Girlfriend

1. Target Practice

Car rides with my mom are never entertaining. I don't want to talk to her and she just accepts it. She's so irrelevant most of the time and only brings up sad stuff like why I don't smile and memories with Dad.

My mother doesn't understand me and she wants to but she never will. No one gets me. Which is understandable because I'm a little out there. Sure, I'm a downer and I only listen to Chaka Kahn and no one else. Sometimes I put on Michael Jackson's new album "Off the Wall". That's kinda good. My mom used to be a Chaka Kahn fan until I started playing her records on an endless loop. Now she hates her.

My only other outlet to happiness is dancing. I'm a very good ballet dancer. That's what I've heard at least. My teacher hates me even though she casts me for the most difficult and prestigious roles. My friend David says it's because she thinks I've got potential.

Ok.

But Madame La Deux death stares me like she actually wants me to die. It's scary and makes it harder to focus on dancing. How am I supposed to be this prestigious dancer when the teacher doesn't even like me?

"How was dance?" Mom asked.

I roll my eyes and turn up the radio. "Same as always, Mom," I sighed.

"Quit sighing, Cathy Jean. It's sad."

I shake my head and look out the window of our blue 1979 Camaro striding down the street. My mom just had to have this car when she saw the neighbors down the street with one. We just moved to a higher class neighborhood because my mom got a job with rich people. I always liked our simple lifestyle. We weren't poor but we weren't rich. Middle class, if you will. My mom ditched our red Chevy Malibu in a heart beat. She really wants to "fit in". It's like we're back in high school which I graduated last year. The only good thing about that is now I have a car so I can get away from her. Forever, if I really wanted to. 

We finally reach home and I escape to my room as soon as I get inside. I love my new room, but I miss home. My real home. With all of my friends. The only person I talk to is David and I think he has a crush on me. That sucks.

My mom wants me to have a boyfriend more than I want a boyfriend. I have zero tolerance for people, really. I like to be called anti-social. I'm not shy at all, but if I wasn't depressed, I'd have lots of friends.

That's another thing.

My mom doesn't want to admit it, but I'm depressed. She claims I don't smile and she wants to argue that I'm just moody. I'm only one mood and that's sad.

It's not that I don't want to be happy, I'm just not.

My mom knocked on my door disturbing my peace. I thought I turned up my music loud enough to drown out the world.

"What?" I grumbled.

"I made lunch."

I wasn't really hungry but I didn't want to hear my mom whine. I turned off the record player and followed my mom downstairs to the table.

"Isn't this silverware nice? It's real silver," my mom bragged.

"Wow," I said. "How much was this?"

"None of your business."

I nodded and focused on eating. My mom kept staring at her silverware like it was some rare artifact. She keeps buying things we really don't need just because we've got the money. It's very annoying.