I redid the part about her asking her dad about the part so it starts right after her talk with her mom-
Thanking her for her approval, I give her a quick hug then go up to my room to text Gwen of the current party going status. Punching at the numbers on my phone, it begins to ring as I wait for a cheerful voice.
“So what did they say?!” Gwen exclaims into the phone.
“I’ve gotten a yes from my mom and I haven’t asked my dad yet. Mom says it will be hard to convince him though. Knowing him, he will probably make this whole thing hard on me.” I begrudgingly respond
“I’m sure he will do what he thinks is right. I have a feeling he’ll say yes, he knows ya really wanna go.”
“Yeah, I’m just unsure cuz he doesn’t really know any of these people that are going. I could see that changing his mind.”
“I’m getting so nervous about it though, what should I say? Just that there’s a party a wanna go to and you are going and it will be safe?”
“Yeah, I would say that and add that everyone is gonna be sober and nothing bad is gonna happen.”
“I wanna call him and ask but my mom said he might be in a bad mood so I should wait and see when he gets home.”
“Well good luck, I feel for you. I should go and finish my homework so text me later when you find out, okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll definitely text ya. See ya.”
“Bye!” she exclaims into the phone, ending the brief conversation.
Closing my phone, I go over to my desk and try to work on my homework to pass the time. After five minutes and a lot of math frustration, I decide to stop doing that and I pull my laptop from my closet and type in Google. Interesting Halloween costume ideas, I type into the empty, white bar and I click enter, waiting for the words to be processed. I click on the first highlighted link and scroll down, searching for a costume. Seeing two blue people at the edge of the page, I quickly whip out my phone again.
“We should be smurfs!” I hastily type.
“Ella,” my mom yells from downstairs “your father’s home.”
Trudging down the stairs, I can see my dad sitting at the kitchen table in a suit, rubbing his tan temples.
“So Dad, how was your day?” I cautiously ask.
“Oh, it was fine I guess. A little busy but I wasn’t too bad. How was yours?” He responds with an affectionate smile.
“Well actually good, and there was something I wanted to talk to you about that happened today.” Giving me a worried look, I sit down next to him. “Gwen asked if I wanted to go to a Halloween party with her. Mom said yes so now I just have to get your approval.”
“Oh, um,” he clears his throat then continues, “I don’t really know much about it, do I.”
“I guess not. Well to start, it’s at a guy named Tommy Bourke’s house and he is best friends with Gavin. I was gonna go with Gwen and we would only be out til like nine. Both of his parents are going to be there and there’s gonna be nothing bad at all, just a bunch of friends getting together.”
“Well I’ll talk to your mom about it, then we will tell you our answer.”
“Oh and here’s Mrs. Jones’s number, you can call her and ask about the party if you want. She has more details on it.”
“Okay, well we’ll talk about this later.”
“Thanks Dad.” I say sweetly then gently kiss him on the cheek and run off to my room.
Chapter 6
“This is so exciting.” I say enthusiastically
“I know, I can’t wait. Gavin said he helped set up and I guess they made a haunted house!” Gwen squeaks.
We decided the smurf idea was a good one, so we got tones of blue face paint, white clothes, and fake flowers. We expect to win the costume contest, and our mom’s are planning on taking tons of pictures to document our unusual attire. I start smearing the potent blue mixture on my face then realize we won’t have enough to color our arms and neck too. Calling my mom into the bathroom, I tell her about our dilemma and she quickly grabs her keys and runs out to the car to get more. After finishing up the three jars we have, we wait in the living room for my mom’s return.
“I got it!” My mom yells as soon as she throws the front door open. “It was the last two jars, I hope it’s enough!”
Passing the jars to me, we thank her then go back to the bathroom to finish applying our makeup. After we are done, we quickly clean off any spots of blue on our white shirts then we head downstairs.
“Look at you girls!” Mrs. Jones exclaims once seeing us round the corner into the kitchen. “You two look hysterical! You definitely win that costume party.”
Unable to stop laughing, the two grab their cameras from the counter and begin taking pictures of us. Once several pictures have been snapped and the giggling has stopped, my mom and Mrs. Jones get into the car and we go grab our phones before leaving.
The journey to Tommy’s house last’s about twenty minutes and it was very noticeable which house was his once we pulled up the block. The large Victorian style house has a large front yard covered with mummies and fake bats. There is a small group a teens standing at the door laughing while walking into it and my mom pulls into the driveway to let us out of the car.
“So girls what time should we pick you up?” My mom asks sweetly.
“Um how about ninish. I’ll ask Tommy and see what he says but if I don’t text you with a different time then just count on nine.”
“Ok then. Well you girls have fun, and if there are any problems, call either mine or Tracy’s cell.” She says while motioning over to Mrs. Jones.
We wave goodbye as our moms pull out of the driveway then we enter the tall house behind us.
As soon as we enter, we are greeted by Gavin and Tommy’s moms.
“Hey girls!” They chime in unison. “Most of the kids are downstairs, in the haunted house. I guess you have to go through it to get to the party; you can go down if you want. We are just waiting for the rest of the kids. We’ll be down soon.” Tommy’s mom says in a sugary way. “Tommy and Gavin are the headless people in the middle of the haunted house, so don’t be scared when you see those guys.”
Smiling, we thank them for allowing this party and then we go down to the basement to join the others.
“Hey guys!” I hear from the corner of the room, “Are you getting in line?!”
Turing, we see that Ava and Evelyn are here and dressed as what looks like Christmas elves. Gwen and I head over and stand with the other two in line, waiting for what’s to come inside the next room.
After waiting a few minutes, I see a kid run out and say to me I’m next. Gwen grabs my hand and we timidly begin our walk inside.
“RARRR!” I turn and see a “monster” grab my arm. Not expecting a surprise exactly like that, I let out a short, shrill, scream.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Maddy 45-46
12
The next few months went quickly. Kristen was caught up in a whirl of activities. From home work to Christmas shopping, Kristen barely had time to breathe. The only relaxing times she had were the ones spent talking with Skye in their dorm room, and the hours she spent with Sam when he tutored her. Kristen lived for her tutoring sessions. With her newfound love of Sam, they were her perfect excuse for spending long hours with him after school and on the weekends. Thanks to Sam’s tutoring though, Kristen was beginning to average low A’s, she even had a ninety-eight in her English class! Although this was quite an achievement for Kristen, she couldn’t help worrying that Sam would decide she was fine on her own, and didn’t need anymore help. If that happened, then she would lose all of the her time with him, and that was something that she definitely did not want to happen
As time went by Kristen was so happy that she began to wish that she had never lived in Jacksonville, Murrysville was just so much better for her. She had had no connections with her former life until the holidays rolled around. At Christmastime Kristen’s parents flew down for a visit. When they arrived, Kristen had no idea what to expect. She hadn’t seen them for months and the last time she had, their relationship had been on thin ice. As soon as she greeted them in the front circle, Kristen realized all of her worries were going to come true. The atmosphere was tense and her parents barely looked at her.
At first, Kristen made an effort to be friendly, engaging, and to show her parents how much she had changed. After being blown off countless times for conversations with teachers, and Sister Mary-Janice, Kristen gave up. For the rest of their tour Kristen just spoke like she was being forced to, and offered no more information than was needed.
Things finally began to look up though during the parent-student dinner. Kristen’s parents sat with Skye’s grandmother and Sam’s parents. (St. George and St. Claire’s combined their dinners.) All three gushed about how nice and polite Kristen was, and how she seemed like such a sweet girl. It was only after that, that Kristen’s parents actually began to warm up to her.
The next few months went quickly. Kristen was caught up in a whirl of activities. From home work to Christmas shopping, Kristen barely had time to breathe. The only relaxing times she had were the ones spent talking with Skye in their dorm room, and the hours she spent with Sam when he tutored her. Kristen lived for her tutoring sessions. With her newfound love of Sam, they were her perfect excuse for spending long hours with him after school and on the weekends. Thanks to Sam’s tutoring though, Kristen was beginning to average low A’s, she even had a ninety-eight in her English class! Although this was quite an achievement for Kristen, she couldn’t help worrying that Sam would decide she was fine on her own, and didn’t need anymore help. If that happened, then she would lose all of the her time with him, and that was something that she definitely did not want to happen
As time went by Kristen was so happy that she began to wish that she had never lived in Jacksonville, Murrysville was just so much better for her. She had had no connections with her former life until the holidays rolled around. At Christmastime Kristen’s parents flew down for a visit. When they arrived, Kristen had no idea what to expect. She hadn’t seen them for months and the last time she had, their relationship had been on thin ice. As soon as she greeted them in the front circle, Kristen realized all of her worries were going to come true. The atmosphere was tense and her parents barely looked at her.
At first, Kristen made an effort to be friendly, engaging, and to show her parents how much she had changed. After being blown off countless times for conversations with teachers, and Sister Mary-Janice, Kristen gave up. For the rest of their tour Kristen just spoke like she was being forced to, and offered no more information than was needed.
Things finally began to look up though during the parent-student dinner. Kristen’s parents sat with Skye’s grandmother and Sam’s parents. (St. George and St. Claire’s combined their dinners.) All three gushed about how nice and polite Kristen was, and how she seemed like such a sweet girl. It was only after that, that Kristen’s parents actually began to warm up to her.
Renee 42-45
Weeks past by, and things really were getting better. My grades, despite my content with them being average, were increasing significantly. Periodically, Pastor Dennis would take me out for ice cream or food of some sort. Pastor Dennis assured me that he believed it would help me overcome inner struggles, having somebody to talk to and all. I definitely looked forward to those times.
One Saturday morning I woke up, quite pleased to be alive to be honest. I squeezed in two hours of extra sleep. This was going to be a great day!
I slipped on my slippers carefully, sighing as I retreated downstairs to my mom making breakfast.
“Morning mom,” I mumbled softly.
“Good morning sweetie,” she replied in her well-energized morning voice.
I smiled, feeling her enthusiasm. “What’s for breakfast today?” I peered over her shoulder.
“Pancakes and sausage.” She replied in harmony with my realization.
“Sounds good to me.” I was now cheerful. I picked up the morning paper and sat down with it at the table. I peered through the events, looking for anything interesting to read. I stopped on an article about a local band playing at the legion, interested. It said it was this coming Thursday at four o’clock. I mentally noted I wanted to go to that and moved the now scattered paper aside to make room for an incoming dish.
Mom plopped the glass dish down in front of me. I ate it right up, smiling and enjoying every bit of it. “Thanks mom.” I managed to blurt out before gulping down my orange juice.
That day I decided to call Jared and see if he wanted to hang out with me. We hadn’t been speaking in God knows how long, and this couldn’t go on for very much longer. I couldn’t stand the nitpicking and the awkward moments that were now becoming us. He was my best friend and we both didn’t deserve this.
We walked back and forth down a road from the park to the beach in our winter coats, chatting. He talked about his side of the story, assuring me that it was nothing personal. Somehow I wanted to believe him, but something in his expression made him suspicious. Then I told my side of the story, mentioning how much he had truly hurt me with his utter rejection and betrayal, by letting those two other girls on and leaving me out. I tried to mask the hurt, but couldn’t ignore the pain building up on the inside. My throat bubbled up and stung a little, like it does before you cry. Jared turned toward me, and I looked to the ground, biting my lip.
“Were you really that hurt?” He asked, sincerely. I nodded. Tears flowed down and I couldn’t help myself this time. He grabbed me and held me. I cried into his winter coat.
“Why are you so sensitive?” He asked, still hugging me. I laughed, the contents of my nose probably shooting all over the place. I still loved him.
“You can let go of me now.” I laughed, pulling myself out from his arms.
He put his arm around my shoulder still, and we walked back toward the park.
“I’m really sorry. It’s just...” he started.
I turned to him. “Just what?” I asked.
He sighed. “I hope you won’t get mad about this.”
I smirked, interested in what he had to say. “Really, what could be worse than being rejected by your best friend?”
“Well, here’s the thing, it’s not exactly about us. It’s about...” he drifted off again.
“Okay. Who?” I asked, confused.
“It’s Pastor Dennis, Becca. There are so many rumors going around. What’s going on between you two? Why does he keep taking you out to eat and talking to you all the time? He never does this. He doesn’t take girls out to eat alone. Don’t you think it’s weird he keeps doing this?”
I stared back at him, incredulously. “What are you talking about? You know my situation. He’s just trying to help me, Jared.”
“I sure hope so. I don’t like what he’s doing. It’s weird.” He looked pretty serious then.
“So what your saying is, you don’t trust him? What’s so suspicious about him?” I eyed him, doubtful.
“If he views you as such a broken person, why wouldn’t he just leave you alone and let you heal on your own? Why does he need to get involved so intimately?” The questions were rolling off his tongue like rain off a windshield with Rain-X.
“You seem more jealous than anything.” I scoffed.
“I’m not jealous. You need to get your head on straight, though. Pay more attention to what he’s doing. He wouldn’t even come to watch us at music practice the other night. He usually does. ‘Said he needed to take a youth out and couldn’t make it.” He was getting angrier now.
I was very surprised. “How did you know it was me, though?”
“It’s not hard to figure out. It’s not like he hides anything.” Jared responded.
“So what are you saying; you don’t trust him anymore?” My voice was rising.
“Honestly, no. I’m thinking of quitting worship team too because of it. I don’t want anything to happen. I advise you to let him know that you’re not coming anymore too.” He was confident now, and spoke as if he had been thinking about this more than once, and that this was his final decision.
I couldn’t believe it. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You said it. I’m your best friend. I’m supposed to watch out for you.” He was like stone.
“Whatever. I’m not listening to you. There’s nothing wrong.” I folded my arms over my chest, stubbornly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Becca, if you don’t leave with me, I will make sure you don’t go. This is how I feel about this. I don’t think you get it.” He stopped walking when I stopped.
“Wow, are you mad?” I kept walking. I felt the anger pump through my body. He caught right up to me, quickly.
“I just don’t want anything to happen.” He said, more calmly now as we walked.
“I get it. I’ll let you know if anything does.” My voice was short.
We kept walking until we reached the park. We walked to the swings, brushing off the snow. We plopped down next to each other.
Jared was kind of quiet. Then he started changing the subject as best he could, but my anger was still boiling in me, growing more apparent with each pointless discussion, and my short replies. I felt very rude but I couldn’t help it.
Jared was silent again, and we swung aimlessly side to side on our swings, avoiding each other’s collision. Even though I was angry with him at the moment, it gradually drained. I knew deep down that there was some truth to what he was saying, but couldn’t put my finger on it. Jared was still my best friend either way, and I knew eventually there would be a total break between us if I didn’t listen to him. I didn’t want that to happen, either.
Jared drove me home and we listened to music on the radio. I looked out my window, enjoying the moment. It was sunset and the sky looked gorgeous. I wanted to take a picture, but didn’t have a camera with me.
One Saturday morning I woke up, quite pleased to be alive to be honest. I squeezed in two hours of extra sleep. This was going to be a great day!
I slipped on my slippers carefully, sighing as I retreated downstairs to my mom making breakfast.
“Morning mom,” I mumbled softly.
“Good morning sweetie,” she replied in her well-energized morning voice.
I smiled, feeling her enthusiasm. “What’s for breakfast today?” I peered over her shoulder.
“Pancakes and sausage.” She replied in harmony with my realization.
“Sounds good to me.” I was now cheerful. I picked up the morning paper and sat down with it at the table. I peered through the events, looking for anything interesting to read. I stopped on an article about a local band playing at the legion, interested. It said it was this coming Thursday at four o’clock. I mentally noted I wanted to go to that and moved the now scattered paper aside to make room for an incoming dish.
Mom plopped the glass dish down in front of me. I ate it right up, smiling and enjoying every bit of it. “Thanks mom.” I managed to blurt out before gulping down my orange juice.
That day I decided to call Jared and see if he wanted to hang out with me. We hadn’t been speaking in God knows how long, and this couldn’t go on for very much longer. I couldn’t stand the nitpicking and the awkward moments that were now becoming us. He was my best friend and we both didn’t deserve this.
We walked back and forth down a road from the park to the beach in our winter coats, chatting. He talked about his side of the story, assuring me that it was nothing personal. Somehow I wanted to believe him, but something in his expression made him suspicious. Then I told my side of the story, mentioning how much he had truly hurt me with his utter rejection and betrayal, by letting those two other girls on and leaving me out. I tried to mask the hurt, but couldn’t ignore the pain building up on the inside. My throat bubbled up and stung a little, like it does before you cry. Jared turned toward me, and I looked to the ground, biting my lip.
“Were you really that hurt?” He asked, sincerely. I nodded. Tears flowed down and I couldn’t help myself this time. He grabbed me and held me. I cried into his winter coat.
“Why are you so sensitive?” He asked, still hugging me. I laughed, the contents of my nose probably shooting all over the place. I still loved him.
“You can let go of me now.” I laughed, pulling myself out from his arms.
He put his arm around my shoulder still, and we walked back toward the park.
“I’m really sorry. It’s just...” he started.
I turned to him. “Just what?” I asked.
He sighed. “I hope you won’t get mad about this.”
I smirked, interested in what he had to say. “Really, what could be worse than being rejected by your best friend?”
“Well, here’s the thing, it’s not exactly about us. It’s about...” he drifted off again.
“Okay. Who?” I asked, confused.
“It’s Pastor Dennis, Becca. There are so many rumors going around. What’s going on between you two? Why does he keep taking you out to eat and talking to you all the time? He never does this. He doesn’t take girls out to eat alone. Don’t you think it’s weird he keeps doing this?”
I stared back at him, incredulously. “What are you talking about? You know my situation. He’s just trying to help me, Jared.”
“I sure hope so. I don’t like what he’s doing. It’s weird.” He looked pretty serious then.
“So what your saying is, you don’t trust him? What’s so suspicious about him?” I eyed him, doubtful.
“If he views you as such a broken person, why wouldn’t he just leave you alone and let you heal on your own? Why does he need to get involved so intimately?” The questions were rolling off his tongue like rain off a windshield with Rain-X.
“You seem more jealous than anything.” I scoffed.
“I’m not jealous. You need to get your head on straight, though. Pay more attention to what he’s doing. He wouldn’t even come to watch us at music practice the other night. He usually does. ‘Said he needed to take a youth out and couldn’t make it.” He was getting angrier now.
I was very surprised. “How did you know it was me, though?”
“It’s not hard to figure out. It’s not like he hides anything.” Jared responded.
“So what are you saying; you don’t trust him anymore?” My voice was rising.
“Honestly, no. I’m thinking of quitting worship team too because of it. I don’t want anything to happen. I advise you to let him know that you’re not coming anymore too.” He was confident now, and spoke as if he had been thinking about this more than once, and that this was his final decision.
I couldn’t believe it. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You said it. I’m your best friend. I’m supposed to watch out for you.” He was like stone.
“Whatever. I’m not listening to you. There’s nothing wrong.” I folded my arms over my chest, stubbornly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Becca, if you don’t leave with me, I will make sure you don’t go. This is how I feel about this. I don’t think you get it.” He stopped walking when I stopped.
“Wow, are you mad?” I kept walking. I felt the anger pump through my body. He caught right up to me, quickly.
“I just don’t want anything to happen.” He said, more calmly now as we walked.
“I get it. I’ll let you know if anything does.” My voice was short.
We kept walking until we reached the park. We walked to the swings, brushing off the snow. We plopped down next to each other.
Jared was kind of quiet. Then he started changing the subject as best he could, but my anger was still boiling in me, growing more apparent with each pointless discussion, and my short replies. I felt very rude but I couldn’t help it.
Jared was silent again, and we swung aimlessly side to side on our swings, avoiding each other’s collision. Even though I was angry with him at the moment, it gradually drained. I knew deep down that there was some truth to what he was saying, but couldn’t put my finger on it. Jared was still my best friend either way, and I knew eventually there would be a total break between us if I didn’t listen to him. I didn’t want that to happen, either.
Jared drove me home and we listened to music on the radio. I looked out my window, enjoying the moment. It was sunset and the sky looked gorgeous. I wanted to take a picture, but didn’t have a camera with me.
Audrey 43-46
Chapter 12.
Everything around Taryn was now a grey smear filling her peripheral vision. The only thing she saw were the feet under the garage door, slowly turning into legs. Time was moving too slowly. So many thoughts raced through Taryn’s mind until it was completely impossible to pick out a single one. She thought about running, but her feet wouldn’t budge. She thought about screaming for help, but who would hear? She thought about the consequences all these actions could have, and one in particular filled her with fear. Miranda could be dead, and doing something drastic might grant her the same fate.
The garage door rose in slow motion, revealing, inch by inch, the tattered clothes the person was wearing. The shirt was familiar, but Taryn couldn’t remember who had been wearing it. She stumbled back a few steps when she realized it could be him, coming to now hurt her.
Taryn’s eyes widened, absorbing the now visible scene in front of her. Miranda’s face was in so much pain, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Taryn followed Miranda’s shaking right arm with her eyes, until she abruptly stopped at her hand. Miranda’s hand was gripped so tightly around a knife her knuckles were slowly turning purple.
The knife wasn’t what scared Taryn the most; it was the fresh, red blood dripping from it. It hit the ground in small splatters, creating a puddle. Taryn couldn’t remove her eyes from the gruesome sight. What lay in the background was even worse. When Taryn forced herself to look, a large lump lay on the cold ground, with blood covering and surrounding it.
It was like the ending of a horror movie was being played in front of her. She didn’t know if it was real, and didn’t know how she should react. Miranda was motionless except for the uncontrollable spasms shaking her body. Taryn wanted to run over to her but the knife dangling from her iron grip wasn’t very inviting.
Taryn heard the sirens behind her and turned around to see a line of red and blue flashing lights approaching the house. The officers told Miranda to drop the knife, and she did. They ran up to her and noticed the mutilated body hunched over in the garage.
Miranda’s gaze wouldn’t disconnect with Taryn’s. Miranda looked so terrified, and Taryn could only imagine the thoughts filling her head. She had just done something Taryn thought only the psycho paths on television were capable of doing. Even though it was an awful thing to think, Taryn was glad Miranda had the guts to end this man’s life. If she hadn’t, they would probably both be dead now. Taryn felt the ground shaking beneath her, and her surroundings twisting into one big blur. Miranda had saved both of their lives, and she knew she wasn’t giving her enough credit.
