Juggling More Than My Life

Chapter Two (Part 2)

2004-11-15T14:17:00.000-08:00

But there was no sign of Brittany anywhere, he continued to walk along the ledge, expecting to find her lying there alone. He saw a shadowy figure, someone or something, sitting in the darkest corner. So secluded that when the smoke would grow thicker or darker because of the wind, the figure could go completely unseen. He approached the figure, expecting a gruesome, bloody body, half, burnt. But instead of finding the remains of Brittany's body, he found the heaping, sobbing body of the shorter friend, that was sitting in the backseat of the car.

The body has very minute movement, and yet he continued to sob. His clothes were blood stained, and his hair, a mixture of dried blood and the ends were all singed, I haven't seen his face yet, because he is facing away from me, leaning into the bushes, sobbing.

Slowly, step by step I approached him, "Jeff... Are you, uhh... Okay?" My voice was nothing but a whisper and my question was completely out of context, of course he isn't okay. He had all the right to chew me out, I mean he was just thrown down a hill inside a car, which he had to jump out of, then an extremely large car explosion engulfed him and then last of all he watched his 'boss' or whatever you consider him, fall off of the top of Dead Man's Door. I think if I were him I would turn around and push me off this ledge, but of course that is coming from the mind of a now murderer.

I can't believe that, my dad sees me as a misfit, a kid wanting to break the rules, my mom wanting to infarct the rules that I supposedly love to break. Well I didn't let my dad down, I broke some rules alright, but this isn't like not brushing my teeth, or not putting the toilet seat down when I'm done, this isn't one of Mom's ridiculous rules, this is the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT!!!!!!

"Brian," Jeff's voice was faint, almost sounded as if he were far away.

"Yes, Jeff, is there something I can do?" I felt bad for killing people that were obviously extremely close to him.

"Brett's dead isn't he? But she lived right?" he was very delicate with his words.

He turned to face me, his face, scared with deep gashes and a hideous burn stretching from his left eye down to his chin and his face was gleaming red from the heat, his gash along his right cheek was oozing blood.

"Yes, Brett's dead, and I don't know if Brittany's alive or not, I can't find her." I wasn't going to delay the truth I had to just come out and say it.

"Brittany, is that her name?" his face seemed so innocent, trying to understand and process what I had just said, "I never knew what her name was, he had only introduced us today, before she drugged us."

"Wait a minute she drugged you?" this could be serious, even more serious than me murdering Brett. "Please tell me what she did."

"Well, she came with Brett to pick us up, she was sitting in my usual spot, the front seat. He told us that this was his girl, the one he was seeing for a while, and he had told us a few times that he had been seein someone. She told us to take a few of these pills, and I simply refused. Brett told me to simply take them and I wouldn't so she hit me over the head with the....." his sentence ended there, his face although glowing red, still had the pale look as if he had just seen a ghost.

I heard a heavy breathing just behind me, as I slowly began to turn around I heard the sound of a hideous voice, "BRIAN RUGHMAN..... YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR KILLING BRETT MCCLELAN!!" her voice became lower and calmer talking directly to Jeff. "But as for you Jeff, you must have not learned the first time you were hit," she passed by me holding a large piece of concrete, her figure cover the one of Jeff, and her motions, so violent and harsh.

The moans of Jeff grew weaker and weaker with each blow by Brittany, she continued her rapid beating upon such a simple, innocent human. She turned to face me with the glare of evil twinkling in her eye, the burning car below lit her face aglow, honestly her portrait and figure remind me of one of a devil woman. Her face splattered by the blood of Jeff, with the singed hairs and one missing eyebrow, parrelled by a scar, a deep gouge, on with a gushing flow of blood.

Chapter Two (Part 1)

2004-11-09T16:27:00.000-08:00

Brett's attention is completely focused on Brittany right now, and I completely understand. I walk toward the edge, following Brett, fearing that he is going to jump after her, which wouldn't be all that bad right?

