In This Diary
Day 5
by Jade Black
Wednesday 30th July 2003
Song of the day: Fénix*TX- Pasture Of Muppets
// I must be wrong,
Though I was the perfect son //
It’s stopped raining about half an hour ago- even though it’s still soaked
through outside. The sun will soon dry everything out, though.
My Mum has taken this opportunity to leap on me with a copy of a local
newspaper. She’s got this strange idea in her head that if I don’t go out in
the summer voluntarily, then that means I am going to get a summer job.
Sometimes I wonder about the sanity of my family. She’s ringed around a
selection of crappy jobs in the newspaper- some of which I can’t even do
because I’m too young. She says there’s a solution to every problem. How she
can change my age, I don’t know- perhaps go back in time, conceive me a year
earlier? I would have thought my own mother would have known when my
birthday was.
Anyway, she’s given me a list of places to go an check out- and says that I
have to wander around a bit and keep my eye out for signs in windows. The
only thing I’ve seen on her list that I might possibly be interested in was
a job in the library working on the computers- but I don’t think that
positions’ still going to be open, somehow. But, when my mother gets in a
mood like this, there really is no point in arguing. Wish me luck.
Wednesday 30th July 2003
It’s kinda late, so I’m going to have to be quick. I just crept in, and so
far I don’t think I’ve managed to wake anyone up… but my Dad is the last
person you want to wake when he’s got to go to work in a few hours.
I’ve been out with Quatre, anyway, and CHRIST what a scenario. It wasn’t
exactly what I was expecting. He told me he got of work at 5 o’clock, so I
figured I’d get him to go home and get ready for a night out on the town-
and said I’d pick him up from his house at 8 o’clock. He agrees to this
exact time- since I had dinner booked at this really cool restaurant for
8:30. I borrowed my friend Wufei’s car- after promising that I would not,
never in a million years use it for any of the following:
1. Fornication, making out or lusty escapades of any kind
2. Setting off fireworks (recently added rule)
3. Cruising around town burning rubber on every corner
4. Smoking (of any kind)- he doesn’t want the leather seats smelling
And he doesn’t want any metre-long strands of hair left behind on the seats,
or the levels on his CD player changed though I can play the volume as loud
as I want, and he wants it back before one o’clock. And, trust me, I’ve
heard this rant enough times to know what he’ll do if I don’t follow the
rules. The car remains in good condition- so Wufei can go out on Friday
night and break all of his own rules.
So, I get to Quatre’s without too much trouble finding it at about 5 to
eight, thinking I look really cool in Wufei’s red convertible. However, I
was a little surprised when I discovered Quatre lived in a fucking mansion.
The place was lit up like a Christmas tree- as the sun was setting in the
back ground- wrought iron gates at the front. I wasn’t entirely sure of what
to do. I mean, did Quatre know I was here from the security camera just
above the gates angled straight at me, or was I supposed to go use the
little intercom in the box on the gate post. I opted for the intercom, and
mumbled there for a minute- ‘state your name and age for the court’ kind of
thing. After a little while, there’s a buzz, and a low male voice says I can
drive down the main driveway and wait out the front.
I do so, and sit in the car for a couple of minutes. I feel dwarfed by this
huge building. And, I’m keeping an eye on the clock- 8:05. I half expect for
some gorgeous princess to waltz down the front steps ready for me, swathed
in a golden ball gown, pearls that I once gave her hanging around her neck.
Thinking about this, I get out of the car and lean against the side- very
aware of not making any greasy finger print marks on the paintwork. I then
begin to wonder what Quatre’s doing working in a shoddy snack-bar if he
lives here… and then I wonder what he’s doing going out with a boy from the
comparative slums like me.
Though, today I didn’t actually look all that bad. I’d dug out a pair of
black slacks I’d worn to a couple of school dances- figure hugging but
comfortable and a violet shirt that matched my eyes. Nothing too fancy. I
was quite glad I was taking him out for dinner, though- I got the feeling
Quatre might be the type who liked being treated specially- but I think if I
had opted for going to the movies with coffee afterwards or gone clubbing,
he might not have found it up to his standards. At ten past, he emerges,
wearing something pretty close to what I was- except the shirt was a very,
very light pink. I’ve got to say, no matter how much the mansion had shocked
me and how great he looked, the pink put me off a little… I wasn’t impressed
for some reason. Anyway, we go through date-pick-up ritual. I stand up, say
hi, a quick peck on the cheek, I open the door for him, and then we drive
off.
I immediately say, just for conversation as we’re driving, that I didn’t
know he was rich. He seems to take this the wrong way- and explains that his
Dad owns this big company. Apparently he’s got a few million sisters tucked
away in that big house, and he’s the only brother. He also thinks that, if I
had come in, I would have been interrogated for the next hour by these
girls, since they were all watching as he left. This makes me wonder when
the last time Quatre had a date was. After a while, he asks me where we’re
going. I tell him we’re going to this place he’ll probably love called Sgt.
Peppers. Actually, by that time I wasn’t sure if he would like it or not- it
was a Beatles replica restaurant that served big meals and had black walls
with instruments hanging everywhere. There was even a drum kit hanging
upside down from the ceiling above the stairs where you walk it. I
personally thought it was the coolest place on earth, and knew a couple of
people who worked there. And, amazingly, the toilets in the place were the
best feature. The walls in the toilets were covered in posters from the
60’s- all real. It’s kinda freaky- especially as you’re standing there,
because there’s this poster or the Jimmi Hendrix experience right at the end
watching you… anyway- totally cool place.
He sort of nods warily as I say this- and it strikes me that I really know
nothing about him at all. We get to the restaurant, pull up, go inside. He
looks impressed- and it is impressive… but he hasn’t seen the drum kit yet.
We wait at the front for a minute until Hilde, who I just happen to know
from school, comes up and says she’s got a table for us in the back- winking
at me.
Shit! I think my Dad just woke up- he might just be going to the toilet, but
if he sees the light on under my door I’m never going to sleep again!
Laters.
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