Song of a Sophomore

CHAPTER 6 - Return to Innocence

I open the bedroom door to reveal four walls coated in beige paint and matching carpet. Two boxes under the narrow window are filled with relics from my old life.

While most teenagers' plaster posters of Hollywood heartthrobs and pages torn from Teen Beat magazine on their walls, Gloria forbid me from putting holes in her new drywall. Tape is also out of the question because it could peel the paint. She did allow me the privilege of picking out a new, grown up comforter set to replace the pink gingham and lace coverlet resting on my twin canopy bed since childhood. The white lace canopy remains, a memory of childhood innocence.

I hit the play button on the cassette tape deck of my stereo to listen to my new mixtape. The patchwork of songs recorded off the radio and dubbed from my brother's impressive CD collection is now the soundtrack to my pathetic existence. I flop down on my new comforter, which Ryan says looks like it belongs in a grandma's house.

Fine by me. Grandma's house was always my favorite place to be.

I reach for the only decoration I put on display the day we moved in, a simple, oak picture frame on my nightstand. Inside it is a younger version of Grandma Josephine, my Dad's mom. Grandma Jo's long, silver hair is swept up loosely in her signature braid. Her wide-set brown eyes sparkle with a youthful exuberance despite the deep creases at their corners. Inside the frame, she stands tall holding Ryan, just a baby, cradled in one arm, and me, a cherubic three-year old, on her hip. Beneath her prominent cheekbones lays a crooked smile which speaks of perfect imperfection, a fearless spirit, and fiery wit.

I like to think I take after her with the same strong forehead, cheekbones and jawline. Except for one thing. Grandma Jo's large eyes and sparkling smile exude confidence and command attention but I am uncomfortable in my own skin. Every time I look in the mirror, I fixate on all my imperfections. The protruding ears, full cheeks, wild patches of freckles and I still see crooked teeth, even though my braces have been off for six months.

The taunts of schoolyard bullies from years past hang around like ghosts and the chill of their presence is always perceptible on the back of my neck. Grandma sensed my unwanted companions, even when I was young. A memory fills my mind and I hear her voice.

"What's got you down, sweetheart?" she asks with a hint of a southern twang.

The image of my nine-year old self, curled up on her living room shag carpet, staring past the flickering lights of the television set lights up inside my head. It's past my bedtime and my little self is tired from a day spent in the sunshine, helping Grandma pull weeds in her garden while Ryan raced Matchbox cars in the dirt. He sleeps soundly next to me on the pullout couch. The thought of Mom and Dad hundreds of miles away in Las Vegas for their anniversary is making me feel sorrier for myself than usual.

"There's this boy back home," I tell her. "He's older than me and he's always teasing me with his friends at the bus stop. They call me names."

"Like what?" Grandma Jo's eyebrows press together.

"Freckle face, Little Orphan Annie, Mickey Mouse, because of my ears." I flick one of them.

"Oh, shoot," she says with a fling of her wrist. "Those boys wouldn't know a pretty girl if she slapped them in the face. Don't you go slapping them in the face, now."

I laugh. "Don't worry, I didn't. But, I was mad, so I called them stupid idiots, and do you know what they did?"

"What, sweetie?"