As I approach the ledge, i hear a small, minute, sobbing sound coming from, of course the strongest, toughest, stiff in town, but I know even the toughest man in the world would be upset about this. I look down over the edge and see a small, twisted body, turned about upon the ledge below, a small pool of blood surrounding the victim, from the height we were at I couldn't tell who the body was but I was sure by the look on Brett's face, it was Brittany. Still watching, I noticed the car had scraped the side of the hill many times, and it appears that one of the friends has bailed, and the car, found its place upon a ledge just wide enough to fit the mangled and crunched car on its side, the only thing proping the car up is the collection of rocks, randomly dispersed throughout the minute ledge.

The car, now embedded in the rocks, leaking with radiator fluid, gasoline, and aparently about 100 other fluids, because the rocks are quickly being sprayed from every direction. The motionless body that was lying upon the ledge below, is now beginning to move, and Brett is becoming frantic, telling her not to move, and she may be injured.

I look below at the car, which is now slowed is emerse spraying of fluids, and the backseat was now filled with emotion and movement, the remaining friend in the back seat was moving so franticly the completely supported car was now wiggling loose and scaping the sides of the rocks causing sparks. CAUSING SPARKS!?!?!?!?! THE CAR THAT WAS SPRAYING I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY FLUIDS IS NOW SPARKING, and the worst part about it isn't that this new sports car is going to go up in flames, LITERALY, but that there is a helpless, drugged out, helpless, LOSER in the back seat about to be... KILLED!!!!!

Now, my eyes, literaly in a speeding, (but in mega super slow motion), twichy feeling, with my eyes focusing between Brittany trying to stand, and the car sparking wildly. Now back to Britt, almost to her feet, the car, wildly rocking, causing a pillar to colapse giving the car more room to move. Now back to Britt, completely on her feet, examining her suroundings, now the car, sparking, more and more, with the more room it gets, but now it has punctured but another vein, spewing even more liquid. Brett now leaning so far over the edge, the rocks are constantly crumbling that he has to reposition himself every few seconds to keep from falling. Brittany, now looking up at up, yells, to inform us that everything is all clear, but before she can finish, I know i should be looking at her examining her, but my eyes divert to the car, which has now ignited the freshly spewing liquid. In a spilt second it all happened but seemed like eternity from the slow effect it happened, as if I could have done something in my power to stop it all.

The small flame, burst ingulfing the car, in the insant that the helpless friend opened the door, the burning ball of fire, which is now acending toward us, with one target between us.... BRITTANY!!!! Brett must be experiencing the same slow effect, because he screams to her, leaning farther, forgeting he can't go any farther than he already is, the rocks below him crumble, but my focus is on Brittany. She has now turned to see the blaze coming toward her in a rush of axileration, she screams, but the force of the flame forces her to the ground, the ball of blazing fire still inching toward us, but now out of the corner of my eye I see Brett, fall. This was no ordinary fall, this was a fall to end his life, he was falling into a burning wall of hell, I reach for him but his weight is much more than I can handle, and the heat force, is so hot, even though there is not much actual blaze left, the heat is still excruciating.

Between the pain in my face from the heat, and the weight extending my arm farther than normal reach, I begin to lose my grip upon my arch enemy. It's kind of funny how not less than 20 minutes ago, Brett wanted to kill me, and now I am trying to save him from the death both of his friends, and maybe even his girlfriend has experienced.

My grip continues to loosen, his hand slipping more and more, his life is now becoming more and more endangered. I am leaning over the edge of the hill, I feel the rocks crumbling under the weight of both of us. Brett looks up at me while he has only a few seconds of life left. His face so sincere, his look so wonderful, but I can only look for a little while, for the heat is still unbearable, or just the fact that I took a face on look into the blaze, causing my face, irritaion for some time. Brett's hand slips through my grip and I see him falling and...I don't believe it but... smiling. He has never been happier, than he is with his girlfriend and soon he will be with her.

The heat has been lifted but the smoke getting thicker, so thick that as Brett's body approaches the first ledge, my vision is completely block, I don't know if his body lay on the first or second ledge, or if it continued into the weeds below. I move back toward, my car realizing, I have commited, not only one murder, but the murder of four innocent souls, that have done nothing to me.

I get into my mustang, rehersing what to say to Mrs. R, I didn't have the same plan anymore, because it is over, killing them was not in my plan, it was to have the simply crash into the wall and I save them from a simple fire, or over the edge and save the girlfriend and Brett nobody would have to know about the friends, but now I killed them all.

