Teach Me How To Love

One: Margaritas and milkshakes

I don't believe in love. Nor do I believe in the fact that it makes the world go round or makes life worth living. Love simply is a word that we toss around expecting it to warm people's hearts. It doesn't warm mine.

Perhaps yes, I am a whiney little 17-year-old. It doesn't make a difference to me. My dad left my mom when I was only 5, and I saw it. I saw everything. The arguments, the fights, and the unsolved questions that lead to the conclusion that my dad was seeing another women. My mom couldn't take it. My dad didn't care. And so he left our perfectly perfect family, and I never heard from him again.

I didn't read his carefully written letters that he sent every holiday or every birthday. I discarded them into my trashcan that was the hollow of my heart. In other words, I didn't give a damn about whether or not my father still thought of me or cared of me. It meant nothing. He left my mom. He left me. He left our family behind to start a new life. And there was no place in my heart left to forgive him, none at all.

I pursed my lips and dawned on this for a moment. I had no ideawhere the sudden thought of my dad had come from. Or the thought of love. For a moment, I was still trapped inside my mind, covered with a veil of darkness with only a small candle lit to see. And then, I was transported back to reality. Back to the torture room that they call: "Math class".

"McKenzie, would you like to answer the question?" asked a voice. I blinked and looked up from the doodles on my paper. I had no idea what Mr.Delson was talking about. Iput my pen down and looked at him straight in the eye. Mr. Jacob Delson wasn't exactly your average guy. While he seemed strict asking me this question, it was probably because I slacked a lot in his class. Math meant nothing to me. It was numbers and a bunch of crap.

"I--um....I'm so sorry Mr. Delson, I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, trying to sound as polite asI could. While I detested Mr. Delson's class, the activites he madeus do weren't half bad. Either way though, they were still math. The class roared with laughter as my cheeks turned a flaming red.

"I'm not surprised McKenzie," he said, and chuckled a bit. He didn't give me a warning or send me tothe principal's office though. "Turn to page 81, question number 7 inthe book under your desk," he said, and shot me a small smile.

I rolled my eyes a bit and picked up the dusty old math book under the table on the rack. I stared at the purple and green colored text book and flipped to page 81. Mr. Delson continued on with his lesson while I pulled out my notebook and continued doodling. Doodling was infectious in this class. Math was so boring....

L|a|t|e|r ~ T|h|a|t ~ D|a|y

Since I sucked so bad in math, I had to stay after school for EXTRA SESSIONS. My mom had started making me go to them last quarter. I had nearly flunked math last quarter, but luckily, I had a C-, so I thought I did okay. But my mom apparently hadn't thought so.

So screamed at me immediatly after seeing my report card and told me to study harder. But Igave her a question that was too good to be true: "Mom, I'm never going to go to the supermarket when I grow up, buy 3 boxes of mashed potatoes or something and calculate monomials, am I?"

She just stared at me, sighed, and told me that I was now going to stay after school for the extra-help sessions with Mr. Delson. I practically began to scream back at her, but she wouldn't hear of it.

After my little episode, I apologized to my mom. I knew that she didn't deserve me screaming at her. She had a hard enough life. She was stuck with a crappy old secretary job in a law firm where her boss yelled all day, and we had to live in a danky old apartment with barely any heat during the winter, plus, she had bills to pay. I tried to help my mom out as much as I could and worked at the local McDonalds. McKenzie Clinter at McDonalds. Priceless.