All I am (Completed)

Switching Titles

"Switching Titles. Wow. What a nice name for your memoir Hel."

"Hey, Mrs Calhoun. You are pathetic."

She failed me and then tries to tell me that my memoir has a nice title. Whatever. Forget it. I hate everyone at this school.

I fell in love with death. When I was seven I fell in love with death. Instead of focusing on that and a possible lecture from the mental hospital, I wrote about something else. Something that I hoped to get. My own Nirvana. It's more of a becoming of age thing but it was all I wanted it to be.

Switching Titles

The sluggish afternoon carried on with my sister babbling about some nonsense...again. The sunlight emerged on my face and a cold wind throbbed on my ears. It's been a while since I was here.

The place I love most here is my great grandfather's grave. That was the guy that I first learned love from. He taught me about singing and told me about dancing. He was also blind, so he taught me about feeling without seeing. I stood before his grave and smiled to myself. If he was alive now, he would have something to say about the dirt on my feet.

"Tasha!" My grandmother called from the house.

"Pop, I miss you, I wish I could be with you." Leaving my gift on his grave, I blew a kiss to the never ending image of him. "Mi amor, para siempre pop." I left him just like that. That was the last time.

"What were you doing on his grave by yourself?" My grandmother inquired. He was her father, thus my great grandfather. I don't think she can ever understand the bond we had. Granted, that he was her father but they were not as close as we were. I remember the events of his death like they were a famous song. The melody of his presence consume me in a ball of suffocation.

"I had to see him." Was my reply, there was nothing holding me back from crying in that moment besides pride. When you lose the only person who understands you, everything comes crashing after their lost.I'm just a little caterpillar with nipped wings that haven't even grown in yet.

My grandmother, let's call her Jackie, visits once a year for a month all the time. I guess the Hedge she lives in is pretty far from us. I don't really like her but I think my sister does, that's why I tolerate her. I think I have to like her though.

One thing that I hate about her is that she asks a lot of questions. I hate questions in general but her questions are stupid and pointless. She always brings up the past in everything, I guess that's why no one likes her. However, there is my sister. Short, stubby, dark faced Clarissa. I always thought that I was adopted and she was the only real person in the family. But after I met my "dad" I don't believe I am adopted. I put dad in quotes because I don't like him either. I mean, I don't like a lot of people but him especially and his mother but that's besides the point.

Once she asked me about my health. I told her I have some breathing problem thing, I did not know the name yet so I just described what happens when I have it. She kept asking, "Are you sure?" uh, duh! I said that six times! I don't think she likes me either. That's good, I didn't want her to get the wrong idea while she was around me.

The thing is asthma, I hate it. This one time I had it, I lost track of days, weeks and months. It would put me to sleep for long periods of time and I find it very difficult to breathe when it gets hot or cold. The medicines they give me are either bitter and hard to swallow or way too much at a time. For a while there were pills, liquids and pumps. They didn't help though.