The last thing Taryn remembered was an officer ask her if she was okay and some other questions she didn’t remember. She couldn’t recall what her answers had been, all she knew was she was now riding in the back of a police car. Her head was still spinning. What did they do with Miranda? She didn’t want to ask the officers, fearing what the answer might be.
The car pulled up to Taryn’s house all too slowly. The officer told her they’d call if they had anymore questions. Taryn flung open the door and stumbled onto her door step. In the same moment, she was resting in her mother’s arms. Taryn broke away after a few seconds and questioned her mother about where Miranda was.
The look on her mother’s face changed. It was no longer the look of relief it had been a few moments ago.
“Honey, she’s okay. She’s just not acting right.” Her mother said sounding concerned.
Everything around Taryn was now a grey smear filling her peripheral vision. The only thing she saw were the feet under the garage door, slowly turning into legs. Time was moving too slowly. So many thoughts raced through Taryn’s mind until it was completely impossible to pick out a single one. She thought about running, but her feet wouldn’t budge. She thought about screaming for help, but who would hear? She thought about the consequences all these actions could have, and one in particular filled her with fear. Miranda could be dead, and doing something drastic might grant her the same fate.
The garage door rose in slow motion, revealing, inch by inch, the tattered clothes the person was wearing. The shirt was familiar, but Taryn couldn’t remember who had been wearing it. She stumbled back a few steps when she realized it could be him, coming to now hurt her.
Taryn’s eyes widened, absorbing the now visible scene in front of her. Miranda’s face was in so much pain, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Taryn followed Miranda’s shaking right arm with her eyes, until she abruptly stopped at her hand. Miranda’s hand was gripped so tightly around a knife her knuckles were slowly turning purple.
The knife wasn’t what scared Taryn the most; it was the fresh, red blood dripping from it. It hit the ground in small splatters, creating a puddle. Taryn couldn’t remove her eyes from the gruesome sight. What lay in the background was even worse. When Taryn forced herself to look, a large lump lay on the cold ground, with blood covering and surrounding it.
It was like the ending of a horror movie was being played in front of her. She didn’t know if it was real, and didn’t know how she should react. Miranda was motionless except for the uncontrollable spasms shaking her body. Taryn wanted to run over to her but the knife dangling from her iron grip wasn’t very inviting.
Taryn heard the sirens behind her and turned around to see a line of red and blue flashing lights approaching the house. The officers told Miranda to drop the knife, and she did. They ran up to her and noticed the mutilated body hunched over in the garage.
Miranda’s gaze wouldn’t disconnect with Taryn’s. Miranda looked so terrified, and Taryn could only imagine the thoughts filling her head. She had just done something Taryn thought only the psycho paths on television were capable of doing. Even though it was an awful thing to think, Taryn was glad Miranda had the guts to end this man’s life. If she hadn’t, they would probably both be dead now. Taryn felt the ground shaking beneath her, and her surroundings twisting into one big blur. Miranda had saved both of their lives, and she knew she wasn’t giving her enough credit.
The last thing Taryn remembered was an officer ask her if she was okay and some other questions she didn’t remember. She couldn’t recall what her answers had been, all she knew was she was now riding in the back of a police car. Her head was still spinning. What did they do with Miranda? She didn’t want to ask the officers, fearing what the answer might be.
The car pulled up to Taryn’s house all too slowly. The officer told her they’d call if they had anymore questions. Taryn flung open the door and stumbled onto her door step. In the same moment, she was resting in her mother’s arms. Taryn broke away after a few seconds and questioned her mother about where Miranda was.
The look on her mother’s face changed. It was no longer the look of relief it had been a few moments ago.
“Honey, she’s okay. She’s just not acting right.” Her mother said sounding concerned.
Shelby- injections ending
“It’s not every day that you witness an unmarried couple stay with each other for seventeen years,” Ron said to her after a while.
Sometimes not even married couples stay together for that long. Over 50,000 couples in New York alone split up each year, which is a lot when you think about it.
“Lust can drive men to do many things, Dr. Collins,” She replied, looking at her hands, “I think it’s sad that my mother’s fate ended up the way it did. She’d be able to lie next to a man she loved every night with a clean conscience had she chosen my real dad.”
“Well, she did lie with him didn’t she?” He asked.
“Sadly yes,” Cayluh replied, “It was after Christopher and my mother got married though. They spent a week long honeymoon in Hawaii and the minute it was over, Christopher received a page demanding he come back to work. So while my mother sat at home, hours went by until he came home. Sadly, every day after that was the same way. Over another year of devotion to him, my mom discovered some things about Christopher. He wanted children more than anything else in the world. She did not because it would ruin her figure. What my mother didn’t know is what he wanted most was something he could never have because of a genetic disorder. He was the only one in his family to get it directly.
“Another sad thing is my mother ‘miraculously’ got pregnant and I popped out nine months later. A shock to everyone I might add. My grandmother almost had a heart-attack.”
“Because they thought your father had successfully produced a child?” Ron asked.
“No, because my mom actually went full term rather than get an abortion. Christopher wouldn’t let her do the latter.”
“Why not?”
“He thought that I was his child. Oh, you can just imagine the excitement he felt when he found out my mom was pregnant.”
“Does he dream about that, too?” He asked.
“No,” She replied, smiling a bit, “When my mom called up her mother, Grandma raced down here before Christopher even knew and filmed his reaction to the happy news. I watch the video a lot.”
“Why is that?” Ron asked, noticing sadness in her last sentence.
Cayluh looked out the window again, “I think that the only time my,” she lifted up her fingers for air-quotes, “Dad ever felt any sort of love towards me is when I was still in my mothers stomach. Through those months, my mother’s mom lived with them, filming from time to time. Christopher was always by mom’s side, rubbing her stomach in affection and telling her how much he loved her and how great of a miracle it was.”
“That’s nice of him,” Ron said, wishing he could be that way with Sophie.
What Cayluh noticed and what he didn’t is that his tone went quickly from curious to remorseful. In the silence that followed, he couldn’t remember a time ever touching Sophie while she was pregnant except for when she carried the first baby. Sophie felt his distance, too but in an understanding way, she accepted it. It all of a sudden seemed strange to him how such a small, un-born thing that usually brings couples together, could push them apart so quickly. In nine, short months, the little person growing inside of Sophie had taken their relationship from loving and warm to cold and anxious.
Cayluh sensed the subject was getting touchy, “We can talk about something else if you want to doctor.”
“No,” Ron said hastily, ripping away from his thoughts, “I want to know more. When did he figure out that you weren’t his?”
She hesitated, afraid of pushing his boundaries, “When I was born, a head of brown, thick locks shocked him. That‘s when he knew. There was just no chance that she could get pregnant from an infertile man and have strange genetics that neither side of the family possessed. All were blonde and cold looking creatures whereas I’m not.”
Cayluh thought back to that memory Christopher shared with her un-knowingly. Not a day went by when he looked at her with affection. He never touched her hair in a fatherly way or picked her up off the ground when she tripped. All her life, Cayluh assumed that’s how all fathers acted, cold and distant. Only when she went to Lisa’s house for the first time in second grade did she realize how wrong she was. Welcomed with a package of Oreo’s, a jar of peanut butter and the sight of Lisa’s father placing a kiss on her head confused little Cayluh and filled her with a longing, dreadful emotion.
“Why does your daddy treat you like that?” Cayluh asked Lisa one day in third grade.
“Like what?” Lisa replied, smothering an Oreo with peanut butter.
She stuffed the sticky treat inside of her mouth and smacked to release her tongue from the goo that plastered it to her jaws. To Cayluh, she looked like a fish out of water.
“He gives you kisses and cookies and takes you to the park on Saturdays and tells you that he loves you,” Cayluh replied.
“That’s what daddies are supposed to do silly,” Lisa said, scraping the filling out from between another cookie with her teeth once she had swallowed the previous one.
Lisa thought little of what Cayluh was saying.
“Don’t you want any more?” She spoke again, offering Cayluh the package.
“No,” Cayluh said, deep in sadness and confusion, “My tummy hurts.”
When Christopher picked her up that day, Cayluh sat buckled down onto the front seat in a usual silence staring out the window. While her mouth said nothing, her mind screamed questions at her father. It’s a shame that he couldn’t hear her. If he could, he would have heard a desperate child crying out for love that she was foreign to. He would have heard a small girl crying out for her daddy, something that he couldn’t give her. He would have felt the desire to treat her like his own child, and even though he never could, he would have tried. Christopher would have felt the pain and desperation she experienced every time she saw Mr. May put Lisa up on his shoulders or make her laugh at the smallest things. He would have heard her asking “why?” continuously. Could he give her the proper answer? One a toddler could understand?
While he focused to look through the snow that burst against the windows, her silence told him nothing and he did not ask.
“Beside the way I look, I act nothing like them. I guess that‘s beside the point though I need to hurry though because we have little time left and my story is far from being over,” Cayluh said, looking up from her retention.
“Do finish then please,” Ron replied, pulling his arm out to get the sleeve edge higher on his wrist.
Ink and white dress shirts did not mix well.
Cayluh paused and gathered all of her thoughts together before she spoke. This was going to be hard to explain and all the more difficult to grasp.
“You’ve heard of the Special Forces?” She asked Ron as he scribble down more things, “That branch of the military where soldiers do amazing things that require only the most special training, hence the name?”
“Yes,” He replied.
“Well, there’s one more separate branch in there that no one really knows about called ‘Testing and Analysis’ where scientists come up with many weird things to try an enhance human power,” She paused again while he wrote this down, “A large number of special doctors worked for hours at a time for many years to usually only come up with one concoction of failure. Shortcomings that resulted in a waste of money as well as soldiers. Many were paralyzed by these ‘drugs’ that came in a series of injections and some even resulted in death. Depending on what it was, men could wait months at a time with nothing and then unexpectedly the side effects kick in. They took the best of each branch and tested different things on them all at the same time. A Navy Seal named Jacob White was given a serum that was supposed to raise his white blood count as well as platelets and clotting proteins to make wounds heal faster. This was just a simple test, something that they thought would never go wrong. Nothing did go wrong because nothing happened. They tested everything like where it could have gone and why it didn’t work and after many blood tests, they could find nothing. Eventually they deemed it a failure and the file was tucked away.
“The next man in line was William Amoretto, a pilot in the air force. These injections were supposed to enhance his fight or flight response, making him extremely powerful, strong and quick to think and react. Again, a failure followed. James Beaufort, a Coast Guard was another experiment along with Mitchell Harris who was in the Army. Both yet another failure. For some reason, they saved what seemed like the most impossible for my father. This injection was one that was supposed to expand the info bits of the mind to a point where they pulsed out sonar waves. Like bats, sound would come back to them that was supposed to be in the form of thoughts. Immediately, a person could be so overcome with such thoughts that they feel as though they are one with the person whose head they are reading from. I know from experience that it takes many years to get your mind used to deciphering the thoughts and getting sucked into a person‘s body. It took many years to get the muscles of my info bits strong enough to get used to pumping out waves in steady amounts and when to know enough is enough.
“This series of injections was, to the scientists, the most important. With the use of brain-transmitted sonar waves, the doctors thought that, if a success came from this one, secrets would be revealed of terrorists and other enemies conspiring against the country. This one took the longest to ‘perfect’. Although the other ones were hard to make as well, scientists slaved over this serum more than any of the fellow chemicals, feeling as though it’d be the end of war and death of the innocent.
“Much to their disappointment, all were unsuccessful. There seemed to be nothing close to achievement or anything to show for the years of hard work and money these scientists put into creating the experimental drugs. Unfortunately, they skipped one very important test which seems very insufficient and stupid to me for such experienced men.”
“And what test would that be?” Ron asked, leaning on the edge of the chair.
“DNA samples. See, at the beginning they did that to test for different diseases, but they found it unnecessary to re-test when the lab rats were set free. Had they done these tests, they would have found a glitch in the comparison between the old and new DNA strands. They would have found out that these serums did not affect the carrier at all but rather laced itself permanently into his gene structure,” She said.
“So, whatever they gave to your dad has now been passed onto you?” Ron asked.
Could something like this really be possible? How could they have been working on such a huge project for so long and none of it being released to the public? Did brain waves really have a way of working like that? Could info bits reach to that big of a size that they have a mind of their own? A heart and voice as well?
“Yes, and a little will probably be passed on to my children and their children’s children,” Cayluh replied.
The doc leaned back in his chair as he felt shock and disbelief settle into his stomach. It was remarkable. She knew way too much to be lying about this.
“How did they manage to grow the info bits that big though? There’s no possible way--”
“I have no idea,” she replied, “These men were genius chemists that could probably cure cancer and AIDS if they really worked on it. I saw a lot of chemical formulas floating around in their heads all the time. They dreamed about them. These injections haunted them for years. They all sensed that they missed something, one small little thing, but could never place what it was or admit to it. Dr. Reno even went back to check and I have a feeling that she’ll figure it out eventually. I’m not sure when that will be or how she’ll react, but I guess I’ll find out one day.”
“Do you know whether the other experiments had children as well?” Ron asked.
“I know that Commander White is living happily in Nevada with his wife and three kids. He was on the news a few days ago for receiving a purple heart. He’s going to retire soon, before his oldest goes to high school.” She replied.
“And the other three?”
“No idea. They must have,” Cayluh smiled, “All were very handsome.”
A silence followed yet again. A long one. The silence was comfortable this time. Cayluh was back to her painting, Ron wrapping his brain around this and the possibility of it all. Science really was amazing. Although it made him kind of mad that after all this time they couldn’t have come up with a cure for really special diseases, it boggled his mind that they had been able to conjure up something as advanced as this. So many great minds coming together and making a discovery that’s actually useful. Not one that involved two years of questioning why pregnant women didn’t fall over when they stood up.
Then he remembered something.
“So what ever happened after you got sent to the principal’s office?” He asked.
She looked up, “Huh?”
“When you were shooting everyone with an invisible gun and got sent to Principal Trakis’ office?”
“Oh! I forgot that I never finished that story,” She laughed.
“I went to principal’s office. I always hated defying teachers because they were, after all, adults and way more experienced than I. Therefore, I always respected and tried to stay out of trouble as much as I could. When I showed up and Principal Trakis’ though, he out of nowhere he started lecturing me on my behavior and how ever since the beginning of this year, it’s become unacceptable. ‘What happened to the good Cayluh?’ he asked, ‘The one who always brought ham and cheese sandwiches her ninth grade year and was excited about school?’ I can’t quote every little thing he said but that’s basically what took up the first twenty minutes of our visit. I don’t remember ever not being excited about school though. I liked getting out of the house for ten hours every day. It was refreshing. The funny thing is that I said nothing the entire time and just listened, silently disagreeing in my head and correcting him on grammar mistakes. Then my hands started shaking again.
“’Oh God,’ were the first words that ran through my mind, ‘Again?’ Never had it happened twice in one day which scared me. What was happening? Trying to make my eyes calm as I looked into his, I sat on my fingers, palm against the seat of the chair. The agony of waiting in expectancy didn’t last long. The transition happened a lot sooner than the last one and the ink splotch spread like a wild-fire over my vision.
“Each wing in our school is painted a different color including the bathrooms, walls, lockers, and everything else you can think of. Desks, chairs you name it. Very elementary I know, but in this situation it helped out. The English wing was painted entirely green making it simple to pinpoint where I was at. I was in the bathroom by my homeroom, looking into the blue eyes of a stranger in my gym class. A girl who used to not be such a stranger to me. One that I helped with a science project almost two years ago. What was she doing in here? I thought. I mean she wasn’t doing anything. Usually girls go into the bathroom to fix their hair and make-up but Lisa was just staring. Her mind told me many things though. In the purse that her left hand rested protectively on, was a small vial of un-nameable drugs all mixed together. She planned on taking the whole thing, not knowing how much was even in the vial. Neither did I or the girl that sold it to her. What the idiot dealer also didn’t know is that mixing drugs, no matter what the dosage, could be lethal.”
Cayluh’s voice became dry sounding when she said lethal.
“Lisa’s black purse was on the green commode beside her, the fluorescent lights making her look ill, giving a pale tint to her skin and greenish circles underneath her eyes. I watched, nestled in her mind as she picked up that purse and rummaged through it. I felt panic when she couldn’t find what she was looking for and then relief when her fingers closed around a cold glass cylinder. A sigh escaped her lips as she pulled out a small glass vial and syringe encased in a plastic bag. Was she a first time user? I asked myself, still in her mind. If so, how could I have not been able to tell? Weren’t best friends supposed to be like kindred spirits or something? They could tell when a friend was in serious trouble, isn’t that how it worked?
“She set the purse slowly on the counter of the sink. Reluctance. What was she doing? I thought again, fear making my heart beat in my body almost four hundred feet away from the bathroom. She stared into the mirror again, Just do it Lisa. Just do it. She was reassuring herself? Amanda said it’d be fun. You’ll never know until you try. You need a distraction anyway. I couldn’t believe this. She picked up the paraphernalia and wiped the tip off with her shirt.”
Ron stared in amazement at Cayluh. She was up off of her chair now, the emotion pouring down her face reflected in the way she was speaking. Her eyes were focused on something behind him and pure pain was scribbled all over her face. The memory had possessed her.
“I wanted so bad to jump from her head and shake her, tell her to stop. Tell her that she didn’t need to. I longed to kill Amanda for telling her that load of bull, especially since she knew Lisa was gullible, almost as if she was trying to kill her. Instead, I sat there, watching in horror as she whispered to herself, trying to sound convincing. It was then that I remembered the pain she was going through. Her father had died just a month ago from an allergic reaction to some drugs he took,” Cayluh paused to wipe her face and nose, “And his smiling face flashed through her thoughts probably twenty times in five seconds. It always went from grinning and healthy, the man I remember, to color-less and decayed, worms gnawing through his flesh. The image made me want to puke as well as the thought that Lisa had sunk this low to escape her sorrows.
“So, while looking in the mirror, she tied off her arm with an elastic band while I silently screamed at her to stop. You don’t need this Lisa, I shouted, I can help you if you just talk to me again. She listened to her pulse for a moment, memorizing it‘s loud beat, but my voice was could not be heard. No matter how much I pushed or willed, she would not listen to me and would not to let me go back to my body. I refused to let my screaming subside even though it was impossible if she could hear me and mistake me for her conscience. Even when I felt my hands attached to my body cover my eyes, as if it would help, I screamed. Lisa couldn’t do this to herself. Especially because the amount in that vial seemed like a lot more than a normal dose.
“The plunge of the needle was sharp. She shoved it in right at the crook of her elbow and slowly pushed the rich drug into a large blue vein that ran down her arm. Then she waited.” Cayluh paused again.
Her hands were trembling, but not in the “snap” way. Soft shakes, fearful shakes, remorseful shakes, shivers of a painful memory destroying a person from the inside out. Her green eyes were spewing tears and heart was beating loud enough for Ron to hear. He was paralyzed. There was no way she could be faking this. His pen stopped scribbling. When the scratch of the ballpoint was halted, there was complete silence in the room. The CD that had once spun quickly around in the boom box earlier had been played through and stopped some time ago. Only then did Ron notice how burdening the quiet was. The extinguished sound lurked in the air for what seemed like years when Cayluh finally spoke again.
“Then one heart beat after another grew softer and softer,” She put a hand over where the heart would be and tapped out how slow the tempo was, her finger taking more and more time to tap with every strike.
“Her breathing slowed down to where it hardly felt like she was inhaling. Indescribable pleasure and heat enveloped her after a few minutes. She had never felt so happy in her life and even I have to admit that it felt unrealistically delicious. All fear, anguish, and feeling simply evaporated into a mask of ecstasy. Her eyes fluttered and she let out a noisy sigh, a happy middle between a breath heaving out of your body and a moan. A moan that came from somewhere deep within her. This mixture was magic, a potion to halt all that causes you trouble in a temporary and deceiving state. Shivers ran up her spine from how good this trip felt, better than anything she’d ever experience. The bliss was so over-powering that she didn’t even notice her stomach give a strange flip and acidic material filling her mouth.
“The burn of the stomach acid was so vague and dull compared to everything else that even as death closed around her, the happiness remained. This close to perfect alleviation did not fail her at all as she was pulled by Death to wade in that black abyss. Just try it, he told her as she went knee-deep, lungs not seeming to work as well as they did a few minutes ago. Waist deep, brain’s scream for oxygen was muffled by the ring of elation pulsing in her veins, killing her. Shoulder deep and she succumbed to Death‘s temptation. The minute her head went beneath that inky pool, I snapped back.
“I was Cayluh again, lying on Principal Trakis’ floor. He was looking down at me, a look that was flooding over with fear. What are you doing? He asked me as I got up. My mind registered its surroundings slower than I‘d imagined it to. I was in the Principal’s office because of Mrs. Trakiss, who was in no relation to Principal Trakis because I had snapped into a psycho killer’s body. Principal Trakis’ passive-aggressive behavior is extremely annoying. I should point this out to him just to piss him off. Lisa may be dying in the bathroom,” Cayluh paused, refusing to let her voice crack.
“I had to have been out for a while, screaming and flailing around on the thin carpeting that blanketed the cramped quarters. Looking back, I kind of feel bad for the teachers who had to deal with my nonsense. I was not thinking of that at all at the time though. The only thing I could think of was Lisa and her small frame crumpled on the floor. So I picked up my feet and ran as fast as I could to the English wing bathroom, Principal Trakis huffing and puffing behind me as he tried to keep up. A blur of colors went by me but I still felt like I could not pass them fast enough. My legs were burning and lungs heaving in desperation, yet it seemed like no distance was being covered at all. Kind of like running through water.
“The red of the math wing floated slowly by me, as well as the yellow for science and purple for history. Even when the green came into view I did not slow down, trying to force my legs to go faster, faster, faster, even if it meant running them off of my body. My feet flew over the floor in a panicked flurry. It felt like a lifetime had gone by before I finally felt my hands press against the green plastic door of the bathroom. When it swung open, the stench of vomit met my nose and made my eyes water immediately. It was over-powering, as if she’d puked up every content in her body and it was decaying fast as lightening on the tile. I couldn’t see Lisa clearly. The smell was horrible. Her head was faced toward the ceiling and vomit was streaming out the sides of her blue mouth, caking the corner of her lips.
