like each other. I would forget how to breathe for the rest of the day.

I always used to think of Gabe, getting so angry so easily. Making things difficult so quickly. Why? Why did you have to mess everything up? Why couldn’t you just keep it together?

Well, now I know. And he’s not here to tell about it.

I’m pretty sure he appeared in my dream last night, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what we said. Only that I’d felt a pang of guilt and longing that nearly woke me up. But along with it also came a surge of relief. Finally. Finally, someone who would understand me.

Lily aggressively shook me awake the morning after. “Mom says get up!” She bounced around on my bed, on my back, almost off the walls of my room. “Mom says get up!”

I murmured things an eight-year-old should not hear into my pillow before raising my head. “Why?”

“We gotta get the laundry out of the living room. Lolo and Lola are coming soon.”

I finally managed to sit up, sweeping my hair back and kicking the sage-green blankets off of myself. “They’re coming in two days.”

“Mom says start today.”

Of course, Lily’s already dressed and orderly - Mom made sure of it. She’s got waist-long hair that’s usually pinned back with a headband or hair clip, and a nice, flexible shirt-shorts combo that lets her sprint around the house as she pleases. Every color matches up. Every hair brushed into place. The perfect photo to send back to our family in the Philippines.  

I hardly feel like her sister. 

There was the sound of dishes clanking together in the sink. It was enough to instantly put my nerves on edge. 

You’re supposed to be doing that, a voice told me in my head. It’s certainly not mine.

That’s only when she’s not up yet, I reminded myself - or, whatever version of myself this was.

You could’ve been up before her, it continued, changing paths like it was nothing, but no. Up late again. You didn’t even see your dad off for work this morning.

I hate that I feel like this. I know that I’m doing just fine and that it’s summer break and that there aren’t any rules saying I can’t stay up late. I know, and yet these kinds of feelings are always stronger. There’s a lot of times where my brain refuses to listen to common sense like this.

Mom was tense today. If emotions acted like forces in the air, hers and Lily’s were in a fight scene out of an anime. Both were bouncing off the walls, but for different reasons. Lily was fueled on the excitement of Lolo and Lola and pancit bihon. These were the things that were scaring the life out of my mother. 

I was about to move towards the aforementioned laundry baskets when Mom’s voice rang over the sound of running sink water. 

“[REDACTED]?”

I took a deep breath in. “Yes, Mom?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asking me what to do?”

“Move the laundry baskets. Right?”

A pause. The sink turned off. I will give it to her that she was actually doing something this time around, instead of yelling orders from her seat. 

“Mhm!” The response was dripping in a giddy, manic form of sarcasm that stabbed at my heart. “And make sure to check back with me after, all right?”

The things I wanted to say to her at that moment would’ve made Lolo and Lola faint. They also would’ve made Lily run to hide in the hallway closet where our jackets muffle the sound, shutting the door and clapping her hands over her ears. I’m too old to join her back there now, but I knew that feeling too well. The jackets - and whatever older siblings you have - are supposed to be your company in there. Not the ones making the flames rise higher just outside. 

That’s the only reason I gave Mom a simple “Okay.” One that she couldn’t possibly say was filled with attitude. 

It’s what I would’ve done - or tried my best to do - had I been in Gabriel’s place. And I am now. Still trying to get used to that part. It’ll take me a bit.

[every-non-reason]

08/25

Two nights ago, it was chicken tenders keeping me up late at night. Last night, it was Seth. 

No, not like that. To be fair, I haven’t had much human interaction almost all summer. Besides my family, the people I pass on the block, and my occasional sign of life on social media, I’ve totally ceased existence. So obviously, a run-in with someone who actually took care to remember my name would stick with me.

Still, I slept…oddly well.

I’m staring at my Econ 2 assignment right now. As much as I’d love to write (in impeccable handwriting) that I’m emulating all the online study aesthetics right now, it, in fact, is not. For one, the people there are actually motivated to do their productive things. I just wanted to be truthful to my grandparents this weekend and tell them I’ve been hard at work. 

My Lolo and Lola worked hard at everything they did to get to the United States from the Philippines. They balanced school with siblings and shifts at a post office to slowly raise the money to pay for university themselves. And here I was forgetting what costs and benefits were even though they were the root of last year’s class. It makes me upset if I think on it too much, but it’s the truth.

I wonder if Gabriel ever took this class before he graduated Franklin, but the thought of messaging him comes with lots of anxiety. Mom and Dad don’t talk about him much. Yeah, even Dad’s upset with him. That’s saying something. I’m gonna stop writing about it.

