Sitting in the booth, we just ordered, time to wait.
The phone begins to ring, ring, ring… my dad grabs it.
“Hello?” pause, “Yes, ok,” pause, “Want to speak to her?”
“Yeah, ok, here you go.” He hands the phone to me.
When I touch the phone, his expression shifts, when I
press it to my ear… he goes pale. “Hi mom! What’s up?”
“Well, I’m heading over to pick you up, ok?”
Pick me up? “Right now we’re at Threadgills, should we leave?”
Dad becomes pale, Mom goes silent, he takes the phone,
He says we’ll be right over, more explanations,
he hangs up. I’m confused, shouldn’t we be leaving?
“We’re gonna stay here and eat our food, ok?”
Up at 7, it’s Saturday, should be sleeping,
but I’m packing the red bag, getting dressed, waiting.
Uncle arrives, knocks on the door, time to go.
Changing into white shirt, white ghee, yellow belt,
has to be right, not going to a funeral.
4 claps, I exit the changing rooms, stand on mat,
sit in a line, I’m in the middle, that’s my rank.
I’m the only female, won’t stop me, practice time.
We stand, get in pairs, I’m the attacker, I punch.
He dodges to the side, too stiff, doesn’t move me,
I explain how to do it, repeat, he improves.
My turn, he punches, I dodge, he’s pinned to the ground.
Not allowed to see her anymore. What should I
feel? She’s my mom, should I be angry? I don’t feel.
I need to feel something! I have to! There’s something
wrong with me if I don’t, right? Should I be sad? What
about happy? Lonely? Betrayed? Which is it? How
should I feel? What would someone else feel? Angry, sad,
betrayed, lonely, hateful. Blame my father, blame my
therapist. They took her to court, this is a good,
reasonable, normal reaction, right? I can
do that. I can act. I convinced my dad to stop
taking me to Ms. Iris. I stopped talking to
my dad. I feigned anger, always lying. I’m fine.
In the car, entering the apartment complex
Dad’s driving, we stop at the mailbox, Ann Richards?
Drive down further, park out front, holding letter close.
“Go on, open it,” father said, I’m tense, nervous.
Slowly pull back the paper, careful not to rip..
an explosion of blue and silver, no control.
Wiping away the stars, I slowly pull out the
folded paper. Unfold it, tense, reading through it…
“I got in!” I exclaimed, eyes probably shining,
the blue stars, the silver stars, reflected in them.
Joy filled the car, had to get out, open the door,
the stars tumbled forwards as I stepped out, smiling.
Sleeping, tired, waking up at 7, first day
of school! Have to wake up, get ready. Make a good
first impression. I can do this. Uniform stiff and clean,
shoes white and bright, hair not a rats nest. I’m ok.
Eat a good breakfast, bowls of cereal. All packed.
Grab my bag, shoes on tight, time to walk to the bus.
I’m nervous. I arrive. No bus arrives. I’m going
to be late. Will I even make it to school? Where
is the bus? I’m panicked, alone, where is the bus?!
Have to call my dad, he can help me! “Dad? I’m at the
bus stop, bus hasn’t shown up yet, what do I do?”
He pauses, tells me to walk back home, he’ll drive me.
Art class, can’t wait! I love to draw, especially
people. I hope they let me draw what I want to.
Step into class, pep in my step, I’m excited.
The teacher, a titan! She stands tall above all,
brown hair curling in the craziest of ways, eyes
kind and smiles wide, clothes long and wacky, vintage?
I take a seat, she welcomes the class, first step, self
portrait. I can do that, a smirk cutting my face,
She keeps talking, I draw, no need for a mirror.
“I’m done!” I say, she stopped talking a few minutes
ago. She raises a brow, tells me, “Try again,”
to draw myself, not what’s in my head, just myself.
Today we have gym, have to get in a small group.
Leah! My friend! Where is she? We should be a team.
Looking around the gym, I see her. “Hey, Leah!