“I took in the sight of her slowly. Through the blur of tears that were now the result of sadness and not the smell, I saw the black lump on the tile. Despite the puke streaming through the cracks of the floor, she looked peaceful and there was a small smile on her face. A fog settled around her as I registered that she would never walk through the halls again. Lisa would never graduate high school and be the art teacher she dreamed of being as a career. She would never smile again, laugh again, or be there for me to look at and wonder why she never spoke to me after that one last incident. I would never have the chance to ask. I would never have peaceful dreams with her in them. I would never see her again.
“Blinking, I rushed over to her, dropping to my knees over her body. I picked up her limp wrist and checked for a pulse, nothing. I shoved my finger into her carotid artery, no beat beneath her skin. So I reached my finger into her mouth and tried getting all the vomit out, wiping her lips with my jacket. When most of it was clean, from what I could tell, I pressed my mouth down on hers and urged her to breathe. In the background I heard Principal Trakis talking urgently to someone, probably by phone. I pressed up on her ribs where some guys hit to knock the wind out of each other and continued this process. Only when the medics showed up, after how long I do not know, did I know it was hopeless. Lisa was dead.”
Ron looked up at Cayluh, her face dripping with affliction and misery. Slowly, he set his pen down and walked over to her. She looked up at him and wrapped her arms around his torso before he could move first. There was desperation in the way she clung to him. The anguish and frustration she’d kept pent up for so many years was finally breaking through. Tears seeped into the fibers of a 300 dollar suit and sobs shook the both of them. He didn’t care though. Was this how it’d be when his un-born baby girl turned seventeen? Would she long to be wrapped up like this by him when she went through heartache?
Cayluh wondered why she was blubbering so bad. She had shed few tears for Lisa’s death and wasn’t even invited to her funeral. It didn’t make sense for the story to end in such a woeful state.
The embrace didn’t last long. It only took a few minutes for her to calm down. After that short time had gone by, she was close to being back to normal and sitting back in her chair. Leaning again over the canvas, Ron picked up his notepad again and scribbled down the last few events. Cayluh was hunched back over again, the brush caressing the tough material of the paper.
“I’ve been working on this since yesterday,” she said, her voice a little scratchy from exhaustion, “Tell me what you think.”
After a few final, long strokes, she rolled the painting up and put it in a metal case, not showing him her final masterpiece. He took the container and she looked up at him.
“Whatever you do with all that you wrote is not up to me, but just know one thing,” she said, walking back to the easel and pushing the strangling man off of it to the floor, “I will always know what you’re up to.”
Her back was to him now, a signal that he was allowed to exit. Turning around, he left the room in a solemn state, his life not feeling as though it was changed forever. His feet hit the carpet stairs softly as he descended, admiring the detail of the home again. Everything was so orderly and neat as a pin, it was remarkable. Even though the cleanliness could make a person feel nauseated at times. The weather outside was lovely. Leaves of gold and honey were floating from the arms of trees out of sync, but in and underlying harmony. He stepped onto the back porch and looked to where his car was parked. There was a chill tingeing the air. Autumn was on its way. New changes were coming. An awaited life was yet to be lived.
The car sat there lonely. The gravel crunched beneath him as he walked to the vehicle. Opening the car door, he revved the engine and turned the heat on. Placing his briefcase and gift from Cayluh on the passenger seat, he gripped the steering wheel preparing to drive home. His feet didn’t seem to be receiving the messages from his mind though for they stood as still as stone. His fingertips tingled with curiosity as he reached over and pulled the canvas from the protective case. Unrolling it from the bindings, he looked in awe at Cayluh’s masterpiece.
There were drops of rain spotting the picture everywhere. Each of those drops had small little details in them that added definition and a unique quality to the piece. The color those beads of perspiration lay upon was a deep purple, the endless abyss of night-time. While this color and artistic ability might hypnotize a looker alone, it’s the person that was in that canvas that put Ron in a trance.
Sophie was off to the right corner of the painting, brown curls wildly framing her heart-shaped face and cheeks pink with a cold flush. Blue eyes were wide with innocence and rosy lips plump, awaiting a kiss. The eyes were what reeled him in though. Every little glint was exactly how they’d been that night before he went to college, every beautiful fleck of underlying tones that made the ocean in her eyes. Love swelled in his heart.
At that moment, happiness flooded a gray soul with color and for the first time in a little less than a year, he could not wait
Sometimes not even married couples stay together for that long. Over 50,000 couples in New York alone split up each year, which is a lot when you think about it.
“Lust can drive men to do many things, Dr. Collins,” She replied, looking at her hands, “I think it’s sad that my mother’s fate ended up the way it did. She’d be able to lie next to a man she loved every night with a clean conscience had she chosen my real dad.”
“Well, she did lie with him didn’t she?” He asked.
“Sadly yes,” Cayluh replied, “It was after Christopher and my mother got married though. They spent a week long honeymoon in Hawaii and the minute it was over, Christopher received a page demanding he come back to work. So while my mother sat at home, hours went by until he came home. Sadly, every day after that was the same way. Over another year of devotion to him, my mom discovered some things about Christopher. He wanted children more than anything else in the world. She did not because it would ruin her figure. What my mother didn’t know is what he wanted most was something he could never have because of a genetic disorder. He was the only one in his family to get it directly.
“Another sad thing is my mother ‘miraculously’ got pregnant and I popped out nine months later. A shock to everyone I might add. My grandmother almost had a heart-attack.”
“Because they thought your father had successfully produced a child?” Ron asked.
“No, because my mom actually went full term rather than get an abortion. Christopher wouldn’t let her do the latter.”
“Why not?”
“He thought that I was his child. Oh, you can just imagine the excitement he felt when he found out my mom was pregnant.”
“Does he dream about that, too?” He asked.
“No,” She replied, smiling a bit, “When my mom called up her mother, Grandma raced down here before Christopher even knew and filmed his reaction to the happy news. I watch the video a lot.”
“Why is that?” Ron asked, noticing sadness in her last sentence.
Cayluh looked out the window again, “I think that the only time my,” she lifted up her fingers for air-quotes, “Dad ever felt any sort of love towards me is when I was still in my mothers stomach. Through those months, my mother’s mom lived with them, filming from time to time. Christopher was always by mom’s side, rubbing her stomach in affection and telling her how much he loved her and how great of a miracle it was.”
“That’s nice of him,” Ron said, wishing he could be that way with Sophie.
What Cayluh noticed and what he didn’t is that his tone went quickly from curious to remorseful. In the silence that followed, he couldn’t remember a time ever touching Sophie while she was pregnant except for when she carried the first baby. Sophie felt his distance, too but in an understanding way, she accepted it. It all of a sudden seemed strange to him how such a small, un-born thing that usually brings couples together, could push them apart so quickly. In nine, short months, the little person growing inside of Sophie had taken their relationship from loving and warm to cold and anxious.
Cayluh sensed the subject was getting touchy, “We can talk about something else if you want to doctor.”
“No,” Ron said hastily, ripping away from his thoughts, “I want to know more. When did he figure out that you weren’t his?”
She hesitated, afraid of pushing his boundaries, “When I was born, a head of brown, thick locks shocked him. That‘s when he knew. There was just no chance that she could get pregnant from an infertile man and have strange genetics that neither side of the family possessed. All were blonde and cold looking creatures whereas I’m not.”
Cayluh thought back to that memory Christopher shared with her un-knowingly. Not a day went by when he looked at her with affection. He never touched her hair in a fatherly way or picked her up off the ground when she tripped. All her life, Cayluh assumed that’s how all fathers acted, cold and distant. Only when she went to Lisa’s house for the first time in second grade did she realize how wrong she was. Welcomed with a package of Oreo’s, a jar of peanut butter and the sight of Lisa’s father placing a kiss on her head confused little Cayluh and filled her with a longing, dreadful emotion.
“Why does your daddy treat you like that?” Cayluh asked Lisa one day in third grade.
“Like what?” Lisa replied, smothering an Oreo with peanut butter.
She stuffed the sticky treat inside of her mouth and smacked to release her tongue from the goo that plastered it to her jaws. To Cayluh, she looked like a fish out of water.
“He gives you kisses and cookies and takes you to the park on Saturdays and tells you that he loves you,” Cayluh replied.
“That’s what daddies are supposed to do silly,” Lisa said, scraping the filling out from between another cookie with her teeth once she had swallowed the previous one.
Lisa thought little of what Cayluh was saying.
“Don’t you want any more?” She spoke again, offering Cayluh the package.
“No,” Cayluh said, deep in sadness and confusion, “My tummy hurts.”
When Christopher picked her up that day, Cayluh sat buckled down onto the front seat in a usual silence staring out the window. While her mouth said nothing, her mind screamed questions at her father. It’s a shame that he couldn’t hear her. If he could, he would have heard a desperate child crying out for love that she was foreign to. He would have heard a small girl crying out for her daddy, something that he couldn’t give her. He would have felt the desire to treat her like his own child, and even though he never could, he would have tried. Christopher would have felt the pain and desperation she experienced every time she saw Mr. May put Lisa up on his shoulders or make her laugh at the smallest things. He would have heard her asking “why?” continuously. Could he give her the proper answer? One a toddler could understand?
While he focused to look through the snow that burst against the windows, her silence told him nothing and he did not ask.
“Beside the way I look, I act nothing like them. I guess that‘s beside the point though I need to hurry though because we have little time left and my story is far from being over,” Cayluh said, looking up from her retention.
“Do finish then please,” Ron replied, pulling his arm out to get the sleeve edge higher on his wrist.
Ink and white dress shirts did not mix well.
Cayluh paused and gathered all of her thoughts together before she spoke. This was going to be hard to explain and all the more difficult to grasp.
“You’ve heard of the Special Forces?” She asked Ron as he scribble down more things, “That branch of the military where soldiers do amazing things that require only the most special training, hence the name?”
“Yes,” He replied.
“Well, there’s one more separate branch in there that no one really knows about called ‘Testing and Analysis’ where scientists come up with many weird things to try an enhance human power,” She paused again while he wrote this down, “A large number of special doctors worked for hours at a time for many years to usually only come up with one concoction of failure. Shortcomings that resulted in a waste of money as well as soldiers. Many were paralyzed by these ‘drugs’ that came in a series of injections and some even resulted in death. Depending on what it was, men could wait months at a time with nothing and then unexpectedly the side effects kick in. They took the best of each branch and tested different things on them all at the same time. A Navy Seal named Jacob White was given a serum that was supposed to raise his white blood count as well as platelets and clotting proteins to make wounds heal faster. This was just a simple test, something that they thought would never go wrong. Nothing did go wrong because nothing happened. They tested everything like where it could have gone and why it didn’t work and after many blood tests, they could find nothing. Eventually they deemed it a failure and the file was tucked away.
“The next man in line was William Amoretto, a pilot in the air force. These injections were supposed to enhance his fight or flight response, making him extremely powerful, strong and quick to think and react. Again, a failure followed. James Beaufort, a Coast Guard was another experiment along with Mitchell Harris who was in the Army. Both yet another failure. For some reason, they saved what seemed like the most impossible for my father. This injection was one that was supposed to expand the info bits of the mind to a point where they pulsed out sonar waves. Like bats, sound would come back to them that was supposed to be in the form of thoughts. Immediately, a person could be so overcome with such thoughts that they feel as though they are one with the person whose head they are reading from. I know from experience that it takes many years to get your mind used to deciphering the thoughts and getting sucked into a person‘s body. It took many years to get the muscles of my info bits strong enough to get used to pumping out waves in steady amounts and when to know enough is enough.
“This series of injections was, to the scientists, the most important. With the use of brain-transmitted sonar waves, the doctors thought that, if a success came from this one, secrets would be revealed of terrorists and other enemies conspiring against the country. This one took the longest to ‘perfect’. Although the other ones were hard to make as well, scientists slaved over this serum more than any of the fellow chemicals, feeling as though it’d be the end of war and death of the innocent.
“Much to their disappointment, all were unsuccessful. There seemed to be nothing close to achievement or anything to show for the years of hard work and money these scientists put into creating the experimental drugs. Unfortunately, they skipped one very important test which seems very insufficient and stupid to me for such experienced men.”
“And what test would that be?” Ron asked, leaning on the edge of the chair.
“DNA samples. See, at the beginning they did that to test for different diseases, but they found it unnecessary to re-test when the lab rats were set free. Had they done these tests, they would have found a glitch in the comparison between the old and new DNA strands. They would have found out that these serums did not affect the carrier at all but rather laced itself permanently into his gene structure,” She said.
“So, whatever they gave to your dad has now been passed onto you?” Ron asked.
Could something like this really be possible? How could they have been working on such a huge project for so long and none of it being released to the public? Did brain waves really have a way of working like that? Could info bits reach to that big of a size that they have a mind of their own? A heart and voice as well?
“Yes, and a little will probably be passed on to my children and their children’s children,” Cayluh replied.
The doc leaned back in his chair as he felt shock and disbelief settle into his stomach. It was remarkable. She knew way too much to be lying about this.
“How did they manage to grow the info bits that big though? There’s no possible way--”
“I have no idea,” she replied, “These men were genius chemists that could probably cure cancer and AIDS if they really worked on it. I saw a lot of chemical formulas floating around in their heads all the time. They dreamed about them. These injections haunted them for years. They all sensed that they missed something, one small little thing, but could never place what it was or admit to it. Dr. Reno even went back to check and I have a feeling that she’ll figure it out eventually. I’m not sure when that will be or how she’ll react, but I guess I’ll find out one day.”
“Do you know whether the other experiments had children as well?” Ron asked.
“I know that Commander White is living happily in Nevada with his wife and three kids. He was on the news a few days ago for receiving a purple heart. He’s going to retire soon, before his oldest goes to high school.” She replied.
“And the other three?”
“No idea. They must have,” Cayluh smiled, “All were very handsome.”
A silence followed yet again. A long one. The silence was comfortable this time. Cayluh was back to her painting, Ron wrapping his brain around this and the possibility of it all. Science really was amazing. Although it made him kind of mad that after all this time they couldn’t have come up with a cure for really special diseases, it boggled his mind that they had been able to conjure up something as advanced as this. So many great minds coming together and making a discovery that’s actually useful. Not one that involved two years of questioning why pregnant women didn’t fall over when they stood up.
Then he remembered something.
“So what ever happened after you got sent to the principal’s office?” He asked.
She looked up, “Huh?”
“When you were shooting everyone with an invisible gun and got sent to Principal Trakis’ office?”
“Oh! I forgot that I never finished that story,” She laughed.
“I went to principal’s office. I always hated defying teachers because they were, after all, adults and way more experienced than I. Therefore, I always respected and tried to stay out of trouble as much as I could. When I showed up and Principal Trakis’ though, he out of nowhere he started lecturing me on my behavior and how ever since the beginning of this year, it’s become unacceptable. ‘What happened to the good Cayluh?’ he asked, ‘The one who always brought ham and cheese sandwiches her ninth grade year and was excited about school?’ I can’t quote every little thing he said but that’s basically what took up the first twenty minutes of our visit. I don’t remember ever not being excited about school though. I liked getting out of the house for ten hours every day. It was refreshing. The funny thing is that I said nothing the entire time and just listened, silently disagreeing in my head and correcting him on grammar mistakes. Then my hands started shaking again.
“’Oh God,’ were the first words that ran through my mind, ‘Again?’ Never had it happened twice in one day which scared me. What was happening? Trying to make my eyes calm as I looked into his, I sat on my fingers, palm against the seat of the chair. The agony of waiting in expectancy didn’t last long. The transition happened a lot sooner than the last one and the ink splotch spread like a wild-fire over my vision.
“Each wing in our school is painted a different color including the bathrooms, walls, lockers, and everything else you can think of. Desks, chairs you name it. Very elementary I know, but in this situation it helped out. The English wing was painted entirely green making it simple to pinpoint where I was at. I was in the bathroom by my homeroom, looking into the blue eyes of a stranger in my gym class. A girl who used to not be such a stranger to me. One that I helped with a science project almost two years ago. What was she doing in here? I thought. I mean she wasn’t doing anything. Usually girls go into the bathroom to fix their hair and make-up but Lisa was just staring. Her mind told me many things though. In the purse that her left hand rested protectively on, was a small vial of un-nameable drugs all mixed together. She planned on taking the whole thing, not knowing how much was even in the vial. Neither did I or the girl that sold it to her. What the idiot dealer also didn’t know is that mixing drugs, no matter what the dosage, could be lethal.”
Cayluh’s voice became dry sounding when she said lethal.
“Lisa’s black purse was on the green commode beside her, the fluorescent lights making her look ill, giving a pale tint to her skin and greenish circles underneath her eyes. I watched, nestled in her mind as she picked up that purse and rummaged through it. I felt panic when she couldn’t find what she was looking for and then relief when her fingers closed around a cold glass cylinder. A sigh escaped her lips as she pulled out a small glass vial and syringe encased in a plastic bag. Was she a first time user? I asked myself, still in her mind. If so, how could I have not been able to tell? Weren’t best friends supposed to be like kindred spirits or something? They could tell when a friend was in serious trouble, isn’t that how it worked?
“She set the purse slowly on the counter of the sink. Reluctance. What was she doing? I thought again, fear making my heart beat in my body almost four hundred feet away from the bathroom. She stared into the mirror again, Just do it Lisa. Just do it. She was reassuring herself? Amanda said it’d be fun. You’ll never know until you try. You need a distraction anyway. I couldn’t believe this. She picked up the paraphernalia and wiped the tip off with her shirt.”
Ron stared in amazement at Cayluh. She was up off of her chair now, the emotion pouring down her face reflected in the way she was speaking. Her eyes were focused on something behind him and pure pain was scribbled all over her face. The memory had possessed her.
“I wanted so bad to jump from her head and shake her, tell her to stop. Tell her that she didn’t need to. I longed to kill Amanda for telling her that load of bull, especially since she knew Lisa was gullible, almost as if she was trying to kill her. Instead, I sat there, watching in horror as she whispered to herself, trying to sound convincing. It was then that I remembered the pain she was going through. Her father had died just a month ago from an allergic reaction to some drugs he took,” Cayluh paused to wipe her face and nose, “And his smiling face flashed through her thoughts probably twenty times in five seconds. It always went from grinning and healthy, the man I remember, to color-less and decayed, worms gnawing through his flesh. The image made me want to puke as well as the thought that Lisa had sunk this low to escape her sorrows.
“So, while looking in the mirror, she tied off her arm with an elastic band while I silently screamed at her to stop. You don’t need this Lisa, I shouted, I can help you if you just talk to me again. She listened to her pulse for a moment, memorizing it‘s loud beat, but my voice was could not be heard. No matter how much I pushed or willed, she would not listen to me and would not to let me go back to my body. I refused to let my screaming subside even though it was impossible if she could hear me and mistake me for her conscience. Even when I felt my hands attached to my body cover my eyes, as if it would help, I screamed. Lisa couldn’t do this to herself. Especially because the amount in that vial seemed like a lot more than a normal dose.
“The plunge of the needle was sharp. She shoved it in right at the crook of her elbow and slowly pushed the rich drug into a large blue vein that ran down her arm. Then she waited.” Cayluh paused again.
Her hands were trembling, but not in the “snap” way. Soft shakes, fearful shakes, remorseful shakes, shivers of a painful memory destroying a person from the inside out. Her green eyes were spewing tears and heart was beating loud enough for Ron to hear. He was paralyzed. There was no way she could be faking this. His pen stopped scribbling. When the scratch of the ballpoint was halted, there was complete silence in the room. The CD that had once spun quickly around in the boom box earlier had been played through and stopped some time ago. Only then did Ron notice how burdening the quiet was. The extinguished sound lurked in the air for what seemed like years when Cayluh finally spoke again.
“Then one heart beat after another grew softer and softer,” She put a hand over where the heart would be and tapped out how slow the tempo was, her finger taking more and more time to tap with every strike.
“Her breathing slowed down to where it hardly felt like she was inhaling. Indescribable pleasure and heat enveloped her after a few minutes. She had never felt so happy in her life and even I have to admit that it felt unrealistically delicious. All fear, anguish, and feeling simply evaporated into a mask of ecstasy. Her eyes fluttered and she let out a noisy sigh, a happy middle between a breath heaving out of your body and a moan. A moan that came from somewhere deep within her. This mixture was magic, a potion to halt all that causes you trouble in a temporary and deceiving state. Shivers ran up her spine from how good this trip felt, better than anything she’d ever experience. The bliss was so over-powering that she didn’t even notice her stomach give a strange flip and acidic material filling her mouth.
“The burn of the stomach acid was so vague and dull compared to everything else that even as death closed around her, the happiness remained. This close to perfect alleviation did not fail her at all as she was pulled by Death to wade in that black abyss. Just try it, he told her as she went knee-deep, lungs not seeming to work as well as they did a few minutes ago. Waist deep, brain’s scream for oxygen was muffled by the ring of elation pulsing in her veins, killing her. Shoulder deep and she succumbed to Death‘s temptation. The minute her head went beneath that inky pool, I snapped back.
“I was Cayluh again, lying on Principal Trakis’ floor. He was looking down at me, a look that was flooding over with fear. What are you doing? He asked me as I got up. My mind registered its surroundings slower than I‘d imagined it to. I was in the Principal’s office because of Mrs. Trakiss, who was in no relation to Principal Trakis because I had snapped into a psycho killer’s body. Principal Trakis’ passive-aggressive behavior is extremely annoying. I should point this out to him just to piss him off. Lisa may be dying in the bathroom,” Cayluh paused, refusing to let her voice crack.
“I had to have been out for a while, screaming and flailing around on the thin carpeting that blanketed the cramped quarters. Looking back, I kind of feel bad for the teachers who had to deal with my nonsense. I was not thinking of that at all at the time though. The only thing I could think of was Lisa and her small frame crumpled on the floor. So I picked up my feet and ran as fast as I could to the English wing bathroom, Principal Trakis huffing and puffing behind me as he tried to keep up. A blur of colors went by me but I still felt like I could not pass them fast enough. My legs were burning and lungs heaving in desperation, yet it seemed like no distance was being covered at all. Kind of like running through water.
“The red of the math wing floated slowly by me, as well as the yellow for science and purple for history. Even when the green came into view I did not slow down, trying to force my legs to go faster, faster, faster, even if it meant running them off of my body. My feet flew over the floor in a panicked flurry. It felt like a lifetime had gone by before I finally felt my hands press against the green plastic door of the bathroom. When it swung open, the stench of vomit met my nose and made my eyes water immediately. It was over-powering, as if she’d puked up every content in her body and it was decaying fast as lightening on the tile. I couldn’t see Lisa clearly. The smell was horrible. Her head was faced toward the ceiling and vomit was streaming out the sides of her blue mouth, caking the corner of her lips.
