Monster In Me

Violet - Mom

I gather up my books as the final bell rings, signaling that school is over for the day. I shove them into my bag, but one of them falls out and lands open, right side up. I had been using the little lacing from a sundress I had when I was five as a bookmark. I hurry to grab it up, and I take the purple lace into my hands. I fondle it with my fingers, remembering the day it had ripped off the little sleeve.

I had been swinging in the swing hooked up to the tree in the backyard, when the shoulder on my dress caught in one of the chains. I kept the lacing so I could remember that dress. It was special to me, because my father Markus had gotten it for me. He was murdered when I was five years old, and by the time I turned eight, the woman who killed him was put in jail. The images of my murdered, bloody father still haunt me at night.

I walk out out of the room, and into the hallway. Brown, rusty lockers line the halls, and I walk for a long time before finally reaching mine, number two-fifteen. I click in the three number password, 6-25-16. Markus's death date. The locker is cluttered inside, full of books and notebooks. I even have a photo album in here. I toss the book in my hand into the locker, adding to the mess. I shut it, trying not to slam it, and make my way to the doors.

There are four of the more popular kids blocking the way out of the school, and I have to ask them to move out of the way.

"Um, can you move please? I kind of have to leave. My dad's waiting." One of the snobby girls turn to face me, and she grimaces at me as if I were a moldy piece of bread. Then she smirks when she finally recognizes me.

"Which one?" The others burst out laughing, and I push myself through them to get to the door handles. They're too busy laughing, and they hardly even care I'm getting away.

What's wrong with having two fathers? It's not like a mother would have been able to take care of me any better than they have. But, who is my mother? I know I'm adopted, but who birthed me?

All of my thoughts disappear when I see the SUV parked in front of the school's front yard, Charlie smiling at me from the driver's seat.

As I'm walking over to the parked car, I notice my friend, Lily, talking with her mother. They look so alike, it's scary. Having been to her house, I've noticed they have the same personality too. Lily even got asthma and her allergy for peanuts from her.

I wonder how much like my mom I am.

Charlie waves me over, and I run over to the car.

"How was your day?" he asks as I plop down into the passenger seat.

"Great."

"It doesn't sound like you had a great day. What's the matter?" I look at him, right into his eyes, and I want to tell him of all the smirks, glances, and sneers. Of all the comments and rude snickering behind my back. But I can't. I don't want him to feel bad for who he is.

"Nothing, nothing's the matter. Just had a scuffle with my math teacher."

"Again?" I shrug.

"Alright," he says as he pulls out of the school's perimeters, and the drive home is silent until I speak again.

"Dad?"

"Hm?" He doesn't look at me, his eyes still on the road.

I clear my throat, although I am very nervous to ask this question. Every time I try to blurt it out, it comes out something else, like, "I love you," or "I'm hungry."

"Who's my mom? Like, well, who is she? What does she do, what does she look like, where does she-"

"Stop. Stop it."