Let’s be a team, ok?” I shout, jogging over.
She shakes her head, “You need to team up with another,
you have to make other friends. How about Anya?”
she gestures to another girl, an awkward girl.
Expression, falls, she looks popular, she can’t run.
“Fine,” I grumble, marching towards the line, not cool,
Leah, not cool. ‘Anya’ follows, stands behind me.
“So, uh, have you seen… Doctor Who?” she asks, shyly.
I pause, Doctor Who? Maybe… she’s not what I thought.
Ms. Willie, walking around, telling us to write
ideas for poems. I hate poetry, why
do we have to do it every year? It’s boring.
But ideas… ah, events, possibilities,
Emotions. Sadness, depression, suicide, rage,
homicide, loneliness, boredom. Many more, too.
“Suicide? Are you alright?” Ms. Willie questions,
“Yeah, it’s just a prompt,” I answer, there’s no problem here.
She frowns, goes to the phone. Matters not, keep working.
Told to go to Ms. Rutz? Told to gather my things,
head down to her office, my dad has been called? Why?
Mentions of suicide, I need a therapist?
On the bus, it’s afterschool, waiting for Anya.
I see her step on the bus, look around, confused,
frantically wave at her until she sees me.
She sits next to me, “Are you ready to learn how
to ride a bike?” I grin, she nods. We’re excited.
We arrive at my stop, hop off, begin to walk
my house. I open the door, get us some food, set
down our stuff, we change. Time to bike! I grab my bike
and roll it outside, heading to a nearby road
that’s pretty flat. She hops on, she’s nervous, won’t take
her feet off the ground. She’s like a scared animal,
I have to coax her into calming down, I fail.
Utter boredom, end of school, waiting for the end
of the day. IDU project, such a bore. There
is nothing interesting to do, to big of
a group. They’re all talking, debating, no one can
figure out who’s ‘in charge’. Just pull up a picture
of a girl, she’s from our designated country,
and draw. Someone notices, they like it. That’s my
new job, all I have to do is draw. Perfect, that’s
not too hard. I can at least do something I like.
Everyone else has to communicate, have to
cooperate. They get me to do something else,
couldn’t I just draw? Productivity? Not fun.
Back to the class of art, what will we do today?
What is the new project? Oh, how I wonder. Though,
I would still prefer to draw from my head, do what
I want. Oh well, I can wait, I do it at home
either way. Wait… we’re doing still lifes? “I hate
those! I hate drawing from life! Let me draw from my
head!” I shout, whine, complain, I don’t want this! How dare
she do this to me! The next week comes, I’m used to
it now. Head to the other art class, standing and
drawing. Jars and jars and jars, have to focus. Try
to show the shine in the glass, proportions are right.
Scholastic contest! It returns, a Golden Key!
He was alone, forgetful, sad, but now he’s dead.
Grumpa died. I don’t know how to react, should I
be sad? But, he was miserable, do I have
the right? No, I’m glad. He was sad, it’s better now.
We all, the family, friends, everyone, we go
to the lab that we donated his body to.
We want to learn, Grandpatty came here too. After,
we head to Uncle Carl’s, we celebrate. He
wouldn’t want us to mope around, we eat, there is
alcohol, I swim. I meet family friends, two
are my age, we become fast friends. I’m glad that this
happened, though, Grumpa deserved a happier death.
It’s late, I’m on my computer, dad gets a call.
He gets ready to leave. “Who was that?” I question.
“It was Uncle E, sounds like she might need some help.”
“Is she gonna be alright?” I’m worried now, tense.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” he leaves, I’m alone.
Better to block it out, back to the computer.
Dad comes back, watches the game. Then another call,
he leaves again, doesn’t come back for a while.
It’s time that I got to bed, but is that alright?
I decide to stay up, I’m not even tired.
Dad comes back, I question him, “She’s alright, right?”
He pauses, staring, then speaks, “No, she had a stroke.”
Muffin; The Blog 