Hannah J. Flynn (hannah_flynn) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-12-22 13:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | hannah flynn |
Bad Influence
December 22, 2009
Dear Diary,
I, Hannah Flynn, am a Bad Influence on others. But this isn't your mother's Bad Influence.
I don't smoke cigarettes. I don't drive while intoxicated. I've only tried pot once, behind Justin White's barn, when I was sixteen and bored out of my gourd. I don't drop trou for every muscled, cruise-ship hottie who makes comments about my nice legs. I don't park in handicap spaces. I don't advocate skipping school to lounge on the beach. I don't litter.
What I do is a lot worse.
The first time was April 16, 2000. I was thirteen years old. Our county had a skating rink, which I could go to whenever my neighbor Missy went. Her family had a big, blue station wagon and I squeezed into the way-back just so I could ride along. Trust me, I knew skating was way over in 2000, but there wasn't much else in the way of entertainment in Noble County, Oklahoma. On that particular Saturday, Missy's cousin Jewel had come along. Now, Jewel and I had never met before, but our friendship took off like gangbusters during the drive. Since she didn't know how to skate, I offered to hold her hand as we circled the wooden rink. Jewel's cheeks turned splotchy and red. I thought it was from exertion or excitement until one of her hands caught temporary fire. Nobody could explain what happened, but people hypothesized about friction sparks and gas fumes and all kinds of stuff. The weirdest part? It didn't burn her.
The second time was December 11, 2002. My grandmother took me to Oakwood shopping mall over in Enid. The place was packed with holiday shoppers. I don't remember much about the day, except I was hell-bent on finding a scarf striped in the Hufflepuff colors. I was supposed to meet my grandmother on the food court around 2pm. I shared a bench with a Native American guy, really cute, at least from my fifteen-year-old perspective. He offered to let me listen to some band called Jimmy Eat World on his mp3 player. When he handed me the earphones, our hands touched. It was just a second, but claws came out of his fingertips and fur popped out of the cuff of his sleeve. Before I could make any sound resembling a scream, he took off. I put that one down to a hallucination.
The third time was March 10, 2008. It was my twenty-first birthday and I was getting wasted in the Green Parrot Bar on Whitehead Street. A girl named Patricia dared me to dance on the bar. She offered me her shoulder to climb up. By the time I had gotten on my knees, Patricia had zapped everybody in a ten-foot radius with electricity. Everybody except me. Nobody got seriously hurt, but Patricia gave me a certain look... A 'how could you?' look. That's when I put the pieces together: It was my fault.
I cause it. I turn people into freaks.
I don't get why it's only some people, and why it's those freaky things, and why I have to touch them. Why did I turn Jewel into Charlie McGee? Why did the kid in the mall turn into Teen Wolf? Why did Patricia electrocute the whole bar? Why didn't she look surprised?
Last weekend, when I knocked into Deanna and her face turned into a monster's, what did I do to her?
It just goes to show that I can't afford to get close to strangers. I can smile at them. I can joke and laugh. I can be everybody's friend. But I need to keep my hands to myself.
This is Hannah, signing off.