I remembered, I had been here once before, and stood on that ledge my memory now struck me and I was on that ledge in an adventure with my Explorer Scout pack. I knew there was a way down, just around the first curve on the hill was a way to that ledge, a path. I could follow it down and pay my respect to Brett and Brittany.

I stepped out of my car and headed for the path but noticed the smoke had gottent thicker, a look over the edge and still nothing could be seen. I headed to the path, it was steeper than I had recalled, I didn't remember how steep it was. My speed was increasing the farther down I went and I lost my footing and stumbled, falling to the edge of the ledge they lay on. There lay Brett's body, motionless, lifeless, and covered in blood. His facial features were distorted and he is lying in the most uncomfortable position, his leg, higher than any man should be able to stretch, with is neck at a staining left look, but he looks peaceful, calm, the only time he wasn't worried.

Chapter One (Part 3)

2004-11-04T11:06:00.000-08:00

"So Rughman, are you up to a simple challenge?" His eyes were glazed, I could tell that he was drunk, had been drunk, and soon was going to be drunk again. He had a hazed look upon his face, he may of even been high, but I wasn't about to ask, I noticed that Chicken Lane was closed because of a bridge out, and Dead Man's Door was my only way to school. I was planning to take it slow, but I knew with Brett and his buddies in his car, and him being drunk, (when wasn't he drunk?) he would hit me, ram me, and do everything in his power to get me to speed up.

"Of course," the words slipped from my mouth before I realized what I was saying, but deep down I knew that I had to say yes.

I sat there waiting for Brett to get in his car. I was trying to make a plan, there were five major turns before you get to the top, so if I speed to the top, trying to keep control on the turns, then if I stop, hopefully I will lose him before we get to the top.

He began to rev the engine of his 2002 Honda Civic, all soup up with spoilers, and you can tell by just sitting there, a VERY Souped up engine. I knew there was no way I could compete with that. That changed my plan, I have about 4 minutes to get to school, I have to go about 115 miles an hour without being stopped or slowed down to get to school on time. Not only was I having to figure out how to get past the weasel, but I also had to figure out a excuse for Mrs. Rockefeller, only there is too much rock to her, she is so crazy that she makes English Grammar, one of the most boring classes, seem interesting! She is completely stuck in her Woodstock days. She was one of the girls you see in the front row at every Kiss concert screaming her lungs out waiting to catch one of them and grab them where every girl dreams of.

I decide that since Mrs. R is so big on helping people, at whatever expense I need to take I will wreck Brett and then rescue him with his clothes ripped, and since Brett is currently taking a drink of his beer and either smoking a joint, or a homemade cigarette, he will be so flabbergasted that I believe I can convince him that he wrecked himself.

Brett has rolls down his window and tells me to go he is giving me a head start. That ruins my plan right there. I have to wreck him without damaging my car, because Jeff at Jeffs Body Repair, is getting tired of doing quick last minute fixes in close to 30 minutes. Although he loves the extra money he gets he hates the rush.

I take off trying to think of how to wreck him. I realize that he cherishes his car just as much as I do mine. I whip the car around to face him as he comes. I pull out into the open and he slams on his brakes his tires squeal against the gravel road, his tires are trying to find a simple place to grip, but his car was easily at 90 miles per hour in less than a quarter mile strip.

His car is continuing to move closer and closer to my car, I realize we are down to about 200 feet from my car to his, I throw my car into reverse and continue to move farther back. I look forward when I stop on the first curve, Brett is freaking out. His car is still twisting and turning taking up the entire road, but the road is quickly narrowing, moving closer to the curve. I back my car up around the next curve and come to help Brett. By the time I reach the middle of the first curve, Brett's car is moving into view rather rapidly. I yell for Brett to jump out of the car and he keeps yelling "NO NO NO". I have to figure a way to get him out of the car, or my alibi will be no good.

"BRETT," by this time I am screaming at the top of my lungs for someone to get out of the car, either Brett or his girlfriend, or even his thick-headed friends. There are four people in the car, and if all of them die they will investigate that my tracks were there to, including my skid mark that turned me around to face them. "BRETT GET OUT OF THE CAR, YOU'RE GOING TO CRASH."

