Finding My Own Way

I push my hair aside, trying to focus on what I am writing. Could there possibly be anything harder than writing a short story? Probably not. It's like raising a child. It needs everything from you. Past, present, future, and complex characters with feelings and background stories that all come from one single person. You almost have to be crazy to juggle that many things at once and make a coherent, and even entertaining piece. Well what does that say about me then?

I look out the window for inspiration. The rain has just stopped and our backyard seems washed clean. The grass sparkles in the sunshine that is just sinking below the rolling hills. The wildflowers are in full bloom, splashing the countryside with color. We really do live in the best place for writing. Just one look out my dusty window opens a thousand doors to different worlds. You could write an entire novel just on how beautifully the stars sparkle when you lay in the fields on a summer night.

A large crash sounds from down stairs. I look up from my laptop and listen carefully for any signs of trouble.

"Ah shit!" my mom calls from the kitchen. That's all I needed. Mom really does have quite a mouth on her. It's no wonder that Oliver is always getting in trouble at school. He's lucky I can forge Mom's signature so well or he would be in military school by now. For someone who is only ten, it is ridiculous how much attitude is in my little brother's body.

"Alex! Can you help me clean this up?" Mom yells, which she doesn't really need to do. This house's walls are paper thin; even if I'm on the second floor I can still hear a conversation had in the living room. I throw my feet over the side of my bed and stretch my arms above my head, making baby dinosaur noises and yawning. It really is amazing how my Mom can make a question sound like an order. Maybe military school wouldn't be that much of a change for Oliver.

The kitchen is a complete mess. There is a smashed serving dish in the center of the floor and it looks like someone has been murdered. Most of the floor and the lower half of the wall is sprayed with red. Pieces of the dish are strewn across the floor, mixing in with the red liquid to form a beautiful contrast.

"Hurry and help me clean before the stain sets in!" Mom yells and starts mopping up the cranberry sauce with an entire roll of paper towels. She didn't even unroll them. She is just sliding the entire roll over the mess. I have to resist the urge to slap my forehead and I grab a dish towel to help.

"I worked so hard on this fucking meal. The least your grandmother could do is be on time, then I wouldn't need to put all of this food in the fridge and I wouldn't be cleaning red stains off of every surface in my kitchen..." she goes on mumbling and rubbing her temples but I stopped listening a while ago. My Mom gets really stressed when Grandma comes around. She is the only family we have really, but that doesn't make us want her around any more than is necessary. She does pay part of the bills, so a few family dinners every now and then are priority. Calm down Mom, it's not like the grey tile will stain. DO NOT say that.

I silently finish cleaning, all the while my mom curses under her breath and the sounds of cartoons carry through the house from the living room. Oliver must be watching Tom and Jerry again. He has good taste. All these new shows are complete crap. I think they must actually make kids less intelligent. It's not like Tom and Jerry is all that educational, but at least it isn't completely filled with pure stupidity. There isn't just slapstick humor, some of it is actually pretty clever.

I walk into the living room and Oliver raises his eyebrows but keeps his attention on the screen. I stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and cross my arms looking at him. I can feel a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Hello?" I say, the smile breaks through full force. He waits until a commercial to finally look over at me just as a whole list of curses meets our ears from the kitchen.

"Hey Lally, is Mom mad already? Grandma isn't even here yet." Oliver has called me Lally for as long as I can remember. He probably had a hard time with Alexandria when he was younger. But then again, everyone does. That's why I am Alex to all but teachers and my Grandmother. She insists that I be called Alexandria. I swear that woman is impossible to even remotely like. Our family would be better off without her. All we need is her money anyway.

I hear the doorbell ring and a loud thump. Well speak of the devil. She is so obnoxious. She doesn't seem to think that ringing the bell is enough, she has to smack her cane up against it as well. I roll my eyes, sit down next to Oliver, and cross my legs underneath me on the couch.

"Finally, Mother!" Mom yells as she walks through the living room fuming. She stumbles a bit on her way to the door and takes a second to balance herself. Oliver and I just continue watching cartoons on the couch, but I make an effort to sit up and comb my fingers through my mess of loose brown curls. Might as well keep the insults to a minimum. Why can't that crone just drop already?

Just as I'm mentally preparing myself for my Grandmother's arrival, I hear a scream. Oh my god. I swear I didn't mean for her to actually die! The old bat isn't all that bad. I rush to the door and I see a woman collapsed in the entryway with the door wide open and another woman is on her knees next to her, completely in shock. There is a problem here. The woman on the floor is not my grandmother. The realization hits me and my body is on autopilot. Before I know it I am in the kitchen clutching the phone.

"Hello? 911? My mom has collapsed... She isn't breathing. Please help me.... Please."