They Don't Make Mistakes

Smells Like Teen Spirit

The wind plays with the sunhat on my head, it's mom's black one with lots of holes. I wear it ironically of course. And also because it creates a cool shadow effect that I like to capture in my self portraits. A laugh that sounds like the tinkling of glass flows through the air and I roll my eyes. Another strong breeze pushes the hammock from side to side, and the sun blares down on me, warming me. Another disgustingly perfect laugh shatters my music influenced coma and I growl. Another breeze, another laugh, another growl.




Finally I sit up carefully and glance at the hammock across the yard to find my sister and her boyfriend kissing and giggling like the mindless love birds they are. The sunlight flitters over her platinum blonde hair and I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. He mischeviously winks and then tickles my sister until she emits a music award worthy giggle. With a growl of disgust I lie down on my hammock so abruptly it threatens to tip me onto the ground. Once I am properly situated again, I go back to glaring at the road from beneath the hat brim, daring the cars to follow the signs and pull into our yard sale. Mom insists on monthly yard sales to "purge our lives of unnecessary objects because life is all about people and not material things." Or something like that.




If life is about people I would rather not deal with certain ones. I send nasty thoughts towards the wolf in hot boy's clothing on the other hammock and watch as my mom flits around helping people. She is wearing a fanny pack. And she isn't doing it ironically. Even in my favorite Strong is the New Skinny t-shirt, purple shorts and gladiator sandals, I can't seem to find my inner calm. It's one of those days where I am a stereotypical angst-filled teenager: dyed hair, piercings, tattoos and all. Smells like teen spirit. Ugh where the hell is dad.




I am undoubtably my dads daughter. We share the same music taste, same style and even the same tattoo artist. Blade, the most skilled tattoo artist in the area, enjoys when our infrequent daddy-daughter outings occur. He is rather tickled by our unorthodox father daughter relationship of bickering and matching tattoos.




Lined sporadically with beautiful tattoos of his own design, and equipped with boyish good looks all of my friends crushing on him. Even the guys have an unexplainable man crush. He is the complete opposite of my mother and that makes me love him all the more. But he has work today. Working on some new architectural project. Wonder if he knows mom is trying to sell his clock made out of Blink 182 vinyls.




I will have to rescue it soon.




To cover up the sounds of my darling sister's laughter I press the music up a couple of decibels and close my eyes. Surely my lazy position and angst aura will be enough of a deterrent to possible costumers. By the slamming of car doors and the sound of my moms chipper voice I know my plan has failed miserably. Please let the Blink clock make it out okay. And let Anthony fall out of the hammock and break his penis. And let mom's fanny pack break so I don't have to look at her wearing it. Amen.




The sunlight shining on my face disappears and I feel my lip slide up slowly in a scowl. Hammock jolting suddenly I open my eyes annoyed. Standing above me is the tallest guy I have ever seen and he is staring down at me with an amused look on his ridiculously handsome face. He is drop dead hot. I already hate him.




"Can I help you?" is what my mom would have said but instead what comes out is "Hey go eat a dick, I am not interested in your religion." His jaw tightens and I frown at the realization he is even hotter when he is annoyed.