Brett's car is slowing down, the grip in his tire has caught on the old asphalt that it has uncovered. The car is facing the opposite direction as it came and just as it reaches the edge of the hill, it has come to a complete stop teetering on the edge of the hill, with only from the front doors, forward touching ground, the back wheels still slightly spinning.

Brett begins to get out of the car, "STAY IN THE CAR, IT'S GOING TO...." but my sentence was stopped because as soon as he opened the door, the weight of the car shifted, the farther he stepped out the more rocks broke beneath the bottom of the car.

I looked over the edge of the hill, and there was a ledge about 100 feet below. I look back up and Brett is completely out of the car, a little wobbly, but yelling for his girlfriend to exit the car next, and he looks at his friends, unknowing that they don't have ground beneath them, to stay put a while longer. If his advice was heard they probably don't remember it. His taller friend is completely past out on the passenger's side and the shortest one of the group is seconds from passing out.

As Brett walks away from the car it begins to slant more off the hill, more dried dirt and clay crumble beneath the weight of the car. Brett's girlfriend begins to scream and Brett runs to the car but she has flung open the door which causes the car to begin to slide down the side of the hill, neither friend in the back of the car budge, but Brett is trying to wake them obviously forgetting that his door is open. He is running out of room on the hill, he is trying to walk with the car and now standing still.

I run to him and grab him but his shirt sleeve is caught on the corner of the door and his girlfriend is on the other side of the car screaming, her foot, caught in the seatbelt. The car is slowly being swallowed by the hill. The car is edging quicker and quicker off the edge of the hill. most cars fall off of cliffs quickly, and i am sure that if i was anybody simply just watching this happen it would fall quicker, but I am now apart of this and I know deep down inside that I am the reason this all happened, but if I hadn't done this could this be me on the edge of this hill?

I am sliding toward the edge along with Brett, trying desperately to tear his shirt and remove us from this falling beast of metal and Fiberglas. I look at the car and his girlfriend has managed to climb back into the car and brace her self. Brett's shirt finally comes off but his arm is gushing with blood from a deep gouge in his arm caused by the door. At this moment his mind is on Brittany, who is now plummeting toward the rocks below.

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Chapter One (Part 2)

2004-11-03T18:11:00.000-08:00

"You don't understand, I was drinking kool-aid and I just," I didn't even let myself finish. I knew that was all I needed to say, she would hound me for just drinking the stuff, which I really did, and then for not brushing my teeth right away, which I didn't, and then she would hound me for not brushing them correctly, which I didn't! I knew going any farther would be a waste of my breath, and my ears.'

"So you did drink kool-aid, I am kind of dissapointed of you," she began her usual long drawn out speech of how she is dissapointed in me and how she wishes I was more like James.

Surprisingly she stops there, which completely blows my mind. "Mom, aren't you going to finish, usually you want to disapline me." For a while I was wondering why I asked for a punishment, I mean she could easily ground me for months just basically because I ASKED FOR IT!!!!

"I got ahold of your journal, that is basically what brought on this entire breakfast deal, I noticed in it, well at least the parts that I could read, you were upset with my cooking, how you thought I was perfect but you think that I really wasn't and how...." she stopped talking, tears welling up in her eyes.

I had noticed that my mom was a pretty soft hearted person, but I had never really saw her cry. This moment almost brings tears to my eyes. I couldn't believe that my mother, the perfect woman, whom never showed a bit of affection, and the only known emotion to her was anger, was about to burst with a built up supply of sorrow, pity, disbelief, and dispare.

I wasn't about to stick around to wait for tearfest 2004 so I decided to head off to school, usually the bus picks me up, (it's mom's rutene) she always watchs it drive away, and although me not following her rutene will most likely make her tear jerking moment even worse, I really don't want to stick around another 45 minutes for the bus to arrive.

