Strange [h.s.]

Thirteen

Ella Frazier

"Fuck this," I groan out, dropping my head so that my forehead meets the keyboard of my computer.

I've been sitting in front of this computer screen since I woke up about four hours ago.

When I had my meeting with the writing company, it consisted more of them getting to know me as a person and less of them asking me about any of my work. Before I left, my two interviewers, Dave and Amy, told me they needed me to create a portfolio with some of my best work.

That was about a month ago, and I've never been one that was good at time management, so when I looked at my calendar and saw that I had about a week left until my deadline, I freaked. I forced myself to sit in front of my computer the past two days, wracking my brain for any simple ideas that come to it, hoping that I could turn them into something bigger.

Clearly, not working too well.

My phone rings, making me sit up straight and push myself out from my desk. I shuffle over to the side of my bed, looking down at my phone to see my mom's name flashing across the screen. I pick up the phone, swiping the answer button and bringing it to my ear.

"Hi, mom," I speak, walking back over to my desk and sitting in my chair.

"Hi, sweetheart!" Her voice sings out, and instantly I feel at home.

My mom's voice has a way of blanketing me. Just the sound of her voice brings me insane levels of comfort, feeling like a hug even when she is five hours away from me. It's something I've always felt, especially as a kid. Like whenever I had a bad day at school, coming home to my mom telling me everything would be okay made me believe it, and I couldn't help but feel better about my day.

"What's going on?" I ask, leaning back in my chair.

"Well, I'm here with your father," She starts, my dad interrupting her to give me a quick hello, "We are about to run some errands together, but we figured we should give you a call since we haven't heard from you in a while."

I let out a breath, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I've been busy with work and life."

"No need to apologize, Ella, you have a life outside of us, and we know that," My mom says.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I can't feel bad for not talking to you guys," I point out.

"Then call us more," I hear my dad joke.

"Knock it off," my mom grits.

"I'm only joking," My dad says with a laugh, "Ella, you never have to call us again. We know you still love us."

"Ignore him," My mom says into the phone, "How is work going?"

I sigh, "I mean, it's going. I have to make a portfolio with some of my best pieces for them to review," I stand up from my chair, making my way out of my room and into the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water, "and it's not that I don't like the other works that I've written, I just feel like maybe I should make something new for them to see? But it's just that I don't know."

"You seem frustrated. Have you been sitting at your desk since they told you this?" my mom deadpans.

I fall silent, pulling my lips into a line, "Somewhat, but not currently."

"Old habits die hard," She laughs, " Get up and do something. You can't write a good piece of work if you don't have inspiration for it."

"Suggestions?" I ask, just as two knocks land on my door. I screw my eyebrows up in confusion, setting down my glass and walking over to the front door. I lift onto my toes, peering out of the peephole on my front door to see absolutely nothing.