“I took in the sight of her slowly. Through the blur of tears that were now the result of sadness and not the smell, I saw the black lump on the tile. Despite the puke streaming through the cracks of the floor, she looked peaceful and there was a small smile on her face. A fog settled around her as I registered that she would never walk through the halls again. Lisa would never graduate high school and be the art teacher she dreamed of being as a career. She would never smile again, laugh again, or be there for me to look at and wonder why she never spoke to me after that one last incident. I would never have the chance to ask. I would never have peaceful dreams with her in them. I would never see her again.
“Blinking, I rushed over to her, dropping to my knees over her body. I picked up her limp wrist and checked for a pulse, nothing. I shoved my finger into her carotid artery, no beat beneath her skin. So I reached my finger into her mouth and tried getting all the vomit out, wiping her lips with my jacket. When most of it was clean, from what I could tell, I pressed my mouth down on hers and urged her to breathe. In the background I heard Principal Trakis talking urgently to someone, probably by phone. I pressed up on her ribs where some guys hit to knock the wind out of each other and continued this process. Only when the medics showed up, after how long I do not know, did I know it was hopeless. Lisa was dead.”
Ron looked up at Cayluh, her face dripping with affliction and misery. Slowly, he set his pen down and walked over to her. She looked up at him and wrapped her arms around his torso before he could move first. There was desperation in the way she clung to him. The anguish and frustration she’d kept pent up for so many years was finally breaking through. Tears seeped into the fibers of a 300 dollar suit and sobs shook the both of them. He didn’t care though. Was this how it’d be when his un-born baby girl turned seventeen? Would she long to be wrapped up like this by him when she went through heartache?
Cayluh wondered why she was blubbering so bad. She had shed few tears for Lisa’s death and wasn’t even invited to her funeral. It didn’t make sense for the story to end in such a woeful state.
The embrace didn’t last long. It only took a few minutes for her to calm down. After that short time had gone by, she was close to being back to normal and sitting back in her chair. Leaning again over the canvas, Ron picked up his notepad again and scribbled down the last few events. Cayluh was hunched back over again, the brush caressing the tough material of the paper.
“I’ve been working on this since yesterday,” she said, her voice a little scratchy from exhaustion, “Tell me what you think.”
After a few final, long strokes, she rolled the painting up and put it in a metal case, not showing him her final masterpiece. He took the container and she looked up at him.
“Whatever you do with all that you wrote is not up to me, but just know one thing,” she said, walking back to the easel and pushing the strangling man off of it to the floor, “I will always know what you’re up to.”
Her back was to him now, a signal that he was allowed to exit. Turning around, he left the room in a solemn state, his life not feeling as though it was changed forever. His feet hit the carpet stairs softly as he descended, admiring the detail of the home again. Everything was so orderly and neat as a pin, it was remarkable. Even though the cleanliness could make a person feel nauseated at times. The weather outside was lovely. Leaves of gold and honey were floating from the arms of trees out of sync, but in and underlying harmony. He stepped onto the back porch and looked to where his car was parked. There was a chill tingeing the air. Autumn was on its way. New changes were coming. An awaited life was yet to be lived.
The car sat there lonely. The gravel crunched beneath him as he walked to the vehicle. Opening the car door, he revved the engine and turned the heat on. Placing his briefcase and gift from Cayluh on the passenger seat, he gripped the steering wheel preparing to drive home. His feet didn’t seem to be receiving the messages from his mind though for they stood as still as stone. His fingertips tingled with curiosity as he reached over and pulled the canvas from the protective case. Unrolling it from the bindings, he looked in awe at Cayluh’s masterpiece.
There were drops of rain spotting the picture everywhere. Each of those drops had small little details in them that added definition and a unique quality to the piece. The color those beads of perspiration lay upon was a deep purple, the endless abyss of night-time. While this color and artistic ability might hypnotize a looker alone, it’s the person that was in that canvas that put Ron in a trance.
Sophie was off to the right corner of the painting, brown curls wildly framing her heart-shaped face and cheeks pink with a cold flush. Blue eyes were wide with innocence and rosy lips plump, awaiting a kiss. The eyes were what reeled him in though. Every little glint was exactly how they’d been that night before he went to college, every beautiful fleck of underlying tones that made the ocean in her eyes. Love swelled in his heart.
At that moment, happiness flooded a gray soul with color and for the first time in a little less than a year, he could not wait
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Fiona 1-44
Fiona Moore
Chapter 1
It is 3:00am and I am exhausted. I have a pounding head ache, my heart is racing as if I just stepped out in front of a car, and there is a warm sensation sliding down my chin. As I slowly raise my hand to touch my face, I regret it. I don’t want to wake up another morning with blood on my face. I don’t want to make my mom cry anymore when she witnesses another agonizing, coughing fit and can’t stand to see me in so much pain. I definitely don’t want to waste my high school years in some hospital or bedroom waiting for my day of death. Homecoming is tonight and I’m not missing that for anything. Gwen and I have picked out our dresses and I can’t let her down again by missing another school event. I slowly stand up, all I can see are throbbing black spots, and once I get my sense of balance, I begin padding towards my mirror. I quickly turn on a lamp. The light is blinding, so it is switched back off. There is a box of tissues on my dresser and I intend on taking one. The blood on my chin has started to dry so I have to quietly slip away to my bathroom to get some water. A couple drops is all I need. There is also a plastic cup etched with flowers sitting on the counter. It slowly fills up. I glance in the mirror in my bathroom and now I can see the dried blood. This wasn’t one of the worst times but it wasn’t one of the better ones either. The blood comes off easily and after a few swishes of water through my mouth, I head back to bed.
I lie there for an hour or two, daydreaming and dreading what could happen today. Any other day, I don’t really care if I have a little fever or a couple painful coughs, but today nothing can go wrong. I’m praying I don’t hear another person saying “Oh, yeah that girls name is Ella, she’s a freshman. I feel really badly for her though, she has Cystic Fibrosis.” I hear that enough. My brother Bryan is always asking me why I can’t just like the attention. Most freshman will just be thankful if they get through the year with minimal rumors whispered amongst the hallways about them but I would just be happy if everyone except for my friends, ignored me at school. Don’t get me wrong, generally I am an upbeat person, and I love talking a little too much, but when you live your whole life being pitied, you learn to dislike the attention. Tonight, though, I want the attention for all the right reasons. I want people to look at me and think about how pretty I am and wonder where I’ve been hiding. I would love to be that person that stands in the middle of her group of friends and everyone is just mesmerized by my charm and splendor. I’m almost positive that these things won’t happen because I’m probably thinking of some Disney movie, but I can only hope. A few more thoughts drift in and out of my head but they don’t remain there for long because I quickly slide off to sleep.
The next morning, there is a very unpleasant banging that wakes me up. At first I think it’s thundering but then I realized someone must be climbing the stairs outside of my room. For the past five years that I have lived in this house, I have always hated the location of my room. Whenever I am sleeping, I can always hear everything going on in the hallways even if it’s the smallest noise.
“Ella, get down here! It’s past noon and Gwen is going to be here in twenty minutes!” my mother yells from the kitchen downstairs.
I open my eyes to see my six year old brother, Joel, staring at me with a sinister smile curling across his face.
“Joel, why are you in my room? The door was closed and you know you shouldn’t come in here unless I tell you you can!” I say, while rubbing my temples and squinting my eyes at the sunlight permeating my blinds.
“Mom’s downstairs, baking cookies for you and you were supposed to help at nine o’clock and you still aren’t down there. She’s mad.” He quietly giggles to himself.
I gently push him back as I climb out of bed and watch him run off to his room. I pop my retainer out of my mouth, throw on a sweatshirt and then I clamor down the stairs to find my angry mother and my almost unconscious brother sitting at the kitchen table, both eating toast.
“Hi mom” I mumble as I pull my uncontrollable mass of curls into a knot on the top of my head. I always pity the people I encounter in the morning because more often than not, I am like a walking chain saw, you get in my way, I’ll tear you up.
“Hi” she says curtly. “I know you are tired and want to get a lot of sleep because you are staying up late tonight, but you were supposed to help me with these cookies. I am making them for you and your friends, after all.” motioning towards the mound of chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies on the counter tops.
“I’m sorry, but you didn’t have to make them. You volunteered to do it and I didn’t think that if you were supposed to do something, I am involved in every little detail too. But if we are doing everything for each other now, how about you clean my room?” I respond, not being able to restrain my anger I feel regularly in the morning.
After saying that and seeing the look on my mother’s face, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to have my breakfast before a fight.
“Excuse me?!” My mom says, in shock. “I don’t think you should ever talk to me like that. After all I did give birth to you, and I do support you when it comes to your disease, and I do give you money and a place to sleep and I help you with your homework. So don’t ever talk to me like that because I do all these things out of the goodness of my heart. I expect an apology.”
“Sorry,” I grumble as I start to saunter over to the cabinets and grab a Pop Tart. Taking off the wrapper is probably the only reason why I eat these things. I don’t know why I like the sound or the feeling of the plastic completely surrendering to my quick tug and sliding open; but I just do. I only eat half of it while I am sitting on a tall, swivel chair in the kitchen and then I walk into the living room and fall onto the couch. There doesn’t seem to be anything good on TV after flipping through a few channels, so I pop Beauty and the Beast into our DVD player and finish my breakfast.
“Hi,” I hear someone yell and then I see Gwen opening the front door. She smiles at me, then gently places her hand about a foot above the knob and slowly push the big red door shut.
“Hey Ella, I got some new make-up so I might have to try it out on you cuz I don’t know how well it will go with my skin tone.” She says as she glides over to the couch and plops down next to me.
We stay slung across the couch until we grow bored by the movie. Then we go up to my room to get ready for the dance.
“Okay, so I don’t know what I am going to do with my hair, but I’m thinking an up-do just because of the neckline of my dress.” I say while holding my dress up to my body and looking at my reflection in the full length mirror.
A few weeks before Homecoming, my mom, Gwen, Mrs. Jones, and I went on a day trip to get our dresses. We spent the majority of the time picking out ugly ones or trying to find the puffiest prom dress in the store but once we got down to business, there was nothing that could stop us from finding the perfect dress. It took Gwen only about fifteen minutes to find a dress that looked flawless on her. Even though there were a lot of nice dresses, it took me what seemed like forever to find one that I loved. Every dress that I walked out of the dressing room stall in my mom and Mrs. Jones started to cry. Gwen and I thought it was hilarious to see our mothers acting as if we were picking out our wedding dresses. Finally, I found the dream dress. The dress every girl wants to find. It was a strapless dress that had a sweet heart cut. There is a thick black band under the bust line and then the dress flared out. At the hem, there is a thin line of intricate, black lace and if that’s not good enough, then the dress’s pattern definitely is. It has a white background with light pink roses scrawled across that looked like something sent from heaven. As soon as I walked out of the dressing room with this dress on, everyone, even Gwen, started tearing up. Her dress was beautiful too; of course everything looks amazing on her because she is pretty much the epitome of an Amazon princess. She is tall, and thin with chocolate brown skin and matching long crazy curls. Practically every girl wants to be her and every guy wants to date her. Her dress was strapless too. It was layered, deep plum satin with flowers down the left side.
“Here,” Gwen says as she walks towards me and puts her hands on my shoulders, pushing me down on to my chair, “I saw this gorgeous hairstyle in Teen Vogue. It was on like Anne Hathaway or something, it looked a little hard to do, but I’ll try.”
It took what seemed like forever, but once she subsides with her make shift salon, it is perfect. I ask Gwen if she wants me to do her hair but she says no. I don’t blame her; I’m really bad at doing hair, plus she always looks the best with her curls down and wild. We quickly do each other’s make up, throw on our dresses, take a few pictures on my phone and then scamper down stairs.
My mom is setting up the cookies on a table next to the front door, for all of the people coming over for pictures before the dance. When my mom sees both Gwen and me, she once again, starts to cry.
“Hi honey,” she says in between sniffles. “Both of you girls look so beautiful. Where’s your mom Gwen, she’ll want to see this.”
Gwen ran inside to get her mom while mine slowly walks towards me, her hands held out. Her big, blue eyes started watering up and that’s when I know that I wouldn’t be able to leave with a dry face either. I can feel my mom’s soft hands press into my back as she hugs me. We stand there for a few minutes in my mother’s tight maternal embrace, and when Gwen comes back out of my house, arm in arm with her mom, who also both had streaks down their faces from where tears had just skimmed over their cheeks. We broke free from our loving hug to quickly clean up our make up before others came for pictures.
“Wow. That was pretty awkward. I had a feeling my mom was going to cry but I didn’t think she would start bawling. I had no clue what to do! I didn’t know if I should hug her or comfort her or if I should start to cry too, so I just cried. It was probably the easiest thing to do.” Gwen says as we laugh about our mom’s responses to what we would like to think, our mature outfits.
“Yeah, my mom looked so sad. At first I thought she was going to tell me someone died or something.”
“Aw darn!” Gwen exclaims, while looking in the mirror and pulling at her cheeks “Look at all the lipstick my mom left. I’m gonna have to apply all new makeup.”
With that, there is the classic chime of the doorbell, and my mom’s yell, telling us that our friends have arrived.
“Oh my gosh, you guys look like so gorgeous! I adore your dresses! Where did you get them?!” Hannah screams, as she steps out of her dad’s black BMW.
She, like me, has shoulder length, curly, hair that is currently blond but will probably soon change to black or red or who knows, maybe blue. She ran over to both of us as we all start examining each other’s hair, makeup, and dresses.
“It took me like four hours to get ready,” Hannah says in her always too loud and brass voice. “As soon as I would finish like my hair or my make up or something, I would decide I don’t like it and then would have to redo it all over again. Hey Sam!” she yells, while pulling off her metallic pumps and quickly hopping through the grass on her tip toes to be sure that her tights won’t get wet.
Evelyn is the last to arrive, and by the time she comes over to join our loud, jubilant cluster, all the parents are gathering and ready to begin taking pictures with their shiny, digital cameras. There is eleven of us girls, organized in a line, shortest to tallest, while being blinded by the repetitive flashes from cameras in the clutches of crying moms and smiling dad’s. The farewells from the parents were drawn out too long for comfort. Then after going inside, grabbing some Tylenol, to prevent possible head aches, and taking my blood pressure to make sure that I don’ t have any problems during the dance, we are loaded into my mom’s gold minivan and she slowly backs out of the driveway.
In a tight cluster, we walk to the front doors of our high school. Being freshman, we are scared beyond belief that some druggie, or super senior is going to beat the crap out of us for dancing with “her guy”. We have made a pact that we will defend each other if that does happen, I know it won’t but the things that run through your mind when you are nervous seem infinite and all very plausible.
The line to hand in our tickets is a lot longer than I expected. We all get in quickly to make sure that Jen, Ava, and Evelyn can get tickets. The bass from the gym is making the walls vibrate and I can see through the small, rectangular windows on the doors, couples making out in there too. I point it out to Gwen and she starts laughing hysterically after seeing my disgusted face. The laughs that I follow with are painful and soon turn into coughs.
“Are you okay Ella? Should I call your mom, cuz those don’t sound like your normal coughs?” Gwen says, while pulling out her bejeweled phone and she begins her search through her contacts to find my house number.
“I’ll be okay.” I say, sputtering a little through my words while trying to hold in another cough. “If we call her, she’ll freak out and I’ll have to go home. I’m fine.”
We all walk into the gym single file as the teachers check for our tickets. I’m one of the last people in our group to get in, so by the time I enter some of my friends are already dancing with unknown faces. I feel a hand grasp my wrist and pull me onto the dance floor. Once my eyes adjust I realize that it was Gwen pulling me and we are now dancing with Jen, Ava, Julia, Hannah, a guy named Gavin and three more unfamiliar boys. The beat of the music was pounding in our heads and we could feel the layer of dirt building up on out soft, bare feet.
“We are gonna go to the bathroom.” Gwen yells over the blasts of music. “We’ll be right back.”
The eight other group members all nod while trying to keep their momentum and we slide off to the girls bathroom across the hall.
As we walk, we are both hit with the over powering aroma of cheap perfume and hairspray. There are already five girls in a cluster, comforting one sitting in the middle crying.
“He said he was going to come, he promised me!” says the tallest one while tears drip down her plump, red cheeks. All of her friends sat around in the circle, seeming to be contemplating what she said until a boisterous girl chimes “You know he doesn’t deserve you. He’s scum.” This seems to comfort all of them.
Once they register that there are two newcomers in the bathroom, there is silence, awkward stares, and then the cluster leaves.
“Oh my gosh, it’s so hot in there.” Gwen says while pumping the paper towel dispenser, then she rips off two pieces, handing one to me. “I can barely even hear myself talk! I mean the music is so loud, but I don’t think it would be so much fun if it wasn’t.” Smiles simultaneously cross our faces.
“So, what do you think of Gavin?” She asks as I try to picture her with a tall, lanky, blond, boy who seems to always have something to smile about. “I think I like him, I mean like you and him. You guys would be so cute.” This seems to make her smile grow almost twice in size.
There is a loud pounding on the door, as if someone is hitting it with their fore arm, and then the school nurse, Mrs. Harrods, runs in.
“I saw you girls run in here in a hurry, and you have been in here for a while, are you okay Ella?” She manages to say while gasping for air. In her clenched fist she holds a walkie talkie and a first aid kit.
I assume she ran back to her office on the other side of the building to get supplies in case I had a problem.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine Mrs. Harrods. We were just taking a little break. Anyways we were planning on going back into the gym now, but I will definitely tell you if there is anything wrong.”
“Plus, I take really good care of her,” Gwen says, I feel the pressure of her hand clap me on the back. “After all, we are practically sisters.”
This seems to settle Mrs. Harrods. With a shrug of her burly shoulders, she smiles, nods her head, then saunters off into a hormonal waste land. A few minutes later, we follow her path back out of the bathroom and we re-enter the gym, our group bopping in practically the same place. I think they slide over a little bit, but that’s probably to get farther away from the semi psychotic seniors, known for their less than light drug use. With minimal conversation, from the lack of words we are able to hear, we dance what seems to be, the whole night away.
The room seems to be getting hotter and hotter and when Ava asks if I want to get a sip of water, I am practically halfway out the synthetic wood doors.
“So did you see Mr. Craft’s comb over?” she says motioning her eyebrows up and down as I take a sip from her water bottle. “It looks pretty cute!” I have to cover my mouth to prevent the water that has seeped through the crease of my lips from escaping. Bursting out in a mixture of laughter and coughing, the water trickles down my front as I try to conceal my smile. It doesn’t help that with every laugh or cough I let out, Ava’s guffaw grows even louder.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t intentionally sabotaging your dress.”
“It’s fine.” I manage to spit out between coughs.
“Are you okay? Do you need any water? That might help you stop. How about we go to the bathroom to clean you up a little.” She says, linking arms with me and escorting me to the room I was in less than an hour ago.
“There you go!” She says, wiping access water off my front. “Boy, those coughs are really out to get you tonight, aren’t they?”
“I’ll be fine, they’ll let up soon.”
“Are you sure? I can get the nurse. I think I saw her right out there. Just a sec.” Ava starts to head towards the bathroom door to retrieve the only women that will send me home tonight.
“No! No, don’t get her. She’ll have an anxiety attack and then I’ll have to go home! It’ll stop soon, this happens all the time. Don’t worry.”
“Well, if you say so. Just tap on my shoulder though if you’re having any trouble and I can go get here. I don’t want you to die or anything.”
You can always tell when Ava is nervous. She repetitively wraps her straight, blond hair around her lean, pale index finger.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you right away if something is wrong.”
Trying to reassure her that everything would be fine, I gave her an easy smile and placed my hand on her shoulder as we walk out. Strutting though the hallway, I start to get that horrible sensation. It’s hard to describe, but there is a ringing in your ears and a knot in your stomach. When you know that something, one way or another, is going to go wrong.
“That’s it; I’m calling your mom. I can’t take this anymore. You know you need to go home.” Gwen says as she once again pulls her phone out. Bracing myself against a wall, I repetitively cough until that sweet and salty mixture of blood comes up my throat. Leaning over and spitting in the bathroom garbage can I feel my heart race even more as Gwen gasps when she sees.
“Where’s Mrs. Harrods, I need her now. It’s an emergency!” She says, rounding the corner of the bathroom doorway in to the main school hall.
Another teacher, whose face I don’t truly see because I feel as if I’m going to pass out. My head seems to be spinning. I’m now bracing the sink and someone is rubbing my back. These hacking coughs seem to be wearing away my throat.
“Everything is going to be fine sweetie. I’ll help you out to the car.” My mom is now holding my elbow and lower back, helping me as I stumble through the hall, hoping that no one will see me in this state.
The car ride home is completely silent. Slowly, I gain control of myself and finally, I stop coughing. The clumsy van glides into the drive way and my dad comes out of the house to help me to my room.
“I’m scheduling a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow, surely Tessa is still awake. How about you go, put some pajamas on and I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” Mom says as she flips through the rolodex on the counter, trying to find Dr. O’ Callaghan’s phone number.
Joel was standing on the stairs, staring at me, glassy eyed.
“Are you okay? Mom was really scared when she answered the phone and then she left really fast. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow, right know my throat hurts when I talk. I’m all right, so don’t worry.” I say, ruffling his sandy blond hair as I pass him to go to my room.
Sliding open my highest dresser drawer, I pull out my favorite, fleece sleeping pant, then throw on an old Pink Floyd t-shirt, that used to be my dad’s. I spy a tattered pair of fuzzy socks on the ground, slip them on to my feet and then walk over to my bed. While pushing my legs under the pink sheets, my mom walks in with a tray.
“Here, drink this.” She says, handing me my favorite mug. It is cream with blue and red flowers. “It’s that dark hot chocolate you like. I scheduled an appointment with Dr. O’ Callaghan tomorrow at one, so you can sleep ‘til noon. You won’t have to go to school for the next couple days. I’ll call the school Monday morning and we can pick up your assignments. After your mouth cools off, can you take your temperature? I want to make sure you’re not coming down with some bug.”
Picking the tray back up, she carefully walks out.