So I take my only option, my mustang, well, if you consider the person who bought it with cash,(Dad) pays the insurance every month with cash, (Dad) and puts gas and pays for matinence with cash, (Dad) the owner than my father is the owner but if you consider the only person to ever drives it, (Me) only person to ever put a few scratches on it that had to be taken off before you return home to Dad's strict inspection of the car, (Me) and the only person who had a high speed chase in it until pulled over and the cop figured out you were a Rughman, (Me) the owner, than I am the owner, so you decide do you want to go by money, or usage. I'll leave that decision up to you.

I pull out of the driveway to head to school, which is about 15 minutes away, on a bus, which means I can be there in about 5 or 10. School doesn't start until 8:30 and it is 7:15 right now so I have about an hour and fifteen minutes. I have no idea what to do until then.

I decide to just drive around look for somewhere to stop, relax, mainly just unwind, I am starting to get a little worked up, I am afraid for my mom, she may be perfect and she seem really upset, and I am starting to think that I should have stayed to make sure she was okay, considering Dad leaves around 5:30 and doesn't come home until about 8:00.

I begin to search the parks outside the local pool. There are about six or seven major parks in that area and many smaller ones on the off streets. I find a park that looks pretty deserted. I pull the mustang up under a tree and park the car turning off the headlights, the park which is already empty seeming, appears even more deserted when it was dark. The park was completely dark, there was still one street light on above the swing set that is slowly swinging with the current path of the wind. The sky portrays something you would more rather see in a painting in some major art museum. A dark black palet with a splash of red rising, slowly the red in this portrait is surrounding a ball of orange, not a perfect ball but close, the edges frayed a little, the sky now has a purplish tint. Living in as big of a house as I have I havn't taken the time to notice the sunrise, nor the sunset at that matter.

I look at the clock; it reads 8:16, I must have dozed off because last I remember is the sun rise, now I am looking directly into a full, bright, yellow sun. I traveled about 10 minutes out of the way to school, which makes my trip to school from my current location about a fifteen minute drive if I can drive a little over the speed limit without getting stuck in traffic. At this time that is a joke, rush hour is in full progress now.

The only choice besides the main highway is the back country roads, which will for sure result in a dirty car, which I can wash on the way home, but could also result in chips from flying rocks, considering that I will have to drive pretty fast to get to school on time since the country roads go out of the way before going my way.

I consider the facts and decide to go for the back roads. I plan on taking what the call Chicken Lane, because it is the by-pass of Dead Man's Door, which is exactly what they call it. Dead Man's Door is a windy road at first, the road just winds up a hill, not to hard to handle, but on your way down is a drop so steep that even if you put both your footbrake and parking brake on you will still skid, if not roll down the hill.

I get to where Chicken Lane's turn off is but it's blocked. Road closed signs are sitting there and I see as I slow down that the figure standing there is Brett McClelan from the public school there in town, a couple of my friends and I have had trouble with him and it looks like he wants some more.

As I pull up next to him he motions for me to roll down my window. I do so in fear that he will break a window which I couldn't repair before I see dad.

"Rughman, I see you're running a little late for school aren't you? How about a little challenge? How about just a friendly little race to the bottom of Dead Man's Door?" his voice was higher than a normal Juniors, but exceptionally high for him since he has been held back 4 years.

"I just need to get to school." I was trying extremely hard to get out of the challenge that I was about to be proposed.

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Chapter One (Part 1)

2004-11-03T15:09:00.000-08:00

“Dear, you don’t understand, You have to wear your uniform to school.” My mother was hounding me to wear my Waymont uniform, the same outfit I have worn for the last year and a half, and before that we wore an even worse uniform.

Currently my uniform consists of Green shorts (for the fall months) and Green pants (for the winter months), a white t-shirt coved with a green vest with our school emblem, a small crest with a lion surrounded by a ribbon with the words; Tolerance, Independence, Unity, and Courage. Surrounding the ribbon is the school name. Nobody has figured out the mystery behind the Lion upon our Crest. Our school is filled with stuffed Bears and pictures of bears. Even our Seal is a crest with a bear holding a ribbon with the school name in it.

"Mom, I have worn that outfit for a long time now and I don't find it either necessary nor a requirement to wear this uniform. It doesn't say that I have to wear the uniform everyday." I know my point will most likley be proven wrong by my mother, she is the Rule Queen.

