Grabbing my discarded Aztec backpack from the corner, I lifted it onto my shoulder and headed out the door. I didn’t bother stopping at my locker, because there was nothing in it that I would need. I stuck my hand into my bag, blindly searching for my car keys as I made my way through the parking lot. It was filled with students still milling about, some sitting on the hoods of their cars and others throwing a worn out football around. I however, was ready to bolt from school property. Unlocking my car doors, I slid into the front seat, carelessly dropping my bag on the seat next to me. The black leather burned the exposed skin on my legs causing me to squirm. Note to self, park in the shade tomorrow. I turned the car on, blasting the air conditioning to cool the car down before I took off.
I had printed off directions to the mall last night, and after spending an hour studying the roads I was fairly confident that I knew how to get there from my school. Pulling out of the parking lot carefully, I tried not to hit any teenagers that were blindly walking with their earphones in. Reaching the iron clad gates to the school, I took a left and headed up the road.
It wasn’t long till I saw the mall buzzing with life before me. There were cars everywhere and finding a spot to park was hard. When I finally did, I briskly walked towards the entrance wanting to escape the sun that was bright and shining. The doors opened automatically when I approached, and the gust of cold air that hit me made me sigh in relief.
The first thing on my list was nail polish, so I went to Urban Outfitters. I picked out a lovely lavender colour, and a turquoise. The sunny weather outside making me want to divert from my usual pinks and reds. I stopped by Chapters on my way out, picking up “The Scarlet Letter” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It was the book behind the inspiration of the movie “Easy A” and after watching the movie, like the geek I am, I wanted to read the book. The original story of what it meant to be labelled as an adulterer.
Hopping into my silver car, I made my way back home. Entering the residential area, I noticed how no two houses looked the same. Each owner had taken the time to make their house different whether that meant a blue garage door, or stained glass, there was some unique quality to each home.
82 Parkwood Drive. The house was plain with a typical white door and matching trimmings. The grass on the front lawn had a slight brown tint to it and looked like it needed to be cut. The day’s newspaper was sitting on the front step, forgotten by its residents.
Pulling into the driveway, I turned the ignition off making the hum of the engine disappear. I stared up at the house before me. It wasn’t big or anything, just a simple two bedroom with an unfurnished basement. It was a little smaller than my house in New York, but I wasn’t complaining. Things were different now.
I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the house was dark because all the blinds were pulled shut and the lights were off. For a moment I thought maybe my mother was still at work or went to get dinner like a normal parent. That thought died when I heard quite whimpers coming from upstairs. Walking up the wooden staircase, a couple of the steps creaked under my weight. If it wasn’t so silent in here, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. But each creak echoed in the still air of the house making my shoulders feel heavier with every step.
I peered inside my mother’s bedroom to see her curled up in a little ball on the bed. She was crying again, and sometimes it made me regret everything that happened in New York. If anything I should be the one in tears unable to see the sun rising every day, I should be the mess that needed to be taken care of, but instead I had to keep it together. I wasn’t too sure how she would react if I fell apart too, it would probably only make her cry more. I had lost so much, but she was the one who had to willingly give it all up. I think that hurt her more than anything.
I silently moved away from her door, not having the strength to confront her at this moment. Most of the house was still packed in boxes, and if I didn’t put things away, no one would. Starting in the kitchen, I opened the box labelled dishes and put them in the beige cabinets along the wall. I worked in silence, not bothering to do more than open the blinds in the kitchen. There was still some light out, and I enjoyed it while I could.
My mind couldn’t help but drift to Iris and everyone I met today. Right now they were probably still at the beach, enjoying the sun and each other’s company. Maybe they decided to buy ice cream cones to help cool off, and maybe Greg had playfully thrown Honey in the ocean starting a water fight between them all. They were doing what every other teenager is supposed to do: hangout and have fun.
Sometimes I wish my life was normal, like everyone else’s but then again, I’m sure that everyone has something about their life or their past that they keep hidden behind a mask of smiles and laughter. I would only be fooling myself if I led myself to believe that the grass was always greener on the other side. Sure my mother was depressed, but that didn’t mean that my life sucked or that it was a tragedy. No one’s life is perfect. No matter how much we wish ours could be.
Either way I may not be at the beach with my friends today, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t be next time. There’s no point in getting upset over wasted opportunity and missed out memories. There will always be more in the future, more chances to feel normal. Because I think that, that’s all any of us want; a chance, a moment in our lives to feel normal and loved and like we belong. We all crave the same thing, but most of us are not willing to admit that we feel this way. Myself included.
