BLAKE page 4

page 3

Chapter 1


After the second service of the day, I absently drive to McDonald’s perusal and I order my favorite large fries and an Oreo McFlurry; and oh what a lucky day their ice-cream machine is not broken. I check my text messages while I wait for my drive-thru order. It is my brother Joe, checking up on me.

Did u go home
Dad is askin
Saw u talking 2 Blake
For da millionth time HE NO GOOD
1:46 PM

Joseph is a year younger than I am. He is very over protective of me even though I am older. Once when I was in fifth grade and he was in fourth, a sixth grader was bullying me so much I finally broke down and cried to Joseph at recess. He calmly told me everything was going to be fine and told me to go back to class. I couldn’t find him after school— we usually walked home together. One of my classmates came running out of breath and with relief in her eyes she managed to say, “Hurry! Come! —It’s your brother— he, he punched a 6th grader!” 

Joe had made that kid’s nose bleed and the school legend goes that the bully cried. He never bullied nor looked my way again. How Joseph never got caught by a teacher or reported has me dumbfounded. I would like to think that no one told on him because they wanted a hero.

I trust Joe, I love Joe, but I do not dare share with him my deviant behavior. I fear that it will ruin the reputation of a what an older sister should be. I feel like I have the responsibility to guide and not tarnish the innocent minds of my three younger brothers. 

Although Joe has a girlfriend, I know he still holds on to his virginity, yes even as his ripe age of twenty-one. 

I do not answer his text message, I just want to sit in my car and eat my little snack while I people watch in the parking lot of McDonalds. Because Joe and I are close he understands my introvert quirks and will leave me alone until I am able to be social again. I love being like this. I love being sola

I wear my loneliness like a fleece sweater on a chilly autumn evening. I clutch on to loneliness, it is cozy. It keeps me warm from the frigid work of obtaining and maintaining friends. Not to mention church friends, those kind of “friends” are the worst kind for my soul. I would have to play a role from a movie script, just so I do not damage their image of my family. In all seriousness both my mother and father have worked tirelessly for people’s admiration; which if you ask me I think it is stupid, but what out weighs my opinion is my love for them, so I will protect their image, I will pose as a quiet, non-sexual, proper cristianita who still lives with her parents as respect and tradition. 

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