She has read every rule book from the basics of Table Tennis to Advanced Literature Teaching Curriculum. Last year she made her own rule book for the Rughman family household. Sure we had rules before them. Mom would write them down, make a few copies and post them in the places she felt necessary. But now she has a collection of them all with about 100 blank pages and every one of us has a copy. Her rules are so ridiculous, her rules stretch from something serious like managing our credit card statements to something as little as how to brush our teeth. But most of the rules are ridiculous, like, how to reorganize our rooms every 2 months to keep our minds stimulated. I mean, why do we need to move furniture to stimulate our minds, just living with her and processing her rules stimulates our mind enough.

Of course she has left the room to double check in the 48 page rule book for Waymont, which my mom had me memorize. I was the only kid at school who was forced to memorize the rulebook, except the book club, they read it every year. The kicker to that one is that nobody new has joined the book club for 5 years and so they have been reading the same book over and over again.

My mom returns to the room as I am dressing, in her hands is the rulebook, with its green cover, she reminds me of Mr. Vander, our principal, he is always carrying that book with him. Some one runs in the hall, he screams at the top of his lungs, "You are Violating Rule #15-A, students may not run, jog, or speed walk to class, doing so may result in tardiness to class." My mother is the same way once she created her rulebook, when we violate her rules she screams at us informing us of the rule and the punishment provided by disobeying the rule.

"Right here it states, The students do not need to continue the school year with the uniforms for the full amount the year pertains to but they do need to wear an outfit bearing the school colors in the pants and shirt with the school logo beared on the chest, failure to follow this rule will entail in severe punishment and private counciling." Her eyes were quickly studying the page. Her eyes had the look of dispair as though she had seen another way of punishment for another rule.

She not only has a list of rules, she also has a long list of looks that only us Rughmans know about. She has her looks that inform me that if I tell her she's wrong I know it will result in grounding. She also has the look of dismay and regaurd. She usually gets this look when she has discovered a new rule for us to put in our already heavy book.

I was completly dressed and on my way down the stairs to breakfast, which I knew I should be dreading considering mom is cooking but suprisingly it smells delicious. I walk into the kitchen and I can't help but stopping dead in my tracks, staring blankly at the table. The table is arranged with five place settings, each with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a sliced banana, cored and sliced apple, two perfectly fried eggs, browned hashbrowns, and a thick, juicy, suculant, unburnt ham steak.

I stand in the door way in aw for more than a couple of minutes before mom walks up behind me, "are you hungry dear?"

"Mom, you cooked this yourself? I figured breakfast would be burnt," I didn't realize what I had said until after I said it and the waves of my voice were half-way to my mother's ears, which were eceptionally higher raised considering the fact that her chin was being held at a much higher elevation than normal, which is expected with the meal she prepared.

"Yes dear, I prepared this meal in regard to the meal that I made you the other day that wasn't worth eating," she seriously did look sincere on saying this to me.

"If you were understanding of the whole food deal than why did you punish me and add the no mess rule to your book?" I was curious and probably asking questions in the areas that I shouldn't be talking about.

"Well, I would have left you off with just a warning and still added the rule, but I noticed the red stain on the floor, which i found out was KOOL-AID!" She was furious now because kool-aid, gatorade, powerade, and any other high sugar, low nutrient, colored drink is very very VERY bad in the Rughman household. In fact it is a rule in Mom's big book of rules, the rule clearly states, no drinks that are high in sugar, low in nutriants, or loaded with dyes or artificial coloring are strictly forbidden considering the fact that they stain clothes, teeth, lips, counters, carpet, and wood. If a drink with any of these effects is drank or spilt serious dicipline will be administered. In regard to drinking, brushing of the drinker's teeth must be immidiatly done following the drinking of this drink, for teeth brushing rule turn to page 47.

"Mom, I can explain," I state this expecting an immediate response from her telling me either I don't need to explain or she already knows what really went on. But there wasn't a response.

"Are you going to explain or not?" She was serious, she didn't know how the kool-aid had gotten there, and honestly I really didn't remember.

I had to be fast on my feet because my mom was giving me this suggestive look easily explaining, just give it up she knows I'm lying. Deeper in her look of shame and suggestions she was also portraying that she would seriously like to hear the complete story I am about to create.