“You really need to clean this room sometime, you can barely see the floor! I’ll cut you some slack though, goodnight Ella. I love you.” With a sweet, loving smile she walks back over and gently kisses me on the forehead.
“Goodnight Mom, I love you too.”
Descending deeper down under my sheets, I place my head on my pillow and lay awake until my eyelids become heavy and I fall asleep.
Chapter 2
Pushing my hair out of my face, I open my eyes and see my mom standing in my doorway, her hands pressed against the chipped paint on the side with a wide smile on her face.
“Good morning sweetie. I was just coming to wake you up,” she says while walking over to my bed side and gently easing herself onto my over stuffed, pink comforter. “You have a doctor’s appointment in about an hour. I just got off the phone with Tessa; she says if you’re still sleeping we can push it back to three, that’s when her next opening is.”
“Okay, I think I’ll be ready by one. I’m gonna get some breakfast then I’ll take a shower.” I say, pushing back my comforter.
“I cooked some pancakes for Bryan and Joel, do you want some? I think there are three left.”
“Nah, I’ll just have some cereal.”
Smiling, once again my mom nods and stands up to leave my room.
“I’ll leave you to your business then.” She says, pulling my white door shut.
Stepping quickly out of my bed, my feet plunge into my shag carpet. Ever since seeing The Sixth Sense, I’ve been terrified that someone is going to grab my ankles from under my bed. It’s a stupid, constant fear. My pink cell phone was sitting on the top of my dresser. Twelve new messages popped up on the screen and of course, most of them were from Gwen with a majority of words spelled in ways I have never seen. Her frantic state was very apparent when I left the school last night, and is even more apparent in her hectic text’s. She was shaking when she saw the blood. Her clumsy fingers probably had trouble getting around her small keyboard.
“Omjg! R utoi okaa!?u scrdesj me!” A majority of the texts read.
At first it took a while for me to figure out what they were trying to get across, but then I finally gave up on this decoding game I seemed to be playing, and I just texted her back.
Walking into Dr. O’Callaghan’s office, I once again get the strong smells of hand sanitizer and baby tears. Dr. O’Callaghan is a really nice lady, she is like my second mom, but I wish her office wasn’t so dreary. There are orange and purple monkeys depicted on the walls, obviously trying to brighten up the place. The receptionist, Kelly, smiles when she sees me and then tells me just to go back to Dr. O’Callaghan’s typical room. I walk past her office, with my mom a short distance behind me.
“Hey there Ella! Your mom tells me that you had some problems last night, with your coughing?” A pained look crosses her face then a smile quickly follows, “But she said you looked very beautiful though. How about you jump up here so we can listen to your lungs. I want to hear how those guys are doing.” Patting on the squeaky, vinyl bench, I push myself onto it as I straighten my green medical robe.
“Could you take a couple deep breaths? Ah, that’s good. Thank you.” She says as my chest rises then falls. “Okay, so your lungs are sounding pretty good. I’ve heard better, but from what I hear, last night was pretty bad, so on that accord, you are doing pretty well.” Looking from me, to my mom she continues, “I think that I’m going to increase her thAIRpy hours, that should help decrease the mucus build up and it should also help with her other symptoms too.”
“Do you think an adjustment in her diet would help? She hasn’t been eating very healthfully lately.” My mom says, staring directly at Dr. O’Callaghan with a discerning look.
“With her problems, food won’t do anything, but my advice would be to exercise more, if possible and get more sleep, you look tired.” Patting her hand on my shoulder, I nod.
“I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. Tomorrow, if you come over to my house, I’ll be the most energized teen you’ve ever seen!” With an incline in my voice, my mom shushes me to be quiet. Apparently, many sleeping people in a pediatrics office at one P.M.
“Well, I guess I’ll just see you girls tomorrow then,” Dr. O’Callaghan says while finishing up our appointment and glide the heavy door open. “If you have any more problems though, Ella, feel free to give me a call. I’m gonna be coming home tonight probably around six or seven, so you could try my house then if any issues come up, but your mom seems to be good at dealing with medical things like that.” Giving me a gentle smile, she holds out her hand as if to escort us from the room. We walk out ahead of her before saying goodbye.
“Can you tell Jane to schedule you another appointment sometime next month, just a usual check up.” Nodding, my mom and I wave as we say our farewell’s and walk towards the secretary to do as my doctor asks.
Getting back to our van in the parking lot, I pull open the gold door and climb inside.
“Hi, could I have two grande coffee frappacinno’s please.” My mom belts into the square, tan box in the Starbucks drive thru.
She pulls up to the window, where a heavily pierced and tattooed teen is standing and in a raspy voice he asks for the money then hands us our drinks.
“Have a nice day.” He says as my mom smiles, returns the response, then drives away.
The long, green straw is moving back and forth, as we drive home, in my attempts to suck up the last of my drink. The chills from the shredded ice in it are starting to set in and I am beginning to shiver.
“Thanks Mom for the drink.” Because trips to Starbucks are pretty unusual, but always desired, I feel that I always need to thank her after she treats me to coffee bliss, so I’m not excluded next time.
“No problem sweetie.” She says turning her head to smile at me, her chestnut hair brushing against her shoulders as she moves. “Oh my gosh, look at my arm. I’m already getting goose bumps.” She says laughing and rubbing her arms, trying to get the unnerved hairs to settle down.
“I have the same thing too.” Raising my arm to show her, I turn my head to look back onto the road. “Green!” Manages to roll off my tongue as the car behind us starts to honk it’s horn.
“People these days are so impatient.” She responds while gliding around the corner, with a clear view of our house directly ahead.
“Hey little buddy!” I say, as my younger brother Joel makes his way down the stair case, while rubbing his eyes after I close the front door. “How are you feeling?”
Since schools start a few weeks ago, Joel has come down with a cold or something with cold like symptoms that has made him sleepy and gave him a runny nose. Since I am staying home to recover, I am practically his nurse, which is fun when I get to read him stories and sing him songs, but when it comes to carrying his dirty tissue to the bathroom or helping him change, that’s when I start to wish I had a different job.
While standing in the kitchen and getting a glass of water, the stunned six year old makes his way over to the fridge and grabs the carton of milk inside. He then, toddles over to the cabinet and pulls out a plastic, sippy cup. Placing the cup on the ground in front of him, he spins the cap off and braces the sides to be sure he doesn’t loss his grip.
“How about I help you with that,” I say, rushing over to him to be sure he doesn’t spill.
“No! I can do it! I’m not a baby!” He yells, obviously offended by my attempts to help.
“I don’t want you to spill though.”
“I won’t!” With that, the milk sloshes out of the carton, splatters all over the floor, and tears start to well up in his large, blue eyes.
Grabbing the roll of paper towels on the counter, I rush over to clean up the mess and comfort the sobbing boy.
“Oh, it’s fine buddy. Everybody spills milk at one point or another. No big deal.”
When the tears start to flow more heavily, I scoop him up in my arms and put him onto the couch. Rapping him in a blanket, I flick on the TV then go back into the kitchen and clean up the rest of the mess, pouring another glass of milk for him in the process. Bringing a glass of milk and a cookie seemed to cheer him up, so we sat on the couch, cuddling until he fell asleep once again.
Chapter 3
“I’m gonna run out really fast. I’ll be back soon.” My mom blurts as she grabs her purse sitting on a table next to the door as she starts to open the front door. “And work on your homework when I’m gone! You are going back to school tomorrow and you have only gotten a quarter done. I don’t want you getting any farther behind or else your grades will really suffer.” After giving me a stern look, she walks out the front door.
Unhappy, but avoiding conflict, I go up to my bedroom to grab my book bag full of papers. Four pages in math, two in science, three in English, and two in social studies plus book work I read from my agenda. I clear off my desk to make room for a math worksheet when I spot an old picture of Gwen and I from when we were both five. I go into my closet and pull out my photo album I made in fifth grade, in search for more good memories. Finding a box, I look through all of my pictures, reminiscing.
After a while, I look over at my glowing, blue clock in the corner of my room, reading 7:48 PM. With that, I hear a door slam down stairs and the dreaded sound of my mom’s voice echoing through the halls.
“I’m home!” she yells, her heels clicking on the wooden floors.
Trying to muscle my way over to my desk through the mounds of clothing on the floor, I make myself look as though I have been working, trying to conjure up any good excuse that would come to my head. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“Can I come in?” The door slides open and my mom’s smiling face pokes around the corner.
“Hi there.” I say, with a pained look on my face.
“How’s it going? Did you get most of your homework done?”
“Um, yeah. Almost all of it.”
“Well, is there any way you can finish soon? I want to serve up dinner in about fifteen minutes. You should probably also go to bed right after, so that you can get plenty of rest, your body probably needs it.”
“Ok,” I say, trying not to let the lies show in my eyes, “I’ll eat as fast as I can so that I can finish up my homework.”
Turning to leave, I watch my mom walk away then I rush back over to the heaps of photos lying on the floor next to my bed, trying to clean them up quickly as if I were a culprit trying to hide the evidence of a crime scene.
“Ella, dinner!”
Thrusting the door open, I stride down the stair case and enter my kitchen, while trying to figure out how I should sort out my homework debacle.
“Here’s a plate of food for Joel,” my mom says, holding out a plastic dinosaur plate mounded with mashed potatoes and slices of turkey. “He’s sleeping in his room. Please, don’t wake him up, just put it next to his bed and help him eat if he is awake.”
Entering my brother’s room, I see the sick six year old lying peacefully on his racecar bed. This was the bed he cried for daily and every night, before heading to his room, he would tell someone in the family that he really wanted it, more than anything. When Christmas came and he found the bed lying in front of the tree, he sat in it for hours and repetitively asked for multiple pictures to be taken with him and his knew treasure.
Walking over to his bedside table, I place the plate next to his head, and then grab his water cup, so that I can go a fill it up in the bathroom sink. Placing the cup back down after it has been filled to maximum capacity, I see Joel’s left eye open and then close once more.
“Can you get Mommy for me?”
“Yep, I’ll be right back.” Rushing down the stairs, I get my mom’s attention, send her upstairs, and then start to eat my meal.
“Hey there sweetie.” My dad says, walking into the kitchen and placing his hands on my shoulders to kiss the top of my head. “Hey Bryan.” He adds, once he sees his oldest son sitting in the chair across from me.
“Hi Dad, how was work?”
He sits down next to me and tells us about his day.
He has always seemed to have been great at turning everything he says that in general, is boring, into something that is so funny, it’s hard to keep from crying. He has always been like that too. It was the worst when he was reprimanding us when we were young because we would try so hard not to laugh and my mom would get so frustrated watching my brother and me laughing at my father’s red, angered, face.
“So, where’s your mother?” My dad asks during a break in our conversation.
“Oh, she’s upstairs, helping Joel. I brought him some food, and he asked for Mom. She should be down soon.” At that moment we hear her stocking feet slide down the stairs, and when she comes in to view, I see that she has Joel in tow.
“He says he’s feeling good enough to come down and eat dinner with us, so I’ll guess we’ll see.” She says, while my dad pulls out a chair so my mom can put down my brother.
Going back over to the oven, she pulls the slices of warm turkey out and places them onto the table next to the mashed potatoes, and the assortment of steamed vegetables.
“Dig in everyone!” She chimes and we all begin to gorge.
The dinner, as a family, is short lived because soon after starting, Joel starts to cry and then is taken by the hand back up to his room.
“I think he’s just tired. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched his pillow. I think he will probably get better in the next few days.” My dad says, once he replaces the empty space that was previously occupying the chair.
“I’ll check on him after dinner.” My mom replies while fiddling with the mashed potato mound on her plate.
After dinner is finished, the family scatters throughout the house. My mom went to check on my brother, my dad returned to his worn, leather chain in the living room to support his favorite football team, I have no clue as to where Bryan went and I go to my room to begin my homework.
I work as quickly as possible and skip the questions I feel aren’t necessary. Every sound I hear in the hallway, I panic, hoping it not my mom telling me I should go to bed. Checking my phone, I try not to get distracted by the message on the front screen that reads 3 new messages. Tossing my phone onto my bed, I am compelled to opt out of my math homework, but I decide that’s probably not a good idea because I am so behind. Jotting down answers, I finish my work at ten thirty.
Before going to bed, I go downstairs and get a glass of water. My mom stares at me as I walk down the stairs.
“What are you doing still up? I thought you went to sleep hours ago!” She cries, angrily. “You are going to be exhausted tomorrow and you are not going in late because you slept in, you’ve missed to much already this year.”
“Mom, I not tired and I’ll be fine tomorrow. I’ve gone to bed later than this before on school nights and have been fine the next day.”
“Get your water and go to bed,” She says while watching me grab a glass and stick it under the spout on the fridge. “I’ll be up in a couple minutes to say goodnight.”
Sipping from the glass, I walk up the stairs and then go into my room to change. I grab the pajamas lying on my desk chair, and through them on. I hop into my bed and soon fall asleep.
I wake up and my eyelids are glowing orange then quickly switch to black. Opening them up, I see my mom standing in front of me with her hand on my wall. In my rush to fall asleep, I forgot to turn off the lights. She walks over, gently pushing back the small hairs that have fallen onto my face as she kisses my forehead and says goodnight.
Bleep, Bleep, Bleep, Bleep, my alarm clock hums as I smack it to stop the noise. The nights always seem to go by too quickly and the morning slips away too. School, unfortunately, doesn’t go by at the same speed.
I begrudgingly climb out of bed, getting the unpleasant rush of dizziness that comes every morning I sit up too swiftly. Seeing my sweatpants in a neatly folded pile next to my bed, I am inspired to have a lazy day, so I one foul swoop, I grasp the pants and an old tee shirt, lying next to it. Being surprised with how exhausted I actually am, I turn on some music to pump me up for the day. I find a little Beyoncé always does the trick. Jamming out to Single Ladies, I rub on my foundation, smear on some eyeliner, glide on some mascara and lip balm and I’m ready to go. Snatching a sweatshirt from my closet, I strut out of my room confident, and ready to go.
“So what exactly happened to you at the dance, I heard you were throwing up blood.” I am bombarded as soon as I enter the school.
Several people approach me, curious about what really went down Saturday night and whether or not I’m some kind of medical mystery.
“I just felt sick and started coughing, nothing huge.” I respond.
Obviously not satisfied with the answer, but knowing that I won’t divulge anything more, the group disperses and I am greeted by my cheerful group of friends. Practically being tackled by Gwen, the group surrounds me and begins pelting me with questions.
“What happen?!”
“Are you feeling better?”
“We really miss you and we all were super worried!” I hear from the overwhelming crowd.
“Hi guys! I’m so glad to see you all. Yes, I’m better now, no worries.” I exclaim, trying to make my way to my home class room. Pushing my way into the classroom, I quickly say bye to everyone and rush to my seat before the bell rings.
I’ve heard all of their questions before from relatives and other friends but the older I get; the harder it is to hear them. When you are young, you feel invincible. You know nothing bad will ever happen, until it does. I don’t think it’s scary to think that I will someday die from this disease, but the fact that I don’t know when scares me. Often times, I sit in my bed at night and pray that I have more years to live. So far, my life has been great but I’m not satisfied with the mediocrity I’m living. There are so many things I still want to do and the thought that in one day it could all be gone, terrifies me. I can easily hide my vulnerability, after all I have had years of practice, but I know someday soon I will crack and when I do, it will be harder than ever to explain. It seems that no one really knows what I am going through and no matter how well I explain it to them, they never will because they aren’t living it and they aren’t feeling the pain.
I’m trying to pay attention during science especially since I really need to raise my grade, but my peer’s questions are flooding my mind. Bouncing off the wall’s of my skull, I try to ignore the echoing of their words circulating through my head.
“So, do you have any ideas of why this water molecule is inorganic Ella?”
“Oh um no, sorry.” I say trying to act as if I knew what Mrs. Crosby was talking about.
“It’s fine. I’m sure you’re not the only one.” She says kindly , then turns back around to explain why.
After a twenty minute long explanation regarding this topic, I begin to pack up my bag and wait for the bell to ring for lunch. Once it does, the door way is packed with students and the hallway is flooded with hungry kids.
By the time I near the cafeteria with Evelyn and Ava the room is already full, except for the table next to the tray drop off where we regularly sit. We plop down in our seats and I am once again bombarded. Taking the next five minutes to explain what happened, my friends look at me with intense stares of concentration. After the story is recited, then come the questions. Most of them are common sense, but when Hannah asks if I will die from it, I have a meltdown. The tears are rolling down my face, and I see people from other tables starting to stare.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that! I… I was just, I didn’t think before I said it. I’m so sorry.”
“I know you didn’t mean it, it’s just, never mind.” I say, tears rolling down my face like rain down a pane of glass.
“I’m so sorry, so so sorry.”
Gwen grabs my arm and helps me stand. She walks me to the bathroom so I can wipe off my face. Sitting me down on the wide window ceil, she walks into the stall and gets the roll of toilet paper.
“Aw, Ella, you know she didn’t mean it. Anyways, chances are, in a couple years there will be a cure for this disease. Do you know how many geniuses they have working to find a cure? There’s no reason to cry. You’re living a good life. Your friends love you, and so does your family. Don’t worry honey, it’s gonna be fine!” She says, dragging the moist tissue over my face.
Nodding my head vigorously, I watch her toss the most recent tissue into the trash then grasp me in a hug.
“You know everything’s gonna be just fine, alright? So stop crying and give me a smile.” Tilting my chin up I realize how great it is to have a friend like Gwen. She’s my best friends, but also acts like my mother. She’s always there to slap me back into reality and show me how lucky I really am.
“Thanks.” I sputter
“No problem, what are friends for, after all?”
Chapter 4
When I was seven, I fell into a ditch. I was walking to Gwen’s house after school on a November day. Being that the sun set earlier than normal, I was rushing. My fear of the dark was overwhelming as a child and the concept of being lost outside in a black oblivion petrified me beyond belief. As I was rushing to her house at five o’clock, the street lights winding the cal de sac, began to flicker on. Near a sprint, I lost my balance and somehow hurt my foot, tumbling into a ditch two blocks from my house. I screamed for what seemed like hours, and my throat soon became too raw to try any longer. I attempted pulling myself out of the ditch several times, but that also became impossible to do with a swollen foot. Lying in the ditch, immersed in darkness, I sobbed, waiting for someone to rescue me, hoping my mom would come. People often walked this street, and it seemed just my luck that no one was currently striding down this stretch. Understanding that I wouldn’t be found any time soon, and deciding in my dramatic ways, that I was near my death, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever else life might throw at me. Humming, I tried to distract myself from the fear I was holding, and when I heard friendly voices calling my name, I knew it was my time. It wasn’t until I got an uncomfortable beam of light shining on my eyelids, that I realized I wasn’t dead. Once the shaft of light was pulled away, and I was beginning to feel hands grip my arms, I started to panic and thrash. Shouts of question where thrown around my head as I tried to break free from my kidnapper. The group seemed to be growing as I heard more voices and it wasn’t until I heard the sweet chime of a dear friend that I recognize I am safe.
“Ella, calm down! It’s just us. We’ve got you now, everything will be fine.”
In those moments of terror that often fill my mind, I remember who saved me and pulled me out of that ditch, crying. She and her mom helped me to my house and informed my mother of what happened. Gwen was the first one I called when I found out I had a broken foot, and she was the first one to sign my cast.
Later, I found out that Gwen was the one who decided to go look for me. She knew there was something wrong. My absence from her house wasn’t often especially when a visit was scheduled. I think about that night daily and I thank the lord that I have a true friend like her. From that day on, I promised myself that I would be the best friend to her I could because she was for me.
After receiving a text from Gwen saying that she was on her way over to my house following her date with Gavin, I know she needs to talk. She is like my therapist when I get all emotional and I am hers whenever she becomes over dramatic.
“So how was it?!” I anxiously ask after Gwen’s return from her date with Gavin.
“It was… great.” She responds in a mellow tone, a tone she rarely uses.
“Are you sure? I seem more enthused than you do.”
“No, it was fun. I had a good time. It just wasn’t what I expected.”
“What’s not to expect? You went to a movie, probably talked for most of it, and ate popcorn. You, of all people, would expect that, right?” I ask, unsure of her response.
“Well, you got most of it right, but he didn’t really talk. I sat there and asked him tons of questions and all he did was look at me and nod or just smile or something. I don’t think I could even recognize his voice!” She exclaims, obviously trying to contain the concoction of anger and sadness brewing inside.
“He was probably just shy. I might have been his first date and he just didn’t know what to do. Anyways, not everyone is as capable at talking as you.”
She smiles quickly for me, then gives a disapproving look at her ticket stub and continues.
“He’s nice, and sweet, and seemed to talk at school, but I don’t know if I can have a relationship with someone who doesn’t talk to me. It just seems weird.”
“People change, give him a chance. I think you will be happy if you just wait him out.”
“You know I’m not patient!”
“Well your gonna have to be to make it in this world. Just deal with him for like a week. You can do it, it’s gonna be worth it.”
“Fine, but if it doesn’t work out in a week, then that’s it.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I just have a feeling if you end the relationship now, you’ll regret it the next day.”
Listening to my advice, she promises to deal with Gavin for a while, saying that she’ll break his shy shell in the process.
The next day at school, I am still upset about what Hannah said. Her feverish hast of apologies where nice, but they didn’t change how I felt. Not looking towards today, I through on some sweat pants and a fleece sweater, then rush out the door.
“Miss. Garten,” my English teacher Mr. Cole bellows as he sees my mouth moving at high speeds in Gwen’s direction. “do you always feel the need to talk as soon as I start my lectures? Or does it just happen to be a rare coincidence?”
“I don’t do it intentionally; I just remember all the things I need to tell people when class starts. Once I say them, I always stop talking.”
“You never do stop talking though, that’s the problem! Every day I give you a break, and let you talk hoping that once you finish, you’ll pay attention, but that doesn’t seem to happen does it?” He says, the anger growing in his voice.
“I’m sorry! I’ll try to stop.” My attitude and anger also growing.
Today isn’t really a good day to get on my bad side, I thought.
“See, that’s the problem! Whenever I ask you to do something it’s not, “I will stop” it’s “I’ll try to stop” that leaves the door open for failure. I’ve warned you many times and now it’s the third. You’ve earned yourself a detention.”
“What?!” I exclaim, about to shout more words of anger, but then refrain after thinking about what the new consequences could be.
“After school tomorrow, plan to see you there.”
