When we stopped in the little town I was not in the best of moods. I had finally fallen asleep in the back seat of my mothers mini-van and was dreaming. When I first looked out the window I saw only tiny little shops with stupid signs like "Welcome Friends" followed closely by signs that said No- followed by something. I wonder if people like saying no a lot. I was in southern California, in a little town whose name I can never remember, but which was near Ventura. It was as if god had dropped a little oasis of ice cream, candles, pastries and a couple of mills right out in the middle of nowhere. I stepped grudgingly out of the car, along with my sister Lesley, who, it seemed, had been in a fight with my parents about stopping while I was asleep and was refusing to speak to anyone. Being fairly unhappy myself, I let it go and began my own flow of complaints about having to stop. My sister was keeping her eyes averted from everyone and I suddenly felt a bit sorry for her. She was almost to be seventeen and she still had little tantrums all the time. It was not as though she was immature in all aspects of life, just that she seemed to lose control of herself and become wrapped up in the point she was trying to make to my parents that she would lose control of what she was doing or saying and start to go too far. Being only 15, I can still take control over myself and the things I say much better than she can. We walked past a chocolate shop and the sickly sweet aromas wafting out nearly made me hurl. My mother mentioned sweetly that we might stop back there in a while, which I hoped we wouldn't. The thought of her sweet smile, at her delight at the thought of giving us such a treat, and my own reaction, made me feel like the devil. We then crossed a street and started heading to the right and towards a mill, passing the biggest damn candle store I have ever seen in my fucking life. We stopped by the mill for only a second and while my parents admired it, I looked around. There seemed to be an excess of young men walking around with what seemed to be their grandmothers. One of these odd couples walked past me and the teenage boy stared admiringly at me as he walked past. Feeling a bit better I walked into a glass shop with my parents, who didn't seem intent on buying anything, but merely getting the whole experience of the place. Out of the corner of my mind, I saw a young man and an old lady walk past me in the shop and suddenly got the fleeting thought that the guy I had seen admiring me earlier had just followed me in here like a loyal puppy dog, but when I looked closely, I saw it was somebody different. Scowling I walked back out of the shop with my parents. And it was then that I began thinking. The night before I had been watching television and a commercial for some jewelry thing came on. A beautiful and real looking woman was laughing and looking completely pleasant, walking on the edge of a fountain with a handsome man. The man told her how much he loved her and said he wanted to marry her again, presenting her with a diamond ring. The rest of the commercial is insignificant, but it is the woman that interests me most. I wish with all my might that I could be just like her, but I am just simply not that nice. Here I was walking with my wonderful parents down a beautiful street and I was being as sewer as a fucking grumpy old man. How could any man like the one in the commercial love me? I have never thought that a man will never fall in love with me, because I am sure that one will, but I am afraid that they will love me for me, and be like me. And I don’t particularly like myself all that much. The type of man I attract is life haters. People haters, and those who trust no one. I want to be a sweet and kind person but I am always slipping up. Because I am not a sweet and kind person. I don’t trust anyone or anything; I shop too much and don’t ever have fun conversations with my friends. I am not athletic or energetic or fun. I cant imaging anyone falling in love with me. I want to become rosen. It seems the right word to describe it at least. I want rosy cheeks, and I want a man who will give me roses, and I want to have the patience and the determination and the want to grow roses in my front yard. And I want to put fresh roses in my room and just be all over rosen. But I can’t make myself that way, because I am not.
