An Average Girl

Home, Sweet Home

Grabbing my discarded Aztec backpack from the corner, I lifted it onto my shoulder and headed out the door. I didn’t bother stopping at my locker, because there was nothing in it that I would need. I stuck my hand into my bag, blindly searching for my car keys as I made my way through the parking lot. It was filled with students still milling about, some sitting on the hoods of their cars and others throwing a worn out football around. I however, was ready to bolt from school property. Unlocking my car doors, I slid into the front seat, carelessly dropping my bag on the seat next to me. The black leather burned the exposed skin on my legs causing me to squirm. Note to self, park in the shade tomorrow. I turned the car on, blasting the air conditioning to cool the car down before I took off.

I had printed off directions to the mall last night, and after spending an hour studying the roads I was fairly confident that I knew how to get there from my school. Pulling out of the parking lot carefully, I tried not to hit any teenagers that were blindly walking with their earphones in. Reaching the iron clad gates to the school, I took a left and headed up the road.

It wasn’t long till I saw the mall buzzing with life before me. There were cars everywhere and finding a spot to park was hard. When I finally did, I briskly walked towards the entrance wanting to escape the sun that was bright and shining. The doors opened automatically when I approached, and the gust of cold air that hit me made me sigh in relief.

The first thing on my list was nail polish, so I went to Urban Outfitters. I picked out a lovely lavender colour, and a turquoise. The sunny weather outside making me want to divert from my usual pinks and reds. I stopped by Chapters on my way out, picking up “The Scarlet Letter” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It was the book behind the inspiration of the movie “Easy A” and after watching the movie, like the geek I am, I wanted to read the book. The original story of what it meant to be labelled as an adulterer.

Hopping into my silver car, I made my way back home. Entering the residential area, I noticed how no two houses looked the same. Each owner had taken the time to make their house different whether that meant a blue garage door, or stained glass, there was some unique quality to each home.

82 Parkwood Drive. The house was plain with a typical white door and matching trimmings. The grass on the front lawn had a slight brown tint to it and looked like it needed to be cut. The day’s newspaper was sitting on the front step, forgotten by its residents.

Pulling into the driveway, I turned the ignition off making the hum of the engine disappear. I stared up at the house before me. It wasn’t big or anything, just a simple two bedroom with an unfurnished basement. It was a little smaller than my house in New York, but I wasn’t complaining. Things were different now.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the house was dark because all the blinds were pulled shut and the lights were off. For a moment I thought maybe my mother was still at work or went to get dinner like a normal parent. That thought died when I heard quite whimpers coming from upstairs. Walking up the wooden staircase, a couple of the steps creaked under my weight. If it wasn’t so silent in here, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. But each creak echoed in the still air of the house making my shoulders feel heavier with every step.

I peered inside my mother’s bedroom to see her curled up in a little ball on the bed. She was crying again, and sometimes it made me regret everything that happened in New York. If anything I should be the one in tears unable to see the sun rising every day, I should be the mess that needed to be taken care of, but instead I had to keep it together. I wasn’t too sure how she would react if I fell apart too, it would probably only make her cry more. I had lost so much, but she was the one who had to willingly give it all up. I think that hurt her more than anything.