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INTRODUCTION

2004-11-01T18:41:00.000-08:00

Why is it that I have everything I could ever want and I'm still unhappy and feel like I am missing a lot? My family, THE Rughmans, have the most money, the biggest house, the nicest house, and of course the best jobs. Of course I have friends, but I don't think it counts when your parents pay other parents to have their kids be your friend. I just want to get out of this, I don't want the money, I don't want the glam, I just wish I wasn't part of it.

My father, George Rughman, the executive and co-owner of Rughman & Drafty Computer Development, just keeps continuing to shove the money that I don't want in my face! It's like he doesn't understand that I don't want his fame and glory. My mom is the same way, she seems like the perfect mom, which is the reason we don't really talk, she seems more like a Stepford wife then my mom.

Then comes my brother, co-manager of a small branch of dad's company, which in dad's eyes is the way he wants his perfect son to be. James dresses perfect, talks perfect, he even acts perfect, there isn't a wrinkle in his life anywhere, not even his clothes.

Then there are my twin sisters, they couldn't have been any different. One sister was a rebel also, at first she just kind of tolerated it and hoped that the money and life of a multi-millionaire would just disappear and she would be a normal person again but finally last year she came out to dad and two weeks after her 18th birthday, she told him she hated his snobbish way of life and wished not to have this lifestyle any more and threatened to leave and live on her own, sadly dad just looked her in the he face and told Sara that she couldn't leave, he was kicking her out.

My other sister Stephanie just basks in the rich life, she has three rooms now, I have two, but she took over one of Sara's rooms and the other is now our painting room, she filled Sara's room immediately. She has six credit cards, two more than me, (we get one every birthday after we turn 13), and everyone of them is maxed to the limit. She is begging dad for an advance on next years.

Then me, the 'imperfect one' to dad, he's afraid that I, Brian Rughman, would turn out like Sara. I have been forced to be with the rich kids, hang with the rich kids, even party with the rich kids. 'They are my type of social people' my mom always tells me. I listen to the other kids talk at the library, they talk about how they were drinking this weekend or how they were passed out on Saturday, but my parties consist of Marvin talking about the latest book he read or Jessica telling me about how she was able to go to Mt. Everest last year, (I've heard that story a million times).

The kids at school are all the same as me, Waymont School of Academic Development is a school for the families who can afford the expensive $15,000 tuition a semester. I argued with my dad about going and his response is always, 'For 6 generations Rughmans have graduated at the top of the class at Waymont and I will be there when you get the prestigious Rughman National Society Award'. I think that may sound a little rigged that a Rughman wins the Rughman award, but supposedly Rughmans have won that award for the past three years and no one has pitched a fit yet.

"Brian, dear, would you like ham steak and eggs or french toast and bacon?" My mother asked sounding so sincere.

"Mom, you know that i don't like french toast, so don't even ask. And second of all why are you cooking, where is Smithers?" Smithers is our personal chef, he cooks most of our meals but sometimes, mom calls him and tells him to take the morning off or call in sick for the evening. Half the time he 'Calls in' we either eat burnt food or we end up ordering out.

"His name is Mr. Smithers, and didn't he tell you he was going on vacation this week?"I can put up with a burnt ham steak or a charcoaled cake, but a week of fried brownies topped with chunky chocolate syrup, I don't know if I can handle mom cooking dinner for a whole entire week!

"Mom are you sure he wants to go on vacation, I mean he may not be able to support himself if he does." By this time I am pretty much pleading for Smithers to come back.

"Dear, I think that Mr. Smithers can support himself considering that he doesn't have to pay for electricity, he lives in a 2-story house behind us and he gets rent free, the only thing he has to buy is groceries and even that is with our money." She does have a point that Smithers gets to live pretty cheap, well at least money wise.

About a month ago, when my father was home with the flu, Smithers wasn't just our personal Chef, he was my father's personal slave. My dad just sat up in his room and treated Smithers like a slave in the 1800's. I understand the fact that my father was sick and he needed the attention, but it was unruly that he spend the entire day on the intercom system yelling at Smithers to bring him the phone, the pillow, a pill, some water, some soup. For Christ Sake, Smithers is a Chef, not a Slave. But that is expected of my father, he grew up with the golden spoon in his hand, his father (another person in my family that I don't claim) owns the Rughman Hotel chain in Los Angelas, so now that he owns his own computer development company, the biggest thing to hit the market, he has been promoted to a Platinum spoon.