We didn’t bring that many possessions with us when we moved, I had no pictures or decorations to hang up or put around and make the place feel like home. By the time I was finished with my inner monologue the kitchen was moved in. I opened the fridge, gazing at the sparse amount of groceries that I picked up the other day. I wasn’t much of a chef but I could make the basic things.
I gazed up at the ceiling, listening intently for my any sounds of my mother. She probably hasn’t eaten anything all day. She was in the same position now as when I left for school this morning. My stomach rumbled, indicating that I was hungry so I decided to make pasta. It was probably the easiest thing in the world; all you had to do was boil water and add the pasta.
I decided to cook some sausages to cut up and go in with the penne I was making. I hummed quietly to myself as I prepared dinner. Twenty minutes later and I was scooping a large portion into a bowl for me and smaller portion for my mother. I poured a glass of water, and took the food upstairs to my mother’s room. I kicked the ajar door open with my foot, allowing me to pass inside.
I set the food down on the nightstand and shook my mother awake. She grumbled and told me to go away. At least she had stopped crying though, and was only staring off into space. It wasn’t much, but it was an improvement. I opened the curtains in her room allowing the last light of the day to flood inside. Staring out the window made me smile as I saw little kids riding bikes, and girls playing with skip ropes. This really was a nice neighborhood.
My mother, rolled away so her back was facing the window and I tried shaking her once again.
“Mom, I made some pasta for you. Here have a couple bites, I know you haven’t eaten all day,” I pushed the bowl of pasta closer to her, allowing the smell to infiltrate her space. She sighed like I was asking her to give me the moon and more, as she sat up in bed and took the bowl from my hands. Making a big show of it, she shoved a forkful of pasta in her mouth and smiled at me, but it looked more like a grimace.
She looked a lot older than she was, and wrinkles were starting to form on her forehead from all the frowning she did. Her raven black hair that I inherited from her had lost its usual lustre and seemed oily and dry like she hadn’t washed it in a while. She was wearing a pair of my father’s sweatpants and his shirt which made me glance away from her. She wasn’t ready to move on, that was for sure.
“I’m fine sweetie, why don’t you go to your room and do your homework or something. You had school today didn’t you?” she asked. I knew she just wanted me to leave so she could go back to sleeping but what else was I supposed to do. I nodded my head, and slowly sulked out of the room. Every time I stepped foot in there I could feel my energy dissipating, making me tired and sluggish. I went back down to the kitchen to grab my food, and made my way to my bedroom.
My room was the first thing I had unpacked when we moved in three days ago. The only furniture I had was my bed, a dresser, and my desk. The walls were painted a faded orange colour, but the banality of the room was over-whelming. I made a resolve to buy some posters to fill the walls and give the room a little life. I opened my white laptop and started watching “Shameless” the US version. I loved the show and it always made me thankful for what I had and where I lived. Taking a bite of my dinner, the cold pasta made me hesitate for a second, but I just didn’t have the motivation to head back downstairs to heat it up. I continued eating, and when the show ended I didn’t know what to do. The silence flooded back over my ears, deafening me.
I decided that tomorrow I wouldn’t come home so early; spending so much time here couldn’t be good for my health. I wanted to escape from the silence, but tonight I had no choice but to endure. My alarm clock read 9:38 p.m. It was still too early to sleep, so I just laid in my bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I decided it would look really cool if I put some glow-in-the-dark stars up there, it would definitely help the room seem more like it belonged to an actual person.
I decided to take a shower before heading to bed, that way I wouldn’t have to in the morning. I stripped off my clothes of the day and turned the shower on. Stepping in, I allowed the hot water to fall over my body, making my muscles ease from some of the tension that constantly over-whelmed me whenever my mother was in sight. I stayed under the spray of the nozzle, enjoying the sensation of the heat and the feeling of each drop hitting my skin. The bathroom was filling with steam but all I could do was stand there.
Eventually the heat started to fade, and I jumped out before it could turn cold. Wrapping myself in my bright yellow towel, I made my way back to my room. The hallway was still dark, so I ran my hand against the wall feeling the cool smooth surface as I plodded back, trying not to trip over any boxes scattered on the wooden floor.
Entering my room, I flicked on my light and gazed out the window once again tonight. By this point the sun had dropped below the horizon, and all the little kids were tucked safely away at home and were off the streets. Secure in the thought that no danger could touch them in the cocoon of protection that their houses provided. I chuckled pessimistically to myself because the scariest of things happen behind closed doors.