That's Life, Bud

things always change

My morning routine:

Get up to my mom screaming at me

Wonder why she is screaming at me this time

Get changed into some punk rock looking clothes that I know my mom will hate

Brush through my long wavy brown hair and leave it down

Brush my teeth and do other cosmetics

Go downstairs and make breakfast while listening to Green Day or 5sos

Get my backpack and stuff together

Walk to school

"Carter! Go and get me some replenishing face cream from the store before I break out!" Was today's wake up call.

"Mom I have to go to school," I said while sluggishly wiping the sleep out of my eyes.

"Do it or you're grounded!" she screamed, obviously now frustrated.

"I will take my chances," I say and start the routine. Today's outfit consisted of black ripped jeans, a black and army green Green Day shirt, worn out hiking boots, and a red flannel shirt worn over my normal shirt, yet it wasn't buttoned up.

I was about ready to go downstairs, get a coat on, and head out when I check the calendar. . .

"MOM! WHY DID YOU WAKE ME UP! IT IS CHRISTMAS BREAK!" I scream from my room in disbelief and anger. Suddenly she was leaning in my doorway.

"Oh, so you don't have school? Well then you can go get my cream," she said smugly.

"No way!" I said.

"Yes you are! And you're still grounded!" she said and left my room before I could say anything.

I climbed the ladder to my loft bed, flopped down on it and groaned. Don't even think about getting cream or whatever, I thought.

I got up and looked around at my room (where I spent most of my time trying to get away from my mom). It had light grey walls that you couldn't really see because of the millions of band posters covering it, a pottery barn loft bed with a built in bulletin board (surrounded by bookshelves, overflowing with books), and old couch that my mom hates, and my fender squier.

Then there was the window.

The window that I would climb out of when my mom was being unreasonable. The window that I would use to escape from reality when my dad wasn't here for my birthdays or recitals. I loved that window.

And now, I want to tell you that this isn't a pathetic love story about how a boy saves me for my harsh past and present. I want to really bad. And it isn't. At first, at least. But then things change.

Because things always change.