Not Your Average Nerd

Chapter Five

Groceries? Check. Car free of scratches? Check. Awkward-reunion-with-someone-I-really-didn’t-want-to-see? Check, unfortunately.

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            My mother was standing on the porch when I pulled into the driveway. She had really good timing or too much time on her hands. We unloaded the trunk, put everything away, and even made a pot of coffee to share. I wasn’t one for coffee but how could I turn down a cup from my mother? She placed it in front of me in a coffee mug that I had painted for her years ago when I was nine. It was a mother’s day gift. At the time I thought it was a masterpiece, with all of the intricate squiggle-people and the blocky flowers I scribbled on the side. I chuckled as I held the mug up and looked it over. Yeah, Dali probably wouldn’t have approved.

            Mamă and I sat at the table, eating the breakfast of oatmeal and bagels we decided to fix. I had to turn my head and quietly laugh each time she said the word ‘bagel’. According to her, they were buh-gulz. It always made me chuckle when my mother tried pronouncing some words in English. She was pretty good at speaking it, even though she didn’t prefer to, but there were still some words that got her. Like the word bagel, for example.

            Anica walked into the kitchen still in her pajamas, which consisted of short-shorts, a tight cami, and bunny slippers. I could tell my parents didn’t allow her to have many sleepovers with her guy-friends. She sat down at the empty spot beside me and grabbed a bagel. “Bună dimineaţa.” Good morning. She announced, picking off the bits of raisin from her bagel. I grabbed them off of her plate and popped them into her mouth. What? It’s not like they were bad or anything. She just had a thing for hating raisins while I, on the other hand, loved them.

            “Don’t make a mess.” Mamă scolded as she stood up, her dishes in hand. She walked over to the sink to clean up. Anica scooted closer and sighed. “I wish I could speak louder,” she whispered. “I don’t like talking in Romanian. It’s… weird.” Her nose wrinkled as she took a bite of her cinnamon-raisin bagel that lacked raisins.

            “Why?” I whispered back. I mean, Romanian wasn’t exactly my favorite language to speak in but I didn’t mind it. It reminded me of Bran and even though it had been years since I’d been there and my memories seemed to get weaker and weaker each year that passed, I still loved my home-village. Anica never lived in or visited Romania. To her, Romania was just ‘that country mamă and tată moved from’.

            “I don’t know, to be honest. I mean, it’s kind of cool to tell people ‘yeah hey I’m fluent in a language that’s not Spanish’ and all but I just wish mamă would cool it with the whole culture thing.” She finished her bagel and then stood up to run the dishes to mamă. Mamă thanked her, smiled, and told her something that was apparently funny. I couldn’t hear but the both of them began laughing. It really did feel good to be back at home, surrounded with loved ones. Living in San Antonio was fun and I really did like it, but in the end it wasn’t the same as being at home. If only they could move to Texas.

            I walked into the living room, sick of sitting in the kitchen, and plopped down on the couch. Tudor, our old grey shepherd dog jumped up onto the spot beside me. My parents bought him for my brother and I during our fourth Christmas in Astoria. I was twelve and my brother was fourteen. The biggest box at the back of the tree was moving and rustling around, which scared the crap out of me. “Open it,” my parents called, gesturing for me to rip it open. I had no clue what the hell was in a box so big. When I finally got all of the shiny silver wrapping off and undid the tape that held the top of the box together, out popped a puppy that had his tongue flopping out. It wasn’t love at first sight. Of course I eventually grew to love the slobbery little ball of fur, but it did take some time.

            Tudor made a whiney noise, realizing that I was paying way more attention to the TV than I was to him. He nudged my leg with his nose and then barked. His ears stood to attention.
            “What?” I asked him in a flat tone. He blinked at me before nudging my leg again. Stupid loveable mutt. My hand ran along his soft fur, causing him to happily pant. I scratched his ears and watched him kick his leg in that funky happy-dog way. Wouldn’t it suck if humans did that every time they were comfortable? The thought made me crack a smile.

            It was a slow afternoon and an even slower evening. For dinner mamă reheated some of the things we had for dinner the previous night. Of course, she spent five minutes complaining to me about only eating things that grew from the ground. “What, is it because you only eat things that come from the ground?” She had asked. “Most animals eat things that came from the ground and then we eat them. See, if you think about it it’s like a giant chain.” I nodded my head and sat there, happily eating my cabbage.

            At night, I sat in my bed reading through my journal of notes. Leave it to me to be “that student” who looks through her notes during spring break. Out of state, miles away from being anywhere near my campus. I scanned through each page, reread the highlighted sections, and even jotted down extra notes and thoughts to the side. At least I was bound to pass the next exam, right? I took occasional breaks to scratch Tudor behind the ears. He decided that he wanted to share the bed with me. I tried to push him away but each time I tossed him off of my bed he hopped back on and stared at me with his huge brown eyes. When I locked him out of my room he stood at the door, scratching and whining as if he were some sort of puppy instead of a twelve year old dog. I had to give in to him. If I didn’t, he would have sat there all night, bitching and moaning until morning.

            Hours ticked by. I should have already been asleep but I thought studying was the right thing to do. Before I knew it, I found myself rereading the same sentence, over and over again. My eyes felt as if someone tied bags of sand to the ends of my eyelashes. Tudor was already fast asleep, laying with his stomach facing the ceiling and his legs bent in awkward ways. How is that comfortable? I thought, rubbing a fuzzy spot on his chest. Even in his sleep the stupid log of a dog kicked his legs. I rolled my eyes as I settled down between the covers and sheets.