I can feel my cheeks begin to flame with furry and the creases between my brows deepen. My first week back and a get a detention. Just the thought of my mom’s face when she gets the call from my school makes me want to storm out of the room. I can picture in my head, the disappointment on her face then the anger that will follow.
“I hope you will learn your lesson.” He blurts over his shoulder while continuing to finish the poem he was writing on the chalk board. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
Trying to burn a hole in the back of his head with my angry stares, I scribble in my black and white mead journal. I don’t think there is a word to describe the immense hatred that is currently growing in my chest, but once it gets to the point when I feel like I am going to scream, I decide I need to take a break and go to the nurse.
Quickly plunging my hand into the air above my head, I wiggle my fingers to attract even more attention from Mr. Cole.
“What is it now Ella?” He moans while slouching.
“I need to go to the nurse, my head hurts.”
“What?! You haven’t been doing anything all class now you want to leave?”
“Yes.” I put it simply.
He sighs then quickly scribbles on a pass and holds out his hand, “Come on, take it.”
“Thank you.” I squeek while gathering my things and making my way up the thin isle to reach the pink square of paper.
Grasping the pass I thank him once again, then leave the room and enter the empty bliss of the hallway.
“Hi Mrs. Harrods. How are you?” I ask, while walking over to her desk to say hello.
“Hey there Ella! What can I help you with?”
“Oh, I don’t really know if you can do anything, but I have a horrible head ache.”
“Oh, well you can lie down, I doubt that will help but it’s currently the best I can do. Should I call you mom to see if you can take some Advil or something?” She says while I walk over to the low, white beds covered with starchy paper.
Mrs. Harrods has always been one of my favorite people. Her kindness and gentleness is so obvious but it’s not until you get to know her that you see her other side, the side that is hidden in most people. She is really crazy and pretty weird, but makes me laugh so hard that my eyes water.
“So what’s new with you? How’s your daughter doing? Isn’t she going to have that baby any day now?” I say once I get settled on the lumpy mattress.
“She’s doing well. The anticipation is killing us though; I don’t know how much longer I can wait. I’m so excited to have a grandchild.”
“It’s going to be a girl, right?” I ask
“We are pretty sure, but my sister’s granddaughter was supposed to be a boy, so we don’t know how reliable that system is.” Her smile seemed to be growing larger and larger with each word said about this soon to be child.
In mid sentence, the large beep from the school bell interrupts me, signifying the end of the period. Free to go to my next class, I politely excuse myself from the conversation then make my way down the hall, to the math wing.
The white tiled walls and floor are overwhelming when first walking down this wing and the always unpleasant feeling of my pupils contracting after being confronted with a new level of light makes a small pain grow behind my temples. My following class seems to amplify the minute pain too. Miss. Barlow was possibly the most obnoxious, and rude women I have ever met. Her class never seems to go by fast enough. She tends to slink into a constant drone about math equations that don’t make any sense. So far this year, she has sent seven people to detention because of their lack of courtesy which consisted of speaking without a raised hand, and forgetting to properly address her.
My conversation with Mrs. Harrods had put me in a better mood but when I first enter Mrs. Barlow’s room, and she shoots a glance at me as if I have already done something wrong, I once again start to feel my blood pressure rise and attitude begin to boil in my chest.
“Good morning Miss. Barlow.” I proclaim, trying to get onto her good side. “How are ya!”
Ignoring my question, she proceeds to pass out the papers previously lying on a student’s desk. Turning around and glancing at Gavin, sitting nearby I raise my eyebrows, as if a warning to him of what’s to come.
“We are starting class now, come on, sit down!” She angrily states looking at a few girls talking in the back of the room. “Take out your homework from last night, and pass it up. They will be graded as if they were tests. You will also find that there is your homework assignment from yesterday sitting on your desk; I will be answering any questions regarding that today too.”
Looking at the snail’s pace everyone was moving at she once again exclaims “Sit down!”
No one is scared of her or her power and maybe that’s why her commands never work, everyone stopped caring. Mrs. Harrods and I often get onto the topic of Miss. Barlow and her constant nastiness towards students and co workers. She said that the first few years that Miss. Barlow taught at our school, she was the trail blazer for power abuse. She acted as if she was the principal and has always been power hungry. After applying several times for jobs as principal and other head positions at other districts with no luck she just continued to rule her classroom as if she was in control of everything. Back when I had only heard stories about her through Bryan, I felt badly for her and I knew I would break through her hard shell to exposes a kind, loving women, but after a year of trying to make her crack, I realized that she just has a black heart with no other strings attached.
“ Last night, when I was grading your papers, I saw that most people missed questions six, eight, nine, eleven, seventeen, and twenty. I just go over those.”
“Miss. Barlow, I think you deducted an extra point on this. Can you look at it?” Asks a shy girl named Charlotte asked from the back.
Marching to the back of the room with a deep v in between her brows, she snatches the paper from Charlotte’s grasp and looks over each question. Sighing deeply, she smacks the paper back down then heads back to the front of the class.
Raising her hand once again, Charlotte shakily lifts her paper, looking at it puzzled.
“What is it now Charlotte?!” Miss. Barlow exclaims.
“Well, not to be rude or anything, but why is my grade the same? I thought I got the question right?” she manages to spit out; obviously very nervous about the response she is soon to receive.
“You got the question right but I marked it wrong, so it stays wrong.”
Nodding slowly, Charlotte looks like she will shortly cry.
“Don’t most teachers give you the point if they made a mistake? Ya know, it’s kinda a common courtesy thing.” I say, unable to conceal my frustration any longer and ready to take the blow of any punishment coming my way.
With a shocked look on her face, she responds.
“What do you know about common courtesy?! Every day you come into my classroom and disrespect me and my belongings! You obviously are too dense to grasp that concept though, but I bet you’ll understand this. You have detentions for the remainder of the week.”
Walking over to her desk, she advances on filling out the blue form.
“Excuse me?!” I exclaim “I know enough about common courtesy not to talk to people in that way! No one, especially a teacher, should call a kid dense! You can give me detention and call my mom, I don’t care, but I just want you to know that the principal will be hearing all about our little talk too.”
Holding the pass out for me to grab, I take it from her hand and strut back to my seat.
I suffer through the following half an hour, then make my way to the office once the period is done, confident in my side of the story with hopes that it will get her fired.
“Can I talk to Mr. Newman? It’s regarding a problem with a teacher.” I say to the secretary sitting behind a gray desk looking at me over her half moon glasses.
Rolling her eyes, she grabs the phone from its receiver and begins dialing.
“I have a student here that say’s she need to talk to you. Yeah, I think so. Okay thanks. Yep bye.”
Hanging up the phone, she tells me he can see me now, the points toward his office door and wishes me luck.
“So Miss. Garten, I heard there was a problem.” He says, clearly searching for my view on the situation.
“I would say so! Not to sound like a snitch or anything but I was just given detentions for the rest of the week because I was standing up for a fellow classmate that was too scared to talk for herself. In addition she called me dense.”
“Who was it? I’ll call and talk to them.” He says, sighing deeply. He leans forward, placing his elbows on the large, worn desk in front of him and begins rubbing his temples. It is obvious that he already has an idea of who the perpetrator could be.
“Miss. Jeannine Barlow. I think she might be at a study hall now but I would still try her classroom phone first.” I say, sitting a little taller in my chair, knowing that what I said about her might cause our school to take more action regarding her previous offenses.
“Ya, I’ll call her. Thanks for reporting it, do you need a pass to your next class?” He says while trying to open a sticky desk draw that won’t budge, the frustration growing on his face as he presses his two red lips together. After an attempt and a failure, he nonchalantly says, “How about I just make a pass out of some paper, do you have any I could use?”
Gently smiling, I slide a slip of loose leaf paper out of my bag and place it in front of him.
“Thanks.” He remarks shyly
Nodding, I take the paper from his slacked hand and thank him for speaking with me. I don’t think he realized how much better he made me feel.
Chapter 5
“Hey, you’re going to the party, right?!” Gwen anxiously asked through stall door in the girl’s bathroom.
“Um, can we talk about this when you get out?” I ask feeling kind of uncomfortable talking about a party in front of three other girls.
“Oh, yeah,” she giggles, “sorry!”
I hear the tumbling noise of water going down a toilet, then the stall door clicks open as Gwen walks out, still giggling.
“So, what were you gonna say?” I ask now that the onlookers have left.
“Oh! Right, the party! Gavin’s like best friend, Tommy Bourke, is having a costume party on Halloween. Do you wanna go?! They said it wasn’t gonna be really big so I should keep it quiet, but I can invite anyone I want!”
“Sure! Wait, is it on Halloween? I might have to go trick or treating with Joel, but I’m sure I can figure something out. What are we gonna be though?”
“I was thinking either thing one and thing two from The Cat in the Hat, or like s’mores. I saw an easy way to make them on some news website so I figure if we can’t find anything else then we can make them last minute. Feel free to come up with something too.”
“I’m pretty much clueless when it comes to costume ideas. You know me, for most of my childhood, I was either a Disney princess or a vampire. I’m not really one for originality.” Laughing, Gwen dries off her hands, then we stomp into the hall together, on the way to study hall.
“How bout I text you when I get home, cuz I need to know for a fact if you can come. The R.S.V.P. date is this Sunday, and Tommy needs to know the number of people coming.”
“I’ll talk to my parents bout it tonight, but I’m almost positive they will say yes.”
Sliding onto a crumb covered cafeteria bench, we dump our stuff on the table and get settled in. Even though Gwen and I can talk for ages, this period always seems to stretch on forever. Lugging her iPod out of a pocket in her book bag, Gwen unwinds the tangled strand of plastic then holds out an ear bud for me to take. We listen to music for the remainder of the period, occasionally pulling an earphone out of our tuned in heads to mention something that just came to mind and we are sporadically lectured by our study hall monitor for speaking to loudly. We obviously forgot about the level of the music and compensate by increasing our own volume. Seeing crowds of people at neighboring tables stand up and leave the room, I glance at the clock and realize that the bell to leave has rung.
“Hey Ella!” My bus buddy, Stella, chirps from the back of the disheveled vehicle.
“Hi there!” I respond, remembering I haven’t seen her in at least a week.
“So, are you pumped for Halloween, or what?!” She says, while jumping up from her seat to let me in. Her stop is before mine so it makes the most sense for me to sit next to the window.
“Yeah, but I have no clue what I’m gonna be, how bout you?”
“Well, I think I’m gonna be a cave girl cuz my mom was gonna make my costume and she said that would be easy. I’m not sure if I wanna be that, though, so we are going to the fabric store just down the street to see if we can find another pattern.”
“Hey Ella!” My bus driver Iren yells, “Are you going to your house today?”
“Yeah,” I respond. “My mom wants to get some stuff done, so I’m not going to Gwen’s today.
“Oh ok, sounds good.” She says, then smiles sincerely.
“Well this is my stop, see ya tomorrow.” Stella says in her airy, sing song voice.
“See ya!” I respond cheerfully.
When the bus rolls up to my stop, I can see my festive house surrounded by fake spider webs and carved pumpkins. Staggering down the steps onto the road, I say thank you to Iren, then begin walking toward my humble abode.
Walking up the driveway, I see my brother’s face pop up in the window followed by my mother’s.
“Welcome home sweetie!” She exclaims as the opens the door and holds out her arms for a hug. “How was your day?”
“Fine, actually I have some stuff I need to talk to you about.” Seeing the concerned look on her face, I reassure her. “Don’t worry, no detentions today. I have recovered and learned from my little bout of attitude.” Her face calmed with this comment.
“So how was your day?” I ask politely, trying to get on her good side before approaching the every tender topic of a party.
“My day was great! I cleaned up the house, and met for lunch with Tessa, um, what else did I do?” she asks to herself. “Oh, yes, I decorated the house for the season!” Striking a pose, she extends her arms as if modeling the work she has done.
“Looks good!” I exclaim.
Satisfied with my respond, she proceeds in asking me about what I wanted to discuss, referring to what I had said a few minutes before.
“Well, today at school Gwen asked if I wanted to go to a Halloween party with her. It sounds really fun and it won’t go very late. I was going to go trick or treating with Joel, but I figure I can twist Bryan’s arm into doing that and I would just owe him a favor. What do ya think?” I ask nervously.
“Well, I think it sounds fine. I’ll have to find out a few more details, but once I have those, then you have my approval. The only thing is convincing your dad.”
With a pained look on her face, she warns me about how he is less likely to let me go out, me being dad’s little girl, he is constantly protective.
“He’ll be home in about an hour, so you can ask him then. I would make sure he was in a good mood though, catch him in a bad one and you definitely won’t be able to go.”
“Okay, thanks Mom. I’m gonna go and call Gwen, she’ll want to know.” Grabbing my phone from my school bag, I go up to my room and poke at the key board, dialing her cell number.
“So what did they say?!” Gwen curiously asked.
“My mom said yes, and my dad isn’t home yet but I don’t know what he will say.”
“Well keep me posted! I really want ya to go!”
“Yeah, it sounds fun. If I promise I’ll be good then I think he’ll let me go but I’m still not sure, he’s been really protective lately.”
“Ella, he’s home!” I hear my mom bellow from downstairs.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be down soon!” I respond, while covering up the mic in my phone so that I don’t deafen Gwen.
“Sorry I have to go, he’s home. Talk to ya tomorrow. Bye”
“Bye!” She says quickly, and then hangs up.
Walking down the staircase, into the kitchen, my dad is sitting at the table, talking to my mom and rubbing his forehead. He seems really stressed.
Chapter 1
It is 3:00am and I am exhausted. I have a pounding head ache, my heart is racing as if I just stepped out in front of a car, and there is a warm sensation sliding down my chin. As I slowly raise my hand to touch my face, I regret it. I don’t want to wake up another morning with blood on my face. I don’t want to make my mom cry anymore when she witnesses another agonizing, coughing fit and can’t stand to see me in so much pain. I definitely don’t want to waste my high school years in some hospital or bedroom waiting for my day of death. Homecoming is tonight and I’m not missing that for anything. Gwen and I have picked out our dresses and I can’t let her down again by missing another school event. I slowly stand up, all I can see are throbbing black spots, and once I get my sense of balance, I begin padding towards my mirror. I quickly turn on a lamp. The light is blinding, so it is switched back off. There is a box of tissues on my dresser and I intend on taking one. The blood on my chin has started to dry so I have to quietly slip away to my bathroom to get some water. A couple drops is all I need. There is also a plastic cup etched with flowers sitting on the counter. It slowly fills up. I glance in the mirror in my bathroom and now I can see the dried blood. This wasn’t one of the worst times but it wasn’t one of the better ones either. The blood comes off easily and after a few swishes of water through my mouth, I head back to bed.
I lie there for an hour or two, daydreaming and dreading what could happen today. Any other day, I don’t really care if I have a little fever or a couple painful coughs, but today nothing can go wrong. I’m praying I don’t hear another person saying “Oh, yeah that girls name is Ella, she’s a freshman. I feel really badly for her though, she has Cystic Fibrosis.” I hear that enough. My brother Bryan is always asking me why I can’t just like the attention. Most freshman will just be thankful if they get through the year with minimal rumors whispered amongst the hallways about them but I would just be happy if everyone except for my friends, ignored me at school. Don’t get me wrong, generally I am an upbeat person, and I love talking a little too much, but when you live your whole life being pitied, you learn to dislike the attention. Tonight, though, I want the attention for all the right reasons. I want people to look at me and think about how pretty I am and wonder where I’ve been hiding. I would love to be that person that stands in the middle of her group of friends and everyone is just mesmerized by my charm and splendor. I’m almost positive that these things won’t happen because I’m probably thinking of some Disney movie, but I can only hope. A few more thoughts drift in and out of my head but they don’t remain there for long because I quickly slide off to sleep.
The next morning, there is a very unpleasant banging that wakes me up. At first I think it’s thundering but then I realized someone must be climbing the stairs outside of my room. For the past five years that I have lived in this house, I have always hated the location of my room. Whenever I am sleeping, I can always hear everything going on in the hallways even if it’s the smallest noise.
“Ella, get down here! It’s past noon and Gwen is going to be here in twenty minutes!” my mother yells from the kitchen downstairs.
I open my eyes to see my six year old brother, Joel, staring at me with a sinister smile curling across his face.
“Joel, why are you in my room? The door was closed and you know you shouldn’t come in here unless I tell you you can!” I say, while rubbing my temples and squinting my eyes at the sunlight permeating my blinds.
“Mom’s downstairs, baking cookies for you and you were supposed to help at nine o’clock and you still aren’t down there. She’s mad.” He quietly giggles to himself.
I gently push him back as I climb out of bed and watch him run off to his room. I pop my retainer out of my mouth, throw on a sweatshirt and then I clamor down the stairs to find my angry mother and my almost unconscious brother sitting at the kitchen table, both eating toast.
“Hi mom” I mumble as I pull my uncontrollable mass of curls into a knot on the top of my head. I always pity the people I encounter in the morning because more often than not, I am like a walking chain saw, you get in my way, I’ll tear you up.
“Hi” she says curtly. “I know you are tired and want to get a lot of sleep because you are staying up late tonight, but you were supposed to help me with these cookies. I am making them for you and your friends, after all.” motioning towards the mound of chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies on the counter tops.
“I’m sorry, but you didn’t have to make them. You volunteered to do it and I didn’t think that if you were supposed to do something, I am involved in every little detail too. But if we are doing everything for each other now, how about you clean my room?” I respond, not being able to restrain my anger I feel regularly in the morning.
After saying that and seeing the look on my mother’s face, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to have my breakfast before a fight.
“Excuse me?!” My mom says, in shock. “I don’t think you should ever talk to me like that. After all I did give birth to you, and I do support you when it comes to your disease, and I do give you money and a place to sleep and I help you with your homework. So don’t ever talk to me like that because I do all these things out of the goodness of my heart. I expect an apology.”
“Sorry,” I grumble as I start to saunter over to the cabinets and grab a Pop Tart. Taking off the wrapper is probably the only reason why I eat these things. I don’t know why I like the sound or the feeling of the plastic completely surrendering to my quick tug and sliding open; but I just do. I only eat half of it while I am sitting on a tall, swivel chair in the kitchen and then I walk into the living room and fall onto the couch. There doesn’t seem to be anything good on TV after flipping through a few channels, so I pop Beauty and the Beast into our DVD player and finish my breakfast.
“Hi,” I hear someone yell and then I see Gwen opening the front door. She smiles at me, then gently places her hand about a foot above the knob and slowly push the big red door shut.
“Hey Ella, I got some new make-up so I might have to try it out on you cuz I don’t know how well it will go with my skin tone.” She says as she glides over to the couch and plops down next to me.
We stay slung across the couch until we grow bored by the movie. Then we go up to my room to get ready for the dance.
“Okay, so I don’t know what I am going to do with my hair, but I’m thinking an up-do just because of the neckline of my dress.” I say while holding my dress up to my body and looking at my reflection in the full length mirror.
A few weeks before Homecoming, my mom, Gwen, Mrs. Jones, and I went on a day trip to get our dresses. We spent the majority of the time picking out ugly ones or trying to find the puffiest prom dress in the store but once we got down to business, there was nothing that could stop us from finding the perfect dress. It took Gwen only about fifteen minutes to find a dress that looked flawless on her. Even though there were a lot of nice dresses, it took me what seemed like forever to find one that I loved. Every dress that I walked out of the dressing room stall in my mom and Mrs. Jones started to cry. Gwen and I thought it was hilarious to see our mothers acting as if we were picking out our wedding dresses. Finally, I found the dream dress. The dress every girl wants to find. It was a strapless dress that had a sweet heart cut. There is a thick black band under the bust line and then the dress flared out. At the hem, there is a thin line of intricate, black lace and if that’s not good enough, then the dress’s pattern definitely is. It has a white background with light pink roses scrawled across that looked like something sent from heaven. As soon as I walked out of the dressing room with this dress on, everyone, even Gwen, started tearing up. Her dress was beautiful too; of course everything looks amazing on her because she is pretty much the epitome of an Amazon princess. She is tall, and thin with chocolate brown skin and matching long crazy curls. Practically every girl wants to be her and every guy wants to date her. Her dress was strapless too. It was layered, deep plum satin with flowers down the left side.
“Here,” Gwen says as she walks towards me and puts her hands on my shoulders, pushing me down on to my chair, “I saw this gorgeous hairstyle in Teen Vogue. It was on like Anne Hathaway or something, it looked a little hard to do, but I’ll try.”
It took what seemed like forever, but once she subsides with her make shift salon, it is perfect. I ask Gwen if she wants me to do her hair but she says no. I don’t blame her; I’m really bad at doing hair, plus she always looks the best with her curls down and wild. We quickly do each other’s make up, throw on our dresses, take a few pictures on my phone and then scamper down stairs.
My mom is setting up the cookies on a table next to the front door, for all of the people coming over for pictures before the dance. When my mom sees both Gwen and me, she once again, starts to cry.
“Hi honey,” she says in between sniffles. “Both of you girls look so beautiful. Where’s your mom Gwen, she’ll want to see this.”
Gwen ran inside to get her mom while mine slowly walks towards me, her hands held out. Her big, blue eyes started watering up and that’s when I know that I wouldn’t be able to leave with a dry face either. I can feel my mom’s soft hands press into my back as she hugs me. We stand there for a few minutes in my mother’s tight maternal embrace, and when Gwen comes back out of my house, arm in arm with her mom, who also both had streaks down their faces from where tears had just skimmed over their cheeks. We broke free from our loving hug to quickly clean up our make up before others came for pictures.
“Wow. That was pretty awkward. I had a feeling my mom was going to cry but I didn’t think she would start bawling. I had no clue what to do! I didn’t know if I should hug her or comfort her or if I should start to cry too, so I just cried. It was probably the easiest thing to do.” Gwen says as we laugh about our mom’s responses to what we would like to think, our mature outfits.
“Yeah, my mom looked so sad. At first I thought she was going to tell me someone died or something.”
“Aw darn!” Gwen exclaims, while looking in the mirror and pulling at her cheeks “Look at all the lipstick my mom left. I’m gonna have to apply all new makeup.”
With that, there is the classic chime of the doorbell, and my mom’s yell, telling us that our friends have arrived.
“Oh my gosh, you guys look like so gorgeous! I adore your dresses! Where did you get them?!” Hannah screams, as she steps out of her dad’s black BMW.