It is hot as hell outside. It’s weird how we still have assignments to do when it’s this hot out.

I should stop stalling and actually work. 

But it’s actually pretty out, too. 

No, I need this done less than a week from now.

But it’s summer.

Okay, I promise, I promise I’m gonna work now.

– – –

inspo 

i’ll get the coolest shaggy cut if i am not too loud and paint my nails the darkest black that mom would dare allow and when it chips on pots and pans i’ll filter it with shine ‘cause this is teenage recklessness staying right here in line

– – –

Two hours have passed and I’ve answered one question. And wrote a poem. And scrolled through lots of social media. 

People love to post about their summers on Instagram. And all the friends they’ve managed to hold onto, even through the heat. And I know that they’re really just kids, in the end, just like me. But they look like gods on my page, shining their happiness out for the whole world to see. It makes me wonder what I’m doing to make my own summer that worthwhile.

I can’t help but feel like I’m kind of wasting this summer. Well, it’s kind of too late to back up now, since there’s maybe four days left of it. But I’m allowed to wish things went differently. Even though they didn’t. Well.

You had plenty of time to change it around, an unfriendly voice in my head says. But no. You kind of just let this happen. Do your work. You can save these last couple days by being productive. 

Maybe I’ll feel better once I’ve seen my grandparents. They’ll remind me that there’s other humans out there besides my family. I hope. 

All that the break and the heat and the lack of routine has done for me is make me really, really, really tired.  

[every-non-reason]

08/24

All I’m gonna say is that I stayed up way too late thinking about chicken tenders last night, and that poem was the result. I’m guessing I’ll put those here, too.

What a weird thing for a teenage girl to stay up late thinking about. Not a boy, not a girl, not anyone. Not an upcoming presentation (even though it’s summer). Not a friendship or some fuzzy memory. Chicken tenders.

But also, my mood really was rotten. My brain was telling me things I didn’t like, such as You’re pitifully lonely and You wasted your whole summer. I woke up this morning really needing some air. 

The first thing I did was fumble for my glasses - thick lenses, thick brown frames. I brushed my teeth, scraped my dark hair into a ponytail - strands and layers wiggled themselves free within seconds - and changed into a different T-Shirt than the one I fell asleep in. It used to belong to Gabriel, my older brother, and had some indie band on it that I knew of. It didn’t fit right, but it felt better than some of the stuff chosen for me. 

Okay, I thought to myself. Today will be decent. 

I took my copy of The Fellowship of the Ring with me, under my arm. It felt nice to have something to hang onto. The book’s nice, something my dad got me from the bookstore next to his restaurant. Fake leather, light brown, the letters engraved into it. Middle-Earth felt like breathing fresh air when there wasn’t enough of it.

“Buying school supplies?” my mom said on my way out. “Don’t get anything fancy, you’re not in any hard classes…though I don’t really see why. You have the potential to do it, it’s just–” 

My chest had tightened and I’d rushed out the door. We’d talked like this enough times for me to know what she’d say next.

You don’t want to take what’s offered to you. 

I ducked into the 7-11, trying to get myself together before appearing in public again. My brain was going haywire, my mood having been shattered to pieces. I was in no shape to speak to a Staples clerk. I hadn’t interacted with other people outside my family in a long while, let alone right after an exchange like that.

She hadn’t even said that much to me - I’m just sensitive like that, I guess.

But in any case, I was inside the 7-11, and I found something to distract myself from this turn of events. A familiar figure standing by the drink fridges. 

Don’t get me wrong - seeing someone from school in public is terrifying. But this time it was actually kind of nice and, uh, enlightening? I don’t know if that’s the right word, but anyways - 

Their name is Seth. I thought it was something like Sean or Selene before this - that was my bad. When I saw them at Econ 1 last year, they always looked neat. Like, a clean haircut, plain t-shirt and jeans or sweats. Point is, they blended in.

That is not what they looked like when I saw them at the 7-11 earlier. Their hair was really messy in a charming way, and I noticed for the first time that they had piercings. Not just on their earlobes, but also on their helix, which they wore as if it never hurt at all. Their earrings were all black and cool-looking. They had this big flannel on and worn-out sneakers, with the laces arranged in a star shape. I couldn’t see their eyes - lots of hair in them. 

Some cool, collected, rude logic of mine said this kid was unkempt, probably a delinquent or someone who didn’t know who they were.

But as I looked at them and I knew that they did, and that this was it. 

