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Twirling the pencil onto its opposite side, I scrubbed it against the piece of paper, erasing what I had just written down. Hardly visible, the words "get drunk" were written. I sighed. I had actually begun to do the task we were unofficially assigned, unlike anyone else here. Everyone else was sitting around with friends, playing games with friends or hitting on the opposite sex with friends. And I? Well I was just enjoying the perfect view of others having the time of their lives while I sat on a bench and wrote down my goals and morals. They all must be fuming with jealousy. If they even managed to notice me, anyway.
If I told you it was me just trying to be a spontaneous person when writing that down, I'd be lying. I'll admit it; I wanted to get drunk this summer. Fine, you caught me. The preacher’s daughter admits to her scandalous fantasies! Not that anyone cares, but you know... It was unquestionably something that my parents would disapprove of because of their ‘zero tolerance for substance abuse’ rule. One time caught smoking, drinking, snorting or even injecting and you can kiss your sorry behind out. No doubt.
I didn't want to disappoint my parents. No kid does. No kid wants to come home from school and announce that they'd failed a test or was sent to the principal’s office. C'mon, as much as you say you "don't give an eff", you know you do. But continuously trying to better myself for the sake of their reputation is a complete strain on my well-being. I remember arriving home after youth group, trying to impress them with my countless stories of achievement and success, yet that didn't seem to satiate them.
I dreamt of being daddy's little girl ever since I was younger. I watched with a pair of envy-filled hazel eyes as other little girls were treated like princesses by their fathers. While they sat on their father's shoulders, I sat in church, reciting my lines for our annual Christmas play. And I wasn't even chosen as the lead! Obviously nepotism was another thing that was strongly frowned upon.
Even though, I —if I do say so myself— blew everyone's minds away with my show stopping performance (ninety percent acting, seven percent pretending to do something in the background and three percent singing), I wasn’t congratulated. Not even a “good job”. And this was church related!
Every year the parents wait for their kids at the stage exit, holding bouquets of gorgeous flowers, chocolates and balloons. They were hugged, picked up and kissed. I didn’t get shit. But I knew better not to ask why I didn't receive that sort of treatment. That's like asking to get yelled at.
I read the list of things I wrote down on the perfectly ripped out piece of paper, after retracing the words that I had written down. “Start wearing makeup, wear better clothes, pierce my ears, curse more, get drunk,” I stopped, adding an arrow and writing in small enough letters ‘or high’, “sneak out, ditch and… mess around with a boy.”
Some of my “goals” were pretty general, and some were more or less specific. Either way, I couldn’t help but to notice that they all pertained to the rules that my parents had given me. Whatever.
Writing down my goals, and mostly avoiding my morals (knowing that the goals weren’t really moral appropriate) was the last thing I would think about that day. I had more questions running through my mind than usual (if possible). When would I even do those things? What if I got caught? What if my parents somehow found out?
I knew I could accomplish some of the more easy-access one like curse more or start wearing makeup but what about get drunk or high? Where the heck would I find drugs at a summer church camp?
The whistle blew for bible study and I groaned, crumpling up the paper and stuffing it into my pocket. Walking to my dresser, I stared into a drawer, wondering where I’d hide it. I couldn’t risk anyone seeing this paper even more than I couldn’t risk someone seeing the list of rules. Rummaging through the drawer, I spotted my mother’s old swim suit that I refused to wear. Perfect! Setting the list that was now into a ball onto the swim suit, I folded it over the paper, covering it and stuffing it back into the drawer. I dusted off my hands, and closed the drawer.
Not like anyone or even myself will be taking this out any time soon.