"Dear are you going to eat or not?" My mother is desperately trying to get me to eat a ham steak that looks as if it has been beaten to death with a feather duster, but the worst part of the steak isn't it's looks it looks about twenty times better than it tastes and it tastes about 100 times better than the texture feels.

"Honey, is the steak good," she asks me this question with the look in her eye like she thinks she could impress the King of England, or aw Emeril with a dish so wonderful that it would be the next dish he creates with her as a special guest. But deeper down within her glazed eyes of perfection, she gives me the 'mother glare' it's the type of glare that you don't need to see to know that she is giving it to you, it kind of says, "You better say you like this or you will pay for this one BIG".

Of course I can' t take the pressure of the glare my mother is giving me, well techinally she isn't giving me this glare, she is thinking this glare and i know that she is thinking this glare, and I know that if i even think of saying, well, but, or you know, my butt is hers.

So I lie, "It's wonderful mom," I try to spit these few words out with out gagging by the distastful feeling this meat that was bludgened by who knows what and the steak now seems to have grown an equally disgusting oder to it too.

Mom leaves the room with the remainder of the steaks, she intends on giving a couple to Elga, our maid, a couple to Jakob, our gardener, and maybe if she can convince Mr. Miller, our butler to eat one, he may take one.

As soon as she leaves the room my steak hits the floor, at the impact of the fall, the flaky charcoal that has remained on the shrivled piece of pig, falls onto the floor leaving remains on my mom's perfectly waxed and sparkling floor. In a panic I don't know what to do so I hurry to find a place to shove all of my remains from my steak. As I swept away the crumbs I left a smeared trail of black across the floor where i was attempting to clean.

I could hear my mom opening the back door, luckily this house was a large one, but still not large enough, I only had about 2-3 minutes. I didn't know what to do with the trail of crumbs i had smeared across my mothers expenise tile flooring.

I begin looking around the room for something to cover the spot up with, first I look at a table cloth, but the spot is quite a bit larger than that. I found a rug to slide ontop of it, but when i moved the rug I uncovered a Kool-Aid stain from a couple of days ago. I will admit my family may seem as the perfect, clean like family, but I do not fit in, I am clumsy, dirty, and unorganized. I think I am also the same way at Waymont. I am probably the only kid to ever spill his tray on himself, TWICE!

At Waymont our food is served to us, we each basically have our own personal butler, which of course, I am totally AGAINST. I don't feel that anyone should have to make a living by waiting hand and foot on some one else to lazy to do their own work!

I can hear my mom walking up the stairs, her high heels clicking with every step she takes. Even being in her own house she still dresses as if she was expecting to appear on some fancy television show that was expecting to hand her the Nobel Peace Prize. Her closet is filled with black slacks and black overjackets, followed in her wardrobe comes the high heels, red ones, blue ones, navy ones, green ones, hunter ones, black ones, gray ones, and then pairs that match the other colors but everyone knows she is buying the same shoes, but she gives us her innocent look with the hidden 'mother glare' within.

Her high heels come clicking into the kitchen and pretty soon I feel as if 1000 eyes are watching me and i am being stalked by a ferocious beast, i am the small prey, the smallest mouse within the largest field and the mother owl is flying over me, not really flying more soaring like, staring at me as though ready to dive at any moment and take me with her back to the nest to feed to her young. Only in my instance she will take me to the table and i will be fed to the beast within my mother, the beast that nobody sees, all everyone else sees is the perfect Mrs. Rughman, the woman who bakes cakes for the neighbors, and cookies for the kids next door, but what no one knows is that it's all made by Smithers.

I know that she is standing above me, although my head is still looking toward the ground, i see her perfectly polished shoes, again something done by paid help. This may be exhadurated but i can feel her breath, cold and peircing, against my neck. Her voice, when she finally speaks, sends chills down my spine knowing that she will soon be punishing me with a strict rule of no messes, and this is one of the many things I have to juggle in my life.

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