Daydreaming at Night

Chapter 2 - Am I really awake?

For being homeschooled my whole life my expectations of high school are quite high. I mean, in movies the sun is up when you wake up but why is the sky still dark? I roll over and snooze the alarm.

5:45 AM.

I stand up and ruefully make my way to my uniform. Oh did I mention it's a private school? Yeah Mom and Dad forgot too. Well, I think private would be more fitting to my personality so that I didn't throw a tantrum to.

The alarm snoozes again.

5:50 AM.

I was daydreaming again. 

I told Mom about that and she told me that I just have the tendency to zone out and enter a part of my subconscious where I can reside in and converse with myself. Thanks Mom for not making me feel like a freak.

6:00 AM.

I get out of the shower and immediately begin putting on my preppy prison uniform. A gray skirt, a blue blouse, and a navy jacket with a patch of the school's crest. I assemble them all and head downstairs.

"There she is!" Dad greets me again. 

Again?

Yes.

Today wasn't my first attempt... What can you blame me? If you haven't gotten it by now I have extreme social anxiety. Mom has been gradually driving me around town to submerge myself into society and I can't even lie — it has worked. 

I can go into flea markets, libraries, and Dad's lecture room. 

He once brought me there for "bring-your-kid-to-work-day" when I was 14 and it was the moment I knew I wanted to go to college. The way he spoke so eloquently reminded me how Dad was also Mr. Barlowe and I felt a part of a large-scale homeschool class. Just not at home.

But Mr. Barlowe isn't a teacher for any of my classes and Mom is no longer allowing me to delay my transition any longer.

Mom rushes over to me and greets me in her arms. I peak over her shoulder to read the time displayed on the oven's overhead:

6:25.

"Morning guys," I croak.

"Amari, you forgot your tie," Dad says.

Oh yeah, I forgot that was a part of the prison uniform. But instead of going back upstairs to find it Dad removes the tie from his neck and begins to tie it around mine.

"Me and your Mom are with you every step of the way even if we're not there to hold your hand," he reminds me.

"Please Dad, you sound like a Pixar movie," I whisper to myself.

~~~~~

Mom drove me down this road before. Two weeks ago actually. First for me to get used to the new route that will be embedded in my schedule for the rest of my school year and the second instance for me to go to school.

My birthday was September 2 and the first day of school was the 7th. Today is the 20th.

At first I couldn't get used to the schedule because the time start difference was too much for me. Dad would assign me homework late in the evening when he came home from work and grade it alongside his college papers. 

Then I just didn't feel like it. 

So Mom would have to drive school and get my homework from the main office since she didn't want me to fall behind. 

If anything I'm probably ahead, but I digress. Having a chemist-majoring professor be your Dad and homeschool teacher kind of affects your work syllabus.

Mom and Dad are in the car with me to secure no means of escape while simultaneously offering me support. I already tried to open the door at the previous red light at the corner of 7/11. And guess what? Child safety locks. Well played Mom. I check the time on her dashboard:

6:45.

I've been up for an hour now. Geez, morning traffic is no joke. Those movies were a set up.

Mom pulls up to the drop-off point and Dad gets out and unlocks my runaway-proof door.

"You know guys, school shootings are prevalent these days, right?" I say as a last attempt for them to reconsider their decision.

"You should've mentioned that in your 50-slides PowerPoint on why I should continue homeschooling you," Dad remarks with a snide smile.

"Oh Mari, look over here!" Mom yells from the driver's seat.

Immediately a camera flash invites my eyes brighter than the rising sun.

"For memories," she comments. And like the flash of her phone camera, Dad jumps in and I can hear the sound of the car locking. "Go through the front door and I'll pick you up at 1:30." The sound of her tires screech as she speeds away. Her resolve absolute. You can only guilt-trip a therapist for so long until she decides to become your Mom. I straighten my tie and grip my messenger bag extra tight. The breath I was holding in for so long finally released.

Donovan Private High School.

The beginning of my quiet life.