So, naturally, I walked right up to them and tried to say hi. 

I don’t know why I’m writing so much about this one thing, but I also kind of do know. I never talk to people in my own grade, let alone people in the upper one. I also realize, now that I think about it - I was envious of them. I wouldn’t wear those exact things if I could, but something told me that for them, this was freedom. I wanted that. 

“Hey.” 

They turned around, and my heart jumped. I proceeded to re-evaluate every choice I ever made with my life. I pressed on anyway.

“You go to Franklin HS, right?”

They let the fridge door shut without picking a drink. “Yeah. You’re Reed, right? I’m Seth.”

I forced out an “Mhm!” with my head spinning. I’d almost forgotten that people knew me as Reed around. Spending so long hearing my mom call me something else made me forget that in a way. Whatever it was, my own name felt really nice in their voice. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around!” I continued. “It’s just - I’ve never seen you dressed like that before. I was just curious - sorry if that’s strange-”

“No, it’s all good!” they answered. “Yeah, my dad’s out on a business trip, so I get to do whatever. It’s the last couple days of summer, too. Gotta use it as much as I can.” 

“Ah, man,” I said with a stage-laugh meant to fill empty space. It only made the silence more pronounced. “Yeah, my mom’s always home, but I get that. She hates the way I cut my hair short.” As I spoke, I ran a hand through my hair - black, cut haphazardly at chin level, flying out at strange, poofy angles.  

Seth tilted their head to survey it. I caught a glimpse of an eye - wide and light brown. “I think it looks nice. It’s always suited you.” They glanced back at the fridge, tapping the glass over a bottle of root beer before opening the door and taking it out. “Are you taking Econ 2 next year?”

I nodded.

“Thought so. You seem kinda smart.”

“I would’ve taken AP,” I said quickly, as if defending myself against this friendly 7-11 customer I’d just met today. “But I didn’t want the stress. I do that for a lot of classes, actually.”

This is the simple explanation that wouldn’t have worked just fifteen minutes before this.

But they nodded. “That actually makes a lot of sense.” 

We parted ways and I left the store a few minutes later, just ‘cause I’d made some excuse about Staples. But I know for a fact I would’ve spilled my every secret to this person if I hadn’t.

[every-non-reason]

08/23

I've asked people to call me Reed.

I need to write that down in here 'cause, just like everything else, I'll forget all about it if I don't. The people in this house make me forget my own name. Well, they use the wrong one, I mean. Technically, [REDACTED] is my real name, but Reed just feels so much better. It's comfortable.

Every time someone here calls me [REDACTED], I remember once again that they couldn't care less if I'm comfortable.

Well, not Dad. Dad's fine. I couldn't hold that against him. 

He came home late tonight.

The front door opened with a gentle creak as he stepped in. It would’ve been loud, especially this late. But even loud, late-night noises seemed to be going easy on him. 

"Hi honey! Hi [REDACTED]! Hi Liliana!"

I waved a mute hello from the kitchen, but Mom was already making her way over, face mildly annoyed. "Shh!" she whispered sharply. "Lily's sleeping. She has school tomorrow."

So do I, I thought, eyeing the sticky countertops, swallowing a sigh.

Mom had taken Dad's jacket, but her expression wasn't any more forgiving. "So? What happened?"

Dad sighed lightly. I could see him putting away his jolly, interacting-with-the-kids manners , just like he was supposed to. "Bunch of teenagers ordering late, my lovely wife," he answered, just meeting the midpoint between sarcasm and humor. "Chicken tenders and Pepsi are all the craze at 10PM. How're things here?"

"Fine. My parents are coming for dinner this weekend. Lots of cleaning to do."

Dad nodded. “Well, no matter how the house looks, I’m sure they’ll be happy to see us.”

Mom didn’t seem convinced at all. 

With another wave in my direction, Dad padded upstairs to take the diner's frying oil scent off of himself. Mom followed him mutely. Before she could get through the kitchen door, I waved to her. "Goodnight!"

I wasn't quite sure what I wanted here. I wanted to be tucked into bed like a little kid, I guess. She knew as well as I did that I was going into my junior year of high school. But I wanted the teenage equivalent of that. Maybe it would be an "I love you"? 

Instead, she put the nothing-eyes on me. "Goodnight."

It wasn't any different from any other night, but I still felt mildly let down. Let down enough to make my own way upstairs after I was done with my cleaning and tap lightly on their bedroom door. Mom had locked herself in the bathroom. Dad was sitting in bed, clearly half-asleep, but he still had a smile to greet me with when I walked in.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey there [REDACTED]. How was your day?"

