American Dream?

Bad Start

All night I was tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, images flashed of my sister in hospital, mum crying when we had that massive argument, when I saw dad in the shopping mall. My body refused to let me sleep. I eventually drifted off at five a.m.

The morning was the same as it always has been. I savored thought first few moments when you wake up and have no idea what is going on, where you are and all your problems. The bad thing about it being that this only last for about seven to ten seconds.

It had felt like I only had minutes of rest. But by some miracle, when I looked at the mirror in my room the whites of my eyes were milky and I had no bags under my eyes.

As I crawled downstairs to the kitchen there was no sign of my mum anywhere. I looked into the kitchen, the living room, her room and all the other rooms in the house.

She wasn’t here.

I was completely alone.

Even though of my age, I had never been in this situation. There has always been someone in the house while I was there. Whether it be my sister, my mum, friends or my dad (back when he was living with us). This scared me to be alone and the thought that I have never being alone in my whole life.

I made a mental list of all the things I needed to do before I went to school. I had to eat breakfast, shower, get dressed, brush teeth, brush hair, etc. I tried to do it all in order.

First: breakfast. I looked through all the cupboards, the fridge, the freezer, the table tops and work surfaces. I looked everywhere. Finally I grabbed the cereal box that sat next to the cooker. I gave it a shake expecting there to be the rattling noise of the flakes crashing together. Nothing. I peeped inside. In the box there was only an empty translucent plastic packet with a few crumbs in it. I had no idea what to eat at all.

In checked the grand clock that hung on the wall in the kitchen, the metallic hands ticking round the clock face. I had spent quarter of an hour looking for food. I gave up and run upstairs.

My clothes spread over the floor of my room from last night. After I closed the door last night (or should I say early this morning), a wave of tiredness washed through me. As I entered my room I flung most of my clothes onto the ground. Now I was regretting it. Frustrated, I grabbed every item of clothing I was going to wear, the shirt, tie, jumper, skirt and tights. Walked over to the set of draws next to my desk, and pulled out some fresh underwear. I walked briskly to the bathroom while turning my jumper the right way round.

I dropped everything on the floor, undressed the little clothing I was wearing and entered the shower. I turned the shower on and felt the warm water hitting my bare skin. I stayed there for a while, enjoying the warmth and soothing pitter-patter of the water hitting the ceramic floor. I though about everything that had happened. Questions flooded through my brain: how was Serena? Was she OK? Why is dad back? Are me and Whitney still friends after what happened in class yesterday? Where is mum?

I started to contemplate the places mum could be. She must have gone for a walk. She could have gone to the shops. Or, maybe, she went back to the hospital. I felt stupid for not paying attention to her when Jason left. The possibilities were endless to where she was, but were any of them correct?

Everything has happened so quickly. I used to have a normal life, no worries (besides exams, etc.), I was happy. Well, happier than I am right now. It was bearable. Now much life has turned into a disaster.

One I finished I fished for the towel, wrapped it around me and walked over to the mirror. The mirror was hung on the wall just so you could see yourself from the shoulders upwards. There were flower patterns etched on the sides and a light at the top that could be switched in. The reflective surface had steamed up so I wiped away the condensation to reveal my face staring back at me.

I stood there for a while, staring at my reflection, analysing myself. My mousy brown hair hung in rat’s tails over my bare shoulders; my muddy brown eyes contrasting with my deathly pale skin. My face was soft, without an imperfection. I only had a few freckles dotted round my nose. I am not the prettiest girl, not even close. But I’m not ugly either.

I finally pulled myself from the mirror, dressed, dried and brushed my hair and raced down the stairs just in time, the doorbell went. Shit. I still haven’t had breakfast. My mum, before dad left, used to hammer into my and my sister’s head that we should never skip meals especially breakfast because we will eat more in are next meal.

“Coming!” I shouted as I went into the kitchen, I grabbed an energy bar from one of the cupboards and went to get my bag. It was empty. I forgot to pack my bag. I barreled through the house getting all of the books. As I frantically collected everything, I stared up at the clock. 7:30.

Wait, their early. What time did I wake up at? I didn’t look at my clock, why didn’t I, I though to my self. I walked slowly to the door. The door bell was ringing constantly. Whoever was outside was getting impatient.

I looked at the door. A tall figure of a single person stood outside the door, on the other side of the frosted glass. A man, possibly, judging by the height and the proportions of the shadow.

I was debating in my head to open the door. It was probably a door-to-door salesman trying to make my buy crap I didn’t need. My hands was shaking madly. A bad feeling churned in the pit of my stomach.

I got the keys from the table near the front door and turned it in the lock. I was squeezing the keys so much, that the pattern of the key embedded itself in my skin. Why was I getting so worried, it’s just a salesman, right?

I flung open the door to be face to face with the man. I couldn’t have been further away from the truth, even if I tried.

“Hello, Alexandra.” The man spoke in a slow, controlled voice. His suit looked expensive, his shirt so white it looks almost blue. His shiny diamante cufflinks sparkled in me eyes. And his black shoes were impossibly shiny. His caramel hair was immaculate; not a hair out of place, it was all smoothed down. He didn’t look a day over thirty, although, if you look closely, the wrinkles in the corners of his storm grey eyes showed that he was older.

One thing was for sure. I was going to find out the answers to one of my question.

What is dad doing back?