She, like me, has shoulder length, curly, hair that is currently blond but will probably soon change to black or red or who knows, maybe blue. She ran over to both of us as we all start examining each other’s hair, makeup, and dresses.
“It took me like four hours to get ready,” Hannah says in her always too loud and brass voice. “As soon as I would finish like my hair or my make up or something, I would decide I don’t like it and then would have to redo it all over again. Hey Sam!” she yells, while pulling off her metallic pumps and quickly hopping through the grass on her tip toes to be sure that her tights won’t get wet.
Evelyn is the last to arrive, and by the time she comes over to join our loud, jubilant cluster, all the parents are gathering and ready to begin taking pictures with their shiny, digital cameras. There is eleven of us girls, organized in a line, shortest to tallest, while being blinded by the repetitive flashes from cameras in the clutches of crying moms and smiling dad’s. The farewells from the parents were drawn out too long for comfort. Then after going inside, grabbing some Tylenol, to prevent possible head aches, and taking my blood pressure to make sure that I don’ t have any problems during the dance, we are loaded into my mom’s gold minivan and she slowly backs out of the driveway.
In a tight cluster, we walk to the front doors of our high school. Being freshman, we are scared beyond belief that some druggie, or super senior is going to beat the crap out of us for dancing with “her guy”. We have made a pact that we will defend each other if that does happen, I know it won’t but the things that run through your mind when you are nervous seem infinite and all very plausible.
The line to hand in our tickets is a lot longer than I expected. We all get in quickly to make sure that Jen, Ava, and Evelyn can get tickets. The bass from the gym is making the walls vibrate and I can see through the small, rectangular windows on the doors, couples making out in there too. I point it out to Gwen and she starts laughing hysterically after seeing my disgusted face. The laughs that I follow with are painful and soon turn into coughs.
“Are you okay Ella? Should I call your mom, cuz those don’t sound like your normal coughs?” Gwen says, while pulling out her bejeweled phone and she begins her search through her contacts to find my house number.
“I’ll be okay.” I say, sputtering a little through my words while trying to hold in another cough. “If we call her, she’ll freak out and I’ll have to go home. I’m fine.”
We all walk into the gym single file as the teachers check for our tickets. I’m one of the last people in our group to get in, so by the time I enter some of my friends are already dancing with unknown faces. I feel a hand grasp my wrist and pull me onto the dance floor. Once my eyes adjust I realize that it was Gwen pulling me and we are now dancing with Jen, Ava, Julia, Hannah, a guy named Gavin and three more unfamiliar boys. The beat of the music was pounding in our heads and we could feel the layer of dirt building up on out soft, bare feet.
“We are gonna go to the bathroom.” Gwen yells over the blasts of music. “We’ll be right back.”
The eight other group members all nod while trying to keep their momentum and we slide off to the girls bathroom across the hall.
As we walk, we are both hit with the over powering aroma of cheap perfume and hairspray. There are already five girls in a cluster, comforting one sitting in the middle crying.
“He said he was going to come, he promised me!” says the tallest one while tears drip down her plump, red cheeks. All of her friends sat around in the circle, seeming to be contemplating what she said until a boisterous girl chimes “You know he doesn’t deserve you. He’s scum.” This seems to comfort all of them.
Once they register that there are two newcomers in the bathroom, there is silence, awkward stares, and then the cluster leaves.
“Oh my gosh, it’s so hot in there.” Gwen says while pumping the paper towel dispenser, then she rips off two pieces, handing one to me. “I can barely even hear myself talk! I mean the music is so loud, but I don’t think it would be so much fun if it wasn’t.” Smiles simultaneously cross our faces.
“So, what do you think of Gavin?” She asks as I try to picture her with a tall, lanky, blond, boy who seems to always have something to smile about. “I think I like him, I mean like you and him. You guys would be so cute.” This seems to make her smile grow almost twice in size.
There is a loud pounding on the door, as if someone is hitting it with their fore arm, and then the school nurse, Mrs. Harrods, runs in.
“I saw you girls run in here in a hurry, and you have been in here for a while, are you okay Ella?” She manages to say while gasping for air. In her clenched fist she holds a walkie talkie and a first aid kit.
I assume she ran back to her office on the other side of the building to get supplies in case I had a problem.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine Mrs. Harrods. We were just taking a little break. Anyways we were planning on going back into the gym now, but I will definitely tell you if there is anything wrong.”
“Plus, I take really good care of her,” Gwen says, I feel the pressure of her hand clap me on the back. “After all, we are practically sisters.”
This seems to settle Mrs. Harrods. With a shrug of her burly shoulders, she smiles, nods her head, then saunters off into a hormonal waste land. A few minutes later, we follow her path back out of the bathroom and we re-enter the gym, our group bopping in practically the same place. I think they slide over a little bit, but that’s probably to get farther away from the semi psychotic seniors, known for their less than light drug use. With minimal conversation, from the lack of words we are able to hear, we dance what seems to be, the whole night away.
The room seems to be getting hotter and hotter and when Ava asks if I want to get a sip of water, I am practically halfway out the synthetic wood doors.
“So did you see Mr. Craft’s comb over?” she says motioning her eyebrows up and down as I take a sip from her water bottle. “It looks pretty cute!” I have to cover my mouth to prevent the water that has seeped through the crease of my lips from escaping. Bursting out in a mixture of laughter and coughing, the water trickles down my front as I try to conceal my smile. It doesn’t help that with every laugh or cough I let out, Ava’s guffaw grows even louder.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t intentionally sabotaging your dress.”
“It’s fine.” I manage to spit out between coughs.
“Are you okay? Do you need any water? That might help you stop. How about we go to the bathroom to clean you up a little.” She says, linking arms with me and escorting me to the room I was in less than an hour ago.
“There you go!” She says, wiping access water off my front. “Boy, those coughs are really out to get you tonight, aren’t they?”
“I’ll be fine, they’ll let up soon.”
“Are you sure? I can get the nurse. I think I saw her right out there. Just a sec.” Ava starts to head towards the bathroom door to retrieve the only women that will send me home tonight.
“No! No, don’t get her. She’ll have an anxiety attack and then I’ll have to go home! It’ll stop soon, this happens all the time. Don’t worry.”
“Well, if you say so. Just tap on my shoulder though if you’re having any trouble and I can go get here. I don’t want you to die or anything.”
You can always tell when Ava is nervous. She repetitively wraps her straight, blond hair around her lean, pale index finger.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you right away if something is wrong.”
Trying to reassure her that everything would be fine, I gave her an easy smile and placed my hand on her shoulder as we walk out. Strutting though the hallway, I start to get that horrible sensation. It’s hard to describe, but there is a ringing in your ears and a knot in your stomach. When you know that something, one way or another, is going to go wrong.
“That’s it; I’m calling your mom. I can’t take this anymore. You know you need to go home.” Gwen says as she once again pulls her phone out. Bracing myself against a wall, I repetitively cough until that sweet and salty mixture of blood comes up my throat. Leaning over and spitting in the bathroom garbage can I feel my heart race even more as Gwen gasps when she sees.
“Where’s Mrs. Harrods, I need her now. It’s an emergency!” She says, rounding the corner of the bathroom doorway in to the main school hall.
Another teacher, whose face I don’t truly see because I feel as if I’m going to pass out. My head seems to be spinning. I’m now bracing the sink and someone is rubbing my back. These hacking coughs seem to be wearing away my throat.
“Everything is going to be fine sweetie. I’ll help you out to the car.” My mom is now holding my elbow and lower back, helping me as I stumble through the hall, hoping that no one will see me in this state.
The car ride home is completely silent. Slowly, I gain control of myself and finally, I stop coughing. The clumsy van glides into the drive way and my dad comes out of the house to help me to my room.
“I’m scheduling a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow, surely Tessa is still awake. How about you go, put some pajamas on and I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” Mom says as she flips through the rolodex on the counter, trying to find Dr. O’ Callaghan’s phone number.
Joel was standing on the stairs, staring at me, glassy eyed.
“Are you okay? Mom was really scared when she answered the phone and then she left really fast. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow, right know my throat hurts when I talk. I’m all right, so don’t worry.” I say, ruffling his sandy blond hair as I pass him to go to my room.
Sliding open my highest dresser drawer, I pull out my favorite, fleece sleeping pant, then throw on an old Pink Floyd t-shirt, that used to be my dad’s. I spy a tattered pair of fuzzy socks on the ground, slip them on to my feet and then walk over to my bed. While pushing my legs under the pink sheets, my mom walks in with a tray.
“Here, drink this.” She says, handing me my favorite mug. It is cream with blue and red flowers. “It’s that dark hot chocolate you like. I scheduled an appointment with Dr. O’ Callaghan tomorrow at one, so you can sleep ‘til noon. You won’t have to go to school for the next couple days. I’ll call the school Monday morning and we can pick up your assignments. After your mouth cools off, can you take your temperature? I want to make sure you’re not coming down with some bug.”
Picking the tray back up, she carefully walks out.
“You really need to clean this room sometime, you can barely see the floor! I’ll cut you some slack though, goodnight Ella. I love you.” With a sweet, loving smile she walks back over and gently kisses me on the forehead.
“Goodnight Mom, I love you too.”
Descending deeper down under my sheets, I place my head on my pillow and lay awake until my eyelids become heavy and I fall asleep.
Chapter 2
Pushing my hair out of my face, I open my eyes and see my mom standing in my doorway, her hands pressed against the chipped paint on the side with a wide smile on her face.
“Good morning sweetie. I was just coming to wake you up,” she says while walking over to my bed side and gently easing herself onto my over stuffed, pink comforter. “You have a doctor’s appointment in about an hour. I just got off the phone with Tessa; she says if you’re still sleeping we can push it back to three, that’s when her next opening is.”
“Okay, I think I’ll be ready by one. I’m gonna get some breakfast then I’ll take a shower.” I say, pushing back my comforter.
“I cooked some pancakes for Bryan and Joel, do you want some? I think there are three left.”
“Nah, I’ll just have some cereal.”
Smiling, once again my mom nods and stands up to leave my room.
“I’ll leave you to your business then.” She says, pulling my white door shut.
Stepping quickly out of my bed, my feet plunge into my shag carpet. Ever since seeing The Sixth Sense, I’ve been terrified that someone is going to grab my ankles from under my bed. It’s a stupid, constant fear. My pink cell phone was sitting on the top of my dresser. Twelve new messages popped up on the screen and of course, most of them were from Gwen with a majority of words spelled in ways I have never seen. Her frantic state was very apparent when I left the school last night, and is even more apparent in her hectic text’s. She was shaking when she saw the blood. Her clumsy fingers probably had trouble getting around her small keyboard.
“Omjg! R utoi okaa!?u scrdesj me!” A majority of the texts read.
At first it took a while for me to figure out what they were trying to get across, but then I finally gave up on this decoding game I seemed to be playing, and I just texted her back.
Walking into Dr. O’Callaghan’s office, I once again get the strong smells of hand sanitizer and baby tears. Dr. O’Callaghan is a really nice lady, she is like my second mom, but I wish her office wasn’t so dreary. There are orange and purple monkeys depicted on the walls, obviously trying to brighten up the place. The receptionist, Kelly, smiles when she sees me and then tells me just to go back to Dr. O’Callaghan’s typical room. I walk past her office, with my mom a short distance behind me.
“Hey there Ella! Your mom tells me that you had some problems last night, with your coughing?” A pained look crosses her face then a smile quickly follows, “But she said you looked very beautiful though. How about you jump up here so we can listen to your lungs. I want to hear how those guys are doing.” Patting on the squeaky, vinyl bench, I push myself onto it as I straighten my green medical robe.
“Could you take a couple deep breaths? Ah, that’s good. Thank you.” She says as my chest rises then falls. “Okay, so your lungs are sounding pretty good. I’ve heard better, but from what I hear, last night was pretty bad, so on that accord, you are doing pretty well.” Looking from me, to my mom she continues, “I think that I’m going to increase her thAIRpy hours, that should help decrease the mucus build up and it should also help with her other symptoms too.”
“Do you think an adjustment in her diet would help? She hasn’t been eating very healthfully lately.” My mom says, staring directly at Dr. O’Callaghan with a discerning look.
“With her problems, food won’t do anything, but my advice would be to exercise more, if possible and get more sleep, you look tired.” Patting her hand on my shoulder, I nod.
“I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. Tomorrow, if you come over to my house, I’ll be the most energized teen you’ve ever seen!” With an incline in my voice, my mom shushes me to be quiet. Apparently, many sleeping people in a pediatrics office at one P.M.
“Well, I guess I’ll just see you girls tomorrow then,” Dr. O’Callaghan says while finishing up our appointment and glide the heavy door open. “If you have any more problems though, Ella, feel free to give me a call. I’m gonna be coming home tonight probably around six or seven, so you could try my house then if any issues come up, but your mom seems to be good at dealing with medical things like that.” Giving me a gentle smile, she holds out her hand as if to escort us from the room. We walk out ahead of her before saying goodbye.
“Can you tell Jane to schedule you another appointment sometime next month, just a usual check up.” Nodding, my mom and I wave as we say our farewell’s and walk towards the secretary to do as my doctor asks.
Getting back to our van in the parking lot, I pull open the gold door and climb inside.
“Hi, could I have two grande coffee frappacinno’s please.” My mom belts into the square, tan box in the Starbucks drive thru.
She pulls up to the window, where a heavily pierced and tattooed teen is standing and in a raspy voice he asks for the money then hands us our drinks.
“Have a nice day.” He says as my mom smiles, returns the response, then drives away.
The long, green straw is moving back and forth, as we drive home, in my attempts to suck up the last of my drink. The chills from the shredded ice in it are starting to set in and I am beginning to shiver.
“Thanks Mom for the drink.” Because trips to Starbucks are pretty unusual, but always desired, I feel that I always need to thank her after she treats me to coffee bliss, so I’m not excluded next time.
“No problem sweetie.” She says turning her head to smile at me, her chestnut hair brushing against her shoulders as she moves. “Oh my gosh, look at my arm. I’m already getting goose bumps.” She says laughing and rubbing her arms, trying to get the unnerved hairs to settle down.
“I have the same thing too.” Raising my arm to show her, I turn my head to look back onto the road. “Green!” Manages to roll off my tongue as the car behind us starts to honk it’s horn.
“People these days are so impatient.” She responds while gliding around the corner, with a clear view of our house directly ahead.
“Hey little buddy!” I say, as my younger brother Joel makes his way down the stair case, while rubbing his eyes after I close the front door. “How are you feeling?”
Since schools start a few weeks ago, Joel has come down with a cold or something with cold like symptoms that has made him sleepy and gave him a runny nose. Since I am staying home to recover, I am practically his nurse, which is fun when I get to read him stories and sing him songs, but when it comes to carrying his dirty tissue to the bathroom or helping him change, that’s when I start to wish I had a different job.
While standing in the kitchen and getting a glass of water, the stunned six year old makes his way over to the fridge and grabs the carton of milk inside. He then, toddles over to the cabinet and pulls out a plastic, sippy cup. Placing the cup on the ground in front of him, he spins the cap off and braces the sides to be sure he doesn’t loss his grip.
“How about I help you with that,” I say, rushing over to him to be sure he doesn’t spill.
“No! I can do it! I’m not a baby!” He yells, obviously offended by my attempts to help.
“I don’t want you to spill though.”
“I won’t!” With that, the milk sloshes out of the carton, splatters all over the floor, and tears start to well up in his large, blue eyes.
Grabbing the roll of paper towels on the counter, I rush over to clean up the mess and comfort the sobbing boy.
“Oh, it’s fine buddy. Everybody spills milk at one point or another. No big deal.”
When the tears start to flow more heavily, I scoop him up in my arms and put him onto the couch. Rapping him in a blanket, I flick on the TV then go back into the kitchen and clean up the rest of the mess, pouring another glass of milk for him in the process. Bringing a glass of milk and a cookie seemed to cheer him up, so we sat on the couch, cuddling until he fell asleep once again.
Chapter 3
“I’m gonna run out really fast. I’ll be back soon.” My mom blurts as she grabs her purse sitting on a table next to the door as she starts to open the front door. “And work on your homework when I’m gone! You are going back to school tomorrow and you have only gotten a quarter done. I don’t want you getting any farther behind or else your grades will really suffer.” After giving me a stern look, she walks out the front door.
Unhappy, but avoiding conflict, I go up to my bedroom to grab my book bag full of papers. Four pages in math, two in science, three in English, and two in social studies plus book work I read from my agenda. I clear off my desk to make room for a math worksheet when I spot an old picture of Gwen and I from when we were both five. I go into my closet and pull out my photo album I made in fifth grade, in search for more good memories. Finding a box, I look through all of my pictures, reminiscing.
After a while, I look over at my glowing, blue clock in the corner of my room, reading 7:48 PM. With that, I hear a door slam down stairs and the dreaded sound of my mom’s voice echoing through the halls.
“I’m home!” she yells, her heels clicking on the wooden floors.
Trying to muscle my way over to my desk through the mounds of clothing on the floor, I make myself look as though I have been working, trying to conjure up any good excuse that would come to my head. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“Can I come in?” The door slides open and my mom’s smiling face pokes around the corner.
“Hi there.” I say, with a pained look on my face.
“How’s it going? Did you get most of your homework done?”
“Um, yeah. Almost all of it.”
“Well, is there any way you can finish soon? I want to serve up dinner in about fifteen minutes. You should probably also go to bed right after, so that you can get plenty of rest, your body probably needs it.”
“Ok,” I say, trying not to let the lies show in my eyes, “I’ll eat as fast as I can so that I can finish up my homework.”
Turning to leave, I watch my mom walk away then I rush back over to the heaps of photos lying on the floor next to my bed, trying to clean them up quickly as if I were a culprit trying to hide the evidence of a crime scene.
“Ella, dinner!”
Thrusting the door open, I stride down the stair case and enter my kitchen, while trying to figure out how I should sort out my homework debacle.
“Here’s a plate of food for Joel,” my mom says, holding out a plastic dinosaur plate mounded with mashed potatoes and slices of turkey. “He’s sleeping in his room. Please, don’t wake him up, just put it next to his bed and help him eat if he is awake.”
Entering my brother’s room, I see the sick six year old lying peacefully on his racecar bed. This was the bed he cried for daily and every night, before heading to his room, he would tell someone in the family that he really wanted it, more than anything. When Christmas came and he found the bed lying in front of the tree, he sat in it for hours and repetitively asked for multiple pictures to be taken with him and his knew treasure.
Walking over to his bedside table, I place the plate next to his head, and then grab his water cup, so that I can go a fill it up in the bathroom sink. Placing the cup back down after it has been filled to maximum capacity, I see Joel’s left eye open and then close once more.
“Can you get Mommy for me?”
“Yep, I’ll be right back.” Rushing down the stairs, I get my mom’s attention, send her upstairs, and then start to eat my meal.
“Hey there sweetie.” My dad says, walking into the kitchen and placing his hands on my shoulders to kiss the top of my head. “Hey Bryan.” He adds, once he sees his oldest son sitting in the chair across from me.
“Hi Dad, how was work?”
He sits down next to me and tells us about his day.
He has always seemed to have been great at turning everything he says that in general, is boring, into something that is so funny, it’s hard to keep from crying. He has always been like that too. It was the worst when he was reprimanding us when we were young because we would try so hard not to laugh and my mom would get so frustrated watching my brother and me laughing at my father’s red, angered, face.
“So, where’s your mother?” My dad asks during a break in our conversation.
“Oh, she’s upstairs, helping Joel. I brought him some food, and he asked for Mom. She should be down soon.” At that moment we hear her stocking feet slide down the stairs, and when she comes in to view, I see that she has Joel in tow.
“He says he’s feeling good enough to come down and eat dinner with us, so I’ll guess we’ll see.” She says, while my dad pulls out a chair so my mom can put down my brother.
Going back over to the oven, she pulls the slices of warm turkey out and places them onto the table next to the mashed potatoes, and the assortment of steamed vegetables.
“Dig in everyone!” She chimes and we all begin to gorge.
The dinner, as a family, is short lived because soon after starting, Joel starts to cry and then is taken by the hand back up to his room.
“I think he’s just tired. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched his pillow. I think he will probably get better in the next few days.” My dad says, once he replaces the empty space that was previously occupying the chair.
“I’ll check on him after dinner.” My mom replies while fiddling with the mashed potato mound on her plate.
After dinner is finished, the family scatters throughout the house. My mom went to check on my brother, my dad returned to his worn, leather chain in the living room to support his favorite football team, I have no clue as to where Bryan went and I go to my room to begin my homework.
I work as quickly as possible and skip the questions I feel aren’t necessary. Every sound I hear in the hallway, I panic, hoping it not my mom telling me I should go to bed. Checking my phone, I try not to get distracted by the message on the front screen that reads 3 new messages. Tossing my phone onto my bed, I am compelled to opt out of my math homework, but I decide that’s probably not a good idea because I am so behind. Jotting down answers, I finish my work at ten thirty.
Before going to bed, I go downstairs and get a glass of water. My mom stares at me as I walk down the stairs.
“What are you doing still up? I thought you went to sleep hours ago!” She cries, angrily. “You are going to be exhausted tomorrow and you are not going in late because you slept in, you’ve missed to much already this year.”
“Mom, I not tired and I’ll be fine tomorrow. I’ve gone to bed later than this before on school nights and have been fine the next day.”
“Get your water and go to bed,” She says while watching me grab a glass and stick it under the spout on the fridge. “I’ll be up in a couple minutes to say goodnight.”
Sipping from the glass, I walk up the stairs and then go into my room to change. I grab the pajamas lying on my desk chair, and through them on. I hop into my bed and soon fall asleep.
I wake up and my eyelids are glowing orange then quickly switch to black. Opening them up, I see my mom standing in front of me with her hand on my wall. In my rush to fall asleep, I forgot to turn off the lights. She walks over, gently pushing back the small hairs that have fallen onto my face as she kisses my forehead and says goodnight.
Bleep, Bleep, Bleep, Bleep, my alarm clock hums as I smack it to stop the noise. The nights always seem to go by too quickly and the morning slips away too. School, unfortunately, doesn’t go by at the same speed.