I couldn't even express through words how much I appreciate stuff like this. Like my dad, staying up late dealing with countless annoying teenagers, and still being able to deal with one more annoying teenager before bed. Like the fact that I wasn’t annoying, not to him. 

I'm thinking about those kids that kept him late. Part of me, maybe 30%, wants to tell them off for being so insensitive to keep a guy like my dad up at night over a hot fryer. I mean, why drink a Pepsi at 10PM? Isn't it caffeinated as hell? Don't they have school tomorrow? Do they even go to school?

But the other part of me is envious in a weird, weird way. I wish I had enough to do with myself that a night out getting chicken tenders was typical. And I kinda wish I had people to do that with. I've got Lily, but Mom would kill me for taking a 6-year-old out like that. And I've got people who appear again and again for class and stuff, but…

It's really dumb. It's not like I'm the kind to crave chicken tenders at 10PM. But I'd get chicken tenders if someone, even just one of my classmates, wanted chicken tenders. If they suggested it after we'd both breached our curfews and we're both laughing like maniacs. Or maybe even just standing silently and enjoying each other's company. Does that make any sense?

I need to stop writing about chicken tenders.

– – –

your best american girl 

i want the side hugs and the not-looking-up goodnights the eye bags and the posters and the sprawled writing on the floor and the unconditional

i want the messy ponytail and the screaming into the night and the never-tangled earbuds the effortlessness of a highway at dusk

i want so many songs to be written about this.

i want this more than a closed-eye fantasy as a five-minute break from the books a three-hour break from the house

that's finally quiet at the midnight i'm not spending learning what matters like how the wind feels mixed with broken silence and euphoria or which family to respect and which to rely on lean into on the sharp turns

and who holds the pen that fools us both into blaming the world with a could've when the truth is that it poorly hides a never at all.

i want what i was simply not born for and what i owe it to them to lose to replace with a foot put down a new storm for this new place a final, final push for those before me the world at my fingers where someone's hand should be.

i want each and every non-reason for my arrival scattered on a bedroom floor at night.

[every-non-reason]

08/22

I have no idea where this entry is going. But I have to tell someone. And if the old notebook from middle school is that person, then so be it.

Everytime she looks at me, it manages to hurt more than the last. I always think I have some kind of wall set up for it, but I don't. I never do. A couple days go by where I think I'm strong, I'm prepared - then, a night like tonight. 

"You wore that last night."

I looked up from the kitchen sink, turning my head as I fumbled for a towel with my hands. I’d just been staring blankly at my Economics 2 assignment - several worksheets I’d scattered across the newly-cleaned counter. Pushing up my glasses with my un-soaped palm, I shrugged. "They're pajamas."

Mom had slipped her way into the furthest chair at the round kitchen table. No movement could escape her there. She would have been perfectly unnoticed if I didn't know any better. The lights framed her features in a way that made them hard to look at; they were the one thing that threw me off from my inner preparation to see her face. 

I met her eyes, and shining back at me was nothing. The kind of nothing that makes people scared of the dark. 

"Aren't those dirty?" She made sure to stretch the word 'dirty' as if it blasted any justification I had to dust. She thought she already knew the answer and made sure to make that perfectly clear.

"No," I answered. I kind of wish she'd shown a bit of surprise, or anything, for that matter. The word itself felt like rebellion. "I washed them."

She nodded slowly, the nothing-eyes refusing to leave my face. Stop looking at me. Stop looking at me. 

Does she care or doesn't she? I don't know and I'll never figure it out. I don't have time to. All this time chasing Lily around and studying and cleaning up turns my brain to mush. I don't need her to care, really. I just need to coast my way through it. By the time I can get out of here, Lily will be old enough to figure things out on her own. Surely. 

Lily's always in bed too early to see any of this. Honestly, I prefer it that way. She should be focused on elementary school and times tables and whatever crushes elementary school kids get. Not any of this. 

I just kind of wish things were easier.

No. Things are plenty easy. It's just that Mom likes to make them not easy. The fact that I need to do so much just to keep her happy should be justified by something, anything on her end, but it's not. She hasn't had a job in, what, years now? And she has the gall to hound Dad whenever he's home late, hound me when I don't seem to be doing enough, hound Lily when--

She doesn't hound Lily. Never. Never. 

That's supposed to be a good thing.

[every-non-reason]

i.

part 1.