Amongst The Stars

Chapter Four

Bowl of Oranges - Bright Eyes "I think I'm cured No, in fact, I'm sure of it Thank you, stranger for your therapeutic smile"

I sit at the kitchen table, flipping through my notebook of potential lesson plans for the upcoming week. I keep many options available, so it's always hard to choose. Papier-mâché animal masks could be fun, but I'd need to go to Hobby Lobby to get supplies. I nix that idea and move on to the next. We could do a Jackson Pollock unit, but I'd need to check the weather. There is no way I'm letting these gremlins throw paint indoors. I pull out my phone to check the weather app and let out a giant sigh when I see that we're scheduled for rain every day this week starting tomorrow. As I dive back into my planning book, I'm interrupted by Craig barreling into the room. "Do you plan on actually doing anything around here today?" He practically yells out. It's been a few weeks since he had his little "come to Jesus" moment, and whatever niceness he had in him seems to be wearing off. He's been picking fights again over the smallest things. He's even started making snide comments when I have to make another trip to Hobby Lobby. "Interesting how you always just seem to be out of something for your classroom! I'm not great at math, but it seems improbable that you'd need something every single week." I slowly blink and look around the room, taking in the clutterless counters and decidedly empty sink, before gazing back at him.

"What do you mean, Craig?" 

"It's just a mess around here, and you've been holed away at the kitchen table all morning."

I take one more look around before crossing my arms over my chest.

"If there's a mess in here, you made it. I cleaned the entire house before I went to bed last night," I grit out, "though I don't suppose you would have noticed because you were so engrossed in your Xbox." I watch as he flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing as his brain attempts to find the words to respond. He's not used to me talking back to him, so I relish the reaction I've gotten out of him. Before he can find a new way to criticize me, I stand up from my chair and say, "Gonna have to cut this short, babe. I have work to do. For my job."

I gather my items from the table and put them back in the canvas messenger bag I use for schoolwork.

"You're being so mean." 

 "I'm being mean because I'm the only one who does anything around here. I work full time, I am in school full time, I cook, I clean, I wash your dirty fucking underwear, and you come in here and ask if I'm going to do anything around here today?" I glance at his outfit, finally realizing what he's wearing, and it only adds one more layer to my annoyance. "Oh! Real nice, Craig. You go into my closet," I tug at the sleeve of the garishly patterned grandpa sweater he has on, "and you take my clothes. Then you waltz in here trying to start a fight?" 

 "...All my sweaters are dirty." 

 "Do you know what functional adults do when their clothes are dirty? They start a load of laundry." 

 "You just do it better than I do, babe," he shoots back with a cocky grin. I exhale sharply, shaking my head. Oh, to have the audacity of a cis white man, I think. 

 "Sorry bout your luck. I'm going to Higher Grounds so I can focus on my work."

Leaving him no time to respond, I sling my bag over my shoulders and make my way to the door. I slide on my worn Blundstone boots and grab my corduroy jacket off the hook. I toss a quick "Bye, text me if you need anything" behind me and head out.