I begrudgingly climb out of bed, getting the unpleasant rush of dizziness that comes every morning I sit up too swiftly. Seeing my sweatpants in a neatly folded pile next to my bed, I am inspired to have a lazy day, so I one foul swoop, I grasp the pants and an old tee shirt, lying next to it. Being surprised with how exhausted I actually am, I turn on some music to pump me up for the day. I find a little Beyoncé always does the trick. Jamming out to Single Ladies, I rub on my foundation, smear on some eyeliner, glide on some mascara and lip balm and I’m ready to go. Snatching a sweatshirt from my closet, I strut out of my room confident, and ready to go.
“So what exactly happened to you at the dance, I heard you were throwing up blood.” I am bombarded as soon as I enter the school.
Several people approach me, curious about what really went down Saturday night and whether or not I’m some kind of medical mystery.
“I just felt sick and started coughing, nothing huge.” I respond.
Obviously not satisfied with the answer, but knowing that I won’t divulge anything more, the group disperses and I am greeted by my cheerful group of friends. Practically being tackled by Gwen, the group surrounds me and begins pelting me with questions.
“What happen?!”
“Are you feeling better?”
“We really miss you and we all were super worried!” I hear from the overwhelming crowd.
“Hi guys! I’m so glad to see you all. Yes, I’m better now, no worries.” I exclaim, trying to make my way to my home class room. Pushing my way into the classroom, I quickly say bye to everyone and rush to my seat before the bell rings.
I’ve heard all of their questions before from relatives and other friends but the older I get; the harder it is to hear them. When you are young, you feel invincible. You know nothing bad will ever happen, until it does. I don’t think it’s scary to think that I will someday die from this disease, but the fact that I don’t know when scares me. Often times, I sit in my bed at night and pray that I have more years to live. So far, my life has been great but I’m not satisfied with the mediocrity I’m living. There are so many things I still want to do and the thought that in one day it could all be gone, terrifies me. I can easily hide my vulnerability, after all I have had years of practice, but I know someday soon I will crack and when I do, it will be harder than ever to explain. It seems that no one really knows what I am going through and no matter how well I explain it to them, they never will because they aren’t living it and they aren’t feeling the pain.
I’m trying to pay attention during science especially since I really need to raise my grade, but my peer’s questions are flooding my mind. Bouncing off the wall’s of my skull, I try to ignore the echoing of their words circulating through my head.
“So, do you have any ideas of why this water molecule is inorganic Ella?”
“Oh um no, sorry.” I say trying to act as if I knew what Mrs. Crosby was talking about.
“It’s fine. I’m sure you’re not the only one.” She says kindly , then turns back around to explain why.
After a twenty minute long explanation regarding this topic, I begin to pack up my bag and wait for the bell to ring for lunch. Once it does, the door way is packed with students and the hallway is flooded with hungry kids.
By the time I near the cafeteria with Evelyn and Ava the room is already full, except for the table next to the tray drop off where we regularly sit. We plop down in our seats and I am once again bombarded. Taking the next five minutes to explain what happened, my friends look at me with intense stares of concentration. After the story is recited, then come the questions. Most of them are common sense, but when Hannah asks if I will die from it, I have a meltdown. The tears are rolling down my face, and I see people from other tables starting to stare.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that! I… I was just, I didn’t think before I said it. I’m so sorry.”
“I know you didn’t mean it, it’s just, never mind.” I say, tears rolling down my face like rain down a pane of glass.
“I’m so sorry, so so sorry.”
Gwen grabs my arm and helps me stand. She walks me to the bathroom so I can wipe off my face. Sitting me down on the wide window ceil, she walks into the stall and gets the roll of toilet paper.
“Aw, Ella, you know she didn’t mean it. Anyways, chances are, in a couple years there will be a cure for this disease. Do you know how many geniuses they have working to find a cure? There’s no reason to cry. You’re living a good life. Your friends love you, and so does your family. Don’t worry honey, it’s gonna be fine!” She says, dragging the moist tissue over my face.
Nodding my head vigorously, I watch her toss the most recent tissue into the trash then grasp me in a hug.
“You know everything’s gonna be just fine, alright? So stop crying and give me a smile.” Tilting my chin up I realize how great it is to have a friend like Gwen. She’s my best friends, but also acts like my mother. She’s always there to slap me back into reality and show me how lucky I really am.
“Thanks.” I sputter
“No problem, what are friends for, after all?”
Chapter 4
When I was seven, I fell into a ditch. I was walking to Gwen’s house after school on a November day. Being that the sun set earlier than normal, I was rushing. My fear of the dark was overwhelming as a child and the concept of being lost outside in a black oblivion petrified me beyond belief. As I was rushing to her house at five o’clock, the street lights winding the cal de sac, began to flicker on. Near a sprint, I lost my balance and somehow hurt my foot, tumbling into a ditch two blocks from my house. I screamed for what seemed like hours, and my throat soon became too raw to try any longer. I attempted pulling myself out of the ditch several times, but that also became impossible to do with a swollen foot. Lying in the ditch, immersed in darkness, I sobbed, waiting for someone to rescue me, hoping my mom would come. People often walked this street, and it seemed just my luck that no one was currently striding down this stretch. Understanding that I wouldn’t be found any time soon, and deciding in my dramatic ways, that I was near my death, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever else life might throw at me. Humming, I tried to distract myself from the fear I was holding, and when I heard friendly voices calling my name, I knew it was my time. It wasn’t until I got an uncomfortable beam of light shining on my eyelids, that I realized I wasn’t dead. Once the shaft of light was pulled away, and I was beginning to feel hands grip my arms, I started to panic and thrash. Shouts of question where thrown around my head as I tried to break free from my kidnapper. The group seemed to be growing as I heard more voices and it wasn’t until I heard the sweet chime of a dear friend that I recognize I am safe.
“Ella, calm down! It’s just us. We’ve got you now, everything will be fine.”
In those moments of terror that often fill my mind, I remember who saved me and pulled me out of that ditch, crying. She and her mom helped me to my house and informed my mother of what happened. Gwen was the first one I called when I found out I had a broken foot, and she was the first one to sign my cast.
Later, I found out that Gwen was the one who decided to go look for me. She knew there was something wrong. My absence from her house wasn’t often especially when a visit was scheduled. I think about that night daily and I thank the lord that I have a true friend like her. From that day on, I promised myself that I would be the best friend to her I could because she was for me.
After receiving a text from Gwen saying that she was on her way over to my house following her date with Gavin, I know she needs to talk. She is like my therapist when I get all emotional and I am hers whenever she becomes over dramatic.
“So how was it?!” I anxiously ask after Gwen’s return from her date with Gavin.
“It was… great.” She responds in a mellow tone, a tone she rarely uses.
“Are you sure? I seem more enthused than you do.”
“No, it was fun. I had a good time. It just wasn’t what I expected.”
“What’s not to expect? You went to a movie, probably talked for most of it, and ate popcorn. You, of all people, would expect that, right?” I ask, unsure of her response.
“Well, you got most of it right, but he didn’t really talk. I sat there and asked him tons of questions and all he did was look at me and nod or just smile or something. I don’t think I could even recognize his voice!” She exclaims, obviously trying to contain the concoction of anger and sadness brewing inside.
“He was probably just shy. I might have been his first date and he just didn’t know what to do. Anyways, not everyone is as capable at talking as you.”
She smiles quickly for me, then gives a disapproving look at her ticket stub and continues.
“He’s nice, and sweet, and seemed to talk at school, but I don’t know if I can have a relationship with someone who doesn’t talk to me. It just seems weird.”
“People change, give him a chance. I think you will be happy if you just wait him out.”
“You know I’m not patient!”
“Well your gonna have to be to make it in this world. Just deal with him for like a week. You can do it, it’s gonna be worth it.”
“Fine, but if it doesn’t work out in a week, then that’s it.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I just have a feeling if you end the relationship now, you’ll regret it the next day.”
Listening to my advice, she promises to deal with Gavin for a while, saying that she’ll break his shy shell in the process.
The next day at school, I am still upset about what Hannah said. Her feverish hast of apologies where nice, but they didn’t change how I felt. Not looking towards today, I through on some sweat pants and a fleece sweater, then rush out the door.
“Miss. Garten,” my English teacher Mr. Cole bellows as he sees my mouth moving at high speeds in Gwen’s direction. “do you always feel the need to talk as soon as I start my lectures? Or does it just happen to be a rare coincidence?”
“I don’t do it intentionally; I just remember all the things I need to tell people when class starts. Once I say them, I always stop talking.”
“You never do stop talking though, that’s the problem! Every day I give you a break, and let you talk hoping that once you finish, you’ll pay attention, but that doesn’t seem to happen does it?” He says, the anger growing in his voice.
“I’m sorry! I’ll try to stop.” My attitude and anger also growing.
Today isn’t really a good day to get on my bad side, I thought.
“See, that’s the problem! Whenever I ask you to do something it’s not, “I will stop” it’s “I’ll try to stop” that leaves the door open for failure. I’ve warned you many times and now it’s the third. You’ve earned yourself a detention.”
“What?!” I exclaim, about to shout more words of anger, but then refrain after thinking about what the new consequences could be.
“After school tomorrow, plan to see you there.”
I can feel my cheeks begin to flame with furry and the creases between my brows deepen. My first week back and a get a detention. Just the thought of my mom’s face when she gets the call from my school makes me want to storm out of the room. I can picture in my head, the disappointment on her face then the anger that will follow.
“I hope you will learn your lesson.” He blurts over his shoulder while continuing to finish the poem he was writing on the chalk board. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
Trying to burn a hole in the back of his head with my angry stares, I scribble in my black and white mead journal. I don’t think there is a word to describe the immense hatred that is currently growing in my chest, but once it gets to the point when I feel like I am going to scream, I decide I need to take a break and go to the nurse.
Quickly plunging my hand into the air above my head, I wiggle my fingers to attract even more attention from Mr. Cole.
“What is it now Ella?” He moans while slouching.
“I need to go to the nurse, my head hurts.”
“What?! You haven’t been doing anything all class now you want to leave?”
“Yes.” I put it simply.
He sighs then quickly scribbles on a pass and holds out his hand, “Come on, take it.”
“Thank you.” I squeek while gathering my things and making my way up the thin isle to reach the pink square of paper.
Grasping the pass I thank him once again, then leave the room and enter the empty bliss of the hallway.
“Hi Mrs. Harrods. How are you?” I ask, while walking over to her desk to say hello.
“Hey there Ella! What can I help you with?”
“Oh, I don’t really know if you can do anything, but I have a horrible head ache.”
“Oh, well you can lie down, I doubt that will help but it’s currently the best I can do. Should I call you mom to see if you can take some Advil or something?” She says while I walk over to the low, white beds covered with starchy paper.
Mrs. Harrods has always been one of my favorite people. Her kindness and gentleness is so obvious but it’s not until you get to know her that you see her other side, the side that is hidden in most people. She is really crazy and pretty weird, but makes me laugh so hard that my eyes water.
“So what’s new with you? How’s your daughter doing? Isn’t she going to have that baby any day now?” I say once I get settled on the lumpy mattress.
“She’s doing well. The anticipation is killing us though; I don’t know how much longer I can wait. I’m so excited to have a grandchild.”
“It’s going to be a girl, right?” I ask
“We are pretty sure, but my sister’s granddaughter was supposed to be a boy, so we don’t know how reliable that system is.” Her smile seemed to be growing larger and larger with each word said about this soon to be child.
In mid sentence, the large beep from the school bell interrupts me, signifying the end of the period. Free to go to my next class, I politely excuse myself from the conversation then make my way down the hall, to the math wing.
The white tiled walls and floor are overwhelming when first walking down this wing and the always unpleasant feeling of my pupils contracting after being confronted with a new level of light makes a small pain grow behind my temples. My following class seems to amplify the minute pain too. Miss. Barlow was possibly the most obnoxious, and rude women I have ever met. Her class never seems to go by fast enough. She tends to slink into a constant drone about math equations that don’t make any sense. So far this year, she has sent seven people to detention because of their lack of courtesy which consisted of speaking without a raised hand, and forgetting to properly address her.
My conversation with Mrs. Harrods had put me in a better mood but when I first enter Mrs. Barlow’s room, and she shoots a glance at me as if I have already done something wrong, I once again start to feel my blood pressure rise and attitude begin to boil in my chest.
“Good morning Miss. Barlow.” I proclaim, trying to get onto her good side. “How are ya!”
Ignoring my question, she proceeds to pass out the papers previously lying on a student’s desk. Turning around and glancing at Gavin, sitting nearby I raise my eyebrows, as if a warning to him of what’s to come.
“We are starting class now, come on, sit down!” She angrily states looking at a few girls talking in the back of the room. “Take out your homework from last night, and pass it up. They will be graded as if they were tests. You will also find that there is your homework assignment from yesterday sitting on your desk; I will be answering any questions regarding that today too.”
Looking at the snail’s pace everyone was moving at she once again exclaims “Sit down!”
No one is scared of her or her power and maybe that’s why her commands never work, everyone stopped caring. Mrs. Harrods and I often get onto the topic of Miss. Barlow and her constant nastiness towards students and co workers. She said that the first few years that Miss. Barlow taught at our school, she was the trail blazer for power abuse. She acted as if she was the principal and has always been power hungry. After applying several times for jobs as principal and other head positions at other districts with no luck she just continued to rule her classroom as if she was in control of everything. Back when I had only heard stories about her through Bryan, I felt badly for her and I knew I would break through her hard shell to exposes a kind, loving women, but after a year of trying to make her crack, I realized that she just has a black heart with no other strings attached.
“ Last night, when I was grading your papers, I saw that most people missed questions six, eight, nine, eleven, seventeen, and twenty. I just go over those.”
“Miss. Barlow, I think you deducted an extra point on this. Can you look at it?” Asks a shy girl named Charlotte asked from the back.
Marching to the back of the room with a deep v in between her brows, she snatches the paper from Charlotte’s grasp and looks over each question. Sighing deeply, she smacks the paper back down then heads back to the front of the class.
Raising her hand once again, Charlotte shakily lifts her paper, looking at it puzzled.
“What is it now Charlotte?!” Miss. Barlow exclaims.
“Well, not to be rude or anything, but why is my grade the same? I thought I got the question right?” she manages to spit out; obviously very nervous about the response she is soon to receive.
“You got the question right but I marked it wrong, so it stays wrong.”
Nodding slowly, Charlotte looks like she will shortly cry.
“Don’t most teachers give you the point if they made a mistake? Ya know, it’s kinda a common courtesy thing.” I say, unable to conceal my frustration any longer and ready to take the blow of any punishment coming my way.
With a shocked look on her face, she responds.
“What do you know about common courtesy?! Every day you come into my classroom and disrespect me and my belongings! You obviously are too dense to grasp that concept though, but I bet you’ll understand this. You have detentions for the remainder of the week.”
Walking over to her desk, she advances on filling out the blue form.
“Excuse me?!” I exclaim “I know enough about common courtesy not to talk to people in that way! No one, especially a teacher, should call a kid dense! You can give me detention and call my mom, I don’t care, but I just want you to know that the principal will be hearing all about our little talk too.”
Holding the pass out for me to grab, I take it from her hand and strut back to my seat.
I suffer through the following half an hour, then make my way to the office once the period is done, confident in my side of the story with hopes that it will get her fired.
“Can I talk to Mr. Newman? It’s regarding a problem with a teacher.” I say to the secretary sitting behind a gray desk looking at me over her half moon glasses.
Rolling her eyes, she grabs the phone from its receiver and begins dialing.
“I have a student here that say’s she need to talk to you. Yeah, I think so. Okay thanks. Yep bye.”
Hanging up the phone, she tells me he can see me now, the points toward his office door and wishes me luck.
“So Miss. Garten, I heard there was a problem.” He says, clearly searching for my view on the situation.
“I would say so! Not to sound like a snitch or anything but I was just given detentions for the rest of the week because I was standing up for a fellow classmate that was too scared to talk for herself. In addition she called me dense.”
“Who was it? I’ll call and talk to them.” He says, sighing deeply. He leans forward, placing his elbows on the large, worn desk in front of him and begins rubbing his temples. It is obvious that he already has an idea of who the perpetrator could be.
“Miss. Jeannine Barlow. I think she might be at a study hall now but I would still try her classroom phone first.” I say, sitting a little taller in my chair, knowing that what I said about her might cause our school to take more action regarding her previous offenses.
“Ya, I’ll call her. Thanks for reporting it, do you need a pass to your next class?” He says while trying to open a sticky desk draw that won’t budge, the frustration growing on his face as he presses his two red lips together. After an attempt and a failure, he nonchalantly says, “How about I just make a pass out of some paper, do you have any I could use?”
Gently smiling, I slide a slip of loose leaf paper out of my bag and place it in front of him.
“Thanks.” He remarks shyly
Nodding, I take the paper from his slacked hand and thank him for speaking with me. I don’t think he realized how much better he made me feel.
Chapter 5
“Hey, you’re going to the party, right?!” Gwen anxiously asked through stall door in the girl’s bathroom.
“Um, can we talk about this when you get out?” I ask feeling kind of uncomfortable talking about a party in front of three other girls.
“Oh, yeah,” she giggles, “sorry!”
I hear the tumbling noise of water going down a toilet, then the stall door clicks open as Gwen walks out, still giggling.
“So, what were you gonna say?” I ask now that the onlookers have left.
“Oh! Right, the party! Gavin’s like best friend, Tommy Bourke, is having a costume party on Halloween. Do you wanna go?! They said it wasn’t gonna be really big so I should keep it quiet, but I can invite anyone I want!”
“Sure! Wait, is it on Halloween? I might have to go trick or treating with Joel, but I’m sure I can figure something out. What are we gonna be though?”
“I was thinking either thing one and thing two from The Cat in the Hat, or like s’mores. I saw an easy way to make them on some news website so I figure if we can’t find anything else then we can make them last minute. Feel free to come up with something too.”
“I’m pretty much clueless when it comes to costume ideas. You know me, for most of my childhood, I was either a Disney princess or a vampire. I’m not really one for originality.” Laughing, Gwen dries off her hands, then we stomp into the hall together, on the way to study hall.
“How bout I text you when I get home, cuz I need to know for a fact if you can come. The R.S.V.P. date is this Sunday, and Tommy needs to know the number of people coming.”
“I’ll talk to my parents bout it tonight, but I’m almost positive they will say yes.”
Sliding onto a crumb covered cafeteria bench, we dump our stuff on the table and get settled in. Even though Gwen and I can talk for ages, this period always seems to stretch on forever. Lugging her iPod out of a pocket in her book bag, Gwen unwinds the tangled strand of plastic then holds out an ear bud for me to take. We listen to music for the remainder of the period, occasionally pulling an earphone out of our tuned in heads to mention something that just came to mind and we are sporadically lectured by our study hall monitor for speaking to loudly. We obviously forgot about the level of the music and compensate by increasing our own volume. Seeing crowds of people at neighboring tables stand up and leave the room, I glance at the clock and realize that the bell to leave has rung.
“Hey Ella!” My bus buddy, Stella, chirps from the back of the disheveled vehicle.
“Hi there!” I respond, remembering I haven’t seen her in at least a week.
“So, are you pumped for Halloween, or what?!” She says, while jumping up from her seat to let me in. Her stop is before mine so it makes the most sense for me to sit next to the window.
“Yeah, but I have no clue what I’m gonna be, how bout you?”
“Well, I think I’m gonna be a cave girl cuz my mom was gonna make my costume and she said that would be easy. I’m not sure if I wanna be that, though, so we are going to the fabric store just down the street to see if we can find another pattern.”
“Hey Ella!” My bus driver Iren yells, “Are you going to your house today?”
“Yeah,” I respond. “My mom wants to get some stuff done, so I’m not going to Gwen’s today.
“Oh ok, sounds good.” She says, then smiles sincerely.
“Well this is my stop, see ya tomorrow.” Stella says in her airy, sing song voice.
“See ya!” I respond cheerfully.
When the bus rolls up to my stop, I can see my festive house surrounded by fake spider webs and carved pumpkins. Staggering down the steps onto the road, I say thank you to Iren, then begin walking toward my humble abode.
Walking up the driveway, I see my brother’s face pop up in the window followed by my mother’s.
“Welcome home sweetie!” She exclaims as the opens the door and holds out her arms for a hug. “How was your day?”
“Fine, actually I have some stuff I need to talk to you about.” Seeing the concerned look on her face, I reassure her. “Don’t worry, no detentions today. I have recovered and learned from my little bout of attitude.” Her face calmed with this comment.
“So how was your day?” I ask politely, trying to get on her good side before approaching the every tender topic of a party.
“My day was great! I cleaned up the house, and met for lunch with Tessa, um, what else did I do?” she asks to herself. “Oh, yes, I decorated the house for the season!” Striking a pose, she extends her arms as if modeling the work she has done.
“Looks good!” I exclaim.
Satisfied with my respond, she proceeds in asking me about what I wanted to discuss, referring to what I had said a few minutes before.
“Well, today at school Gwen asked if I wanted to go to a Halloween party with her. It sounds really fun and it won’t go very late. I was going to go trick or treating with Joel, but I figure I can twist Bryan’s arm into doing that and I would just owe him a favor. What do ya think?” I ask nervously.
“Well, I think it sounds fine. I’ll have to find out a few more details, but once I have those, then you have my approval. The only thing is convincing your dad.”
With a pained look on her face, she warns me about how he is less likely to let me go out, me being dad’s little girl, he is constantly protective.
“He’ll be home in about an hour, so you can ask him then. I would make sure he was in a good mood though, catch him in a bad one and you definitely won’t be able to go.”
“Okay, thanks Mom. I’m gonna go and call Gwen, she’ll want to know.” Grabbing my phone from my school bag, I go up to my room and poke at the key board, dialing her cell number.
“So what did they say?!” Gwen curiously asked.
“My mom said yes, and my dad isn’t home yet but I don’t know what he will say.”
“Well keep me posted! I really want ya to go!”
“Yeah, it sounds fun. If I promise I’ll be good then I think he’ll let me go but I’m still not sure, he’s been really protective lately.”
“Ella, he’s home!” I hear my mom bellow from downstairs.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be down soon!” I respond, while covering up the mic in my phone so that I don’t deafen Gwen.
“Sorry I have to go, he’s home. Talk to ya tomorrow. Bye”
“Bye!” She says quickly, and then hangs up.
Walking down the staircase, into the kitchen, my dad is sitting at the table, talking to my mom and rubbing his forehead. He seems really stressed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)