If I Fell

School Supplies

"Fuck fuck fuck FUCK," I groaned.

I can literally see my hair curling up into itself in the mirror. I knew those twists weren't dry yet. That's exactly what I get for and only starting on them at 1am.  

"Well there's no going back now," I huff while continuing to unravel the hastily done chunky twists about my head. The end result is a very curly but undefined poof spanning several inches out from my head. I twist a few of the ends around using my index finger in attempt to give them some definition.Starting the day with a botched twist out is never a good sign. Mostly because my it gave me an attitude for the rest of the day, but even so.

'Shrinkage is a bitch' is all I think after giving up and gathering my things from around the sink. Leaving the bathroom, I almost run into Angela.

"Hey, that's a really cute outfit," she says while stepping back to admire it.

I arch an eyebrow and look down at myself. It's just a pair of faded skinny jeans and a big green sweater. The sweater shows a little bit more of my collar bones than I would like and hangs past my butt. Scuffed brown boots swallow my legs up to mid-calf.

"Uh, thanks. Gotta look presentable for all the gawkers today right?" I say, walking back to my room. I hear her laugh and shut the bathroom door.

I put my stuff away and start checking my bookbag. In it is a college-thick binder that has seen better days, two packs of loose leaf paper and four stubby little pencils with rundown erasers. There's a half full composition notebook, a granola bar whose origin escapes me and my most recent read American Gods, the cover neatly folded inside as a bookmark.

Oh yeah, I am so ready for school.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Digging it out, a text from Devyn pops up on the screen.

'Hey, try to enjoy today. You know the usual, call me if you need me. Just don't get caught in class with your phone.'

Two seconds after I begin typing a reply another text pops up.

'And don't spend the whole day drawing.'

I smile and finish, 'I'll try, but you know me too well.' My drawing pad and colored pencils are actually the last things missing from the book bag. Only...they're not on the desk where I could have sworn they were last night. I don't remember moving them either. I scan the room and get down to look under the desk. Nothing.

"Where the hell could it have--"

"Mom says it's bad to curse."

"Shit!" I yell, jumping and slamming the side of my face against the swivel chair in surprise.

"Sorry. And you cursed again," Isaac says from his place in the doorway. This little boy makes absolutely no sound. Fourth time in two days he's appeared out of nowhere like this. I think the fact that he keeps showing up and talking to me means he isn't scared of me anymore, but now he's scaring me. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and stand up facing him.

"And why is that?"

He shifts his little Adventure Time backpack further up onto his shoulders and gives me a look that says 'How are you older than me, yet you do not know this.'

"People use curses as a crutch when they lack the vocabulary to express themselves like a regular human being," he quoted smoothly in a very matter of fact voice.

I blink. He blinks. How old is this kid?

"How about you help me look for my stuff and I agree not to curse the whole time?" I ask.

"Fine but we have to be quick because Angie is on her way to the car and I don't think you've eaten yet." he declares before walking into the room and looking around.

"Is that it under there?" He says pointing under the bed. A familiar black weathered book corner peeks out from under the bed. He picks it up before I do and his jaw drops.

"D-did you draw that?" He stutters, not taking his eyes off the page the book is open to. I hold my hand out, expecting him to give it to me but he just keeps staring. I gently take it from him and look myself. It's an old drawing, dated over a year ago. In it, an elderly couple is standing in a grocery aisle. The woman is holding her husband's hand and pointing to something on the top shelf. The man is looking at her face and smiling this little smile. The kind of smile that is usually associated with a love much younger that theirs.

"Yeah." I close the book and dust off the binding..

"It looks really good. It must have taken you a long time to finish it."

"Eh, it's not my best." I had to draw it from memory since I only saw them as I was leaving the store. Did a rough sketch first while I could still remember then smoothed out the details later.

"Did you not finish coloring it?" He asks, helping me gather the pencils from under the bed.

"No, it's finished. Signed it and everything." I grunt while climbing to my feet.

"Well how come they're the only things colored?" He probes further.

"Because that's the way I drew them. Got a problem?" I demanded, growing a little irritated.

"Not really" he apologizes.

But then a few seconds later " It's just they're not colored right. Like he's all peach and she's all yellow and you didn't stay inside the lines. They teach that in like kindergarten."

"Yeah well life teaches that not everything can stay perfectly inside the lines." He goes quiet, probably committing that phrase to memory so he can use it on some other unassuming adult. We make our way out the room. Once we get to the kitchen I feel sorta bad for shutting him down like that. While reaching for a box of pop tarts I decide to give him an explanation of the drawing.

"That's how I do most of my art. At least the ones of people."

"But why?" The fridge opens and closes and I feel something nudge my side. He's holding out a mini bottle of orange juice -- no pulp.

After yesterday's hurried breakfast before we rushed off to church, I'd come to realize that the dining table was little more than a prop in the household. They all either ate at different times or in different rooms. Angela cooked breakfast or grabbed it from the cabinet for her and the boys. Their parents cooked dinner but ate it in their offices or on the run if they had a meeting. Not that I minded any of that, if it meant I could avoid drawn out conversation like this one.

"I don't know. I just draw what I see." I admit truthfully, accepting the bottle.

"Are you colorblind?" He shoots off immediately. This kid has no chill button.

"No, I can see colors just fine including the reds, the greens and the blues."

Though I expected him to be even more confused by my cryptic answer, he simply nods his head in understanding.

I throw the book and breakfast items into my bag then shimmy on my jacket. He opens the door and we're out.