I woke up with my little brother yelling in my face.
"Lola, Lola! We're going to Crecent Moon Diner!" My brother Chris just learned to say my name a month ago so it sounded a little weird.
I sat up and blinked sleep out of my eyes and looked around my room hoping the last couple of months was a dream. It wasn't.
I was in a small, cramped room with piles of boxes with sharpie scrawled onto the side, and the paint on the ceiling was chipped. She went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror, she saw a brown haired girl with hazelnut eyes. She went into the kitchen and saw her brother trying to open a granola bar. You would think that a six year old could figure out how to open a granola bar.
"Lola, help your little brother." Her mom said when she came into the living room and saw Chris.
"Why? I might be busy."
"Just do it." I sighed and grabbed the granola bar from him, opened it and tossed it to him.
"Mommy she threw it at me!" He screamed.
"Quiet down! I didn't throw it at you!"
"Mommy Lola is being mean to me!" He wailed.
"Shut up!" I snapped, he was bawling now, my mom ran into the kitchen.
"What did you do Lola?!" She practically screamed at me.
"I didn't throw it at him! I tossed it!" I said.
"She threw it at me mommy! She's lying!" Chris cried. Mom glared at me and pointed to my room. I stomped inside, and mom took my phone and iPad from me, and told me to think about what I've done, which was nothing.
I don't understand why parents always tell their kids to think about what they did, it didn't make us kids feel bad, just angry, and that's why we do it again. If we're not angry at our parents we are sad, and then they sympathize us, and we feel like we didn't do anything wrong. Or it's that your little brother or sister did something like knock over cereal, and your blamed for it. That hurts the most. When you don't feel as loved as your little brother or sister. That they're more important.
I know my mom loves me though, it's just that a lot of stuff has happened in the last couple of months, and moms just distressed. But I know she loves me. She always will.
I hear a knock on my bedroom door and my mom comes in.
"You okay?" She asked when I looked up from my book.
"Yeah." I answer finally." Your just freaked out about dad..." As soon as I said it I wish I hadn't.
A couple of months ago my dad, Jarold McCathee, walked out on us, with our happiness, our money, and our house.
Mom had good money, but had something missing in her life. At the time, she thought it was a man, which I think is stupid because women can survive without a man. After I was born, she realized that she needed a kid to make her happy and that she didn't really love dad, I was fine with that. He never did much for me. So a couple months ago he decided to take moms money and abandon her with a twelve and six year old.
"We'll get along." Said mom, snapping me back to reality." We always do."
That was something that I knew for certain was true.
