Dear Journal

Fascinating Journal

February 10

“Mom! Stop writing in my journal!”

“What? I didn't, honey.”

This morning I woke up with my room destroyed, pens and papers thrown everywhere, and my journal wide open on the floor.

“Mom, it's okay. Just don't do it again.”

She was always a snoop, too nosy to keep out of anything.

Walking in the room she gasped, “Megan, your room is a mess.”

“You would know!” I yelled, then felt guilty. I never yell at my mom. Sure, she's annoying. Sure, she's overprotective. Sure, sometimes I just can't stand her. But she's a sensitive soul.

“I'm telling you, I wasn't in here. Check the doors. Are they locked? Did that boy get in here? I'll call the cops again, I swear I will.” She sputtered off, rushing to check the locks.

Within minutes, she was back in my doorway. “No, they're all good.”

I rolled my eyes. Why can't she admit to anything?

I got my things ready for school, including my self analysis paper (though I changed some things.) What? You thought I was stupid enough to turn in that? No.

I filled in what the teacher wanted to hear. (“I want to be an English teacher, just like YOU!”) Teachers are always like that. Every opinion is right, until it doesn't match up with their own.

I slid on my colorful Toms, and headed to the bus stop.

Let me tell you one thing, the bus is like hell.

You never thought you'd be stuck riding it, but now that you are, you can't find a way out.

Mom used to drive me to school until last year when Vanessa persuaded me that it would be “fun.” We were seat buddies. Yes, that's the proper name. Sal, the bus driver had stickers on every seat reading “Seat Buddies for Life!” with everyone’s' names on them. And yes, Sal was a lovable, seventy-five year old goofball.

Finally, the bus pulled up to the corner. A few people hopped on and I followed.

“Hi Sal.”

Sal smiled and scratched his beard.

Seat seventeen. I plopped down on the cold, brown leather seats, pulling out my iPod. I shuffled through a few songs, and landed on Christina Aguilera. Don't judge. You know you like her girly tunes too.

My mind began to go into its own little place and eventually I slid out my journal.

And here we are in the present.

Vanessa's stop is coming up and I needed relief. You have calmed me down a little.

The last few days her dad has been driving her (probably so she wouldn't have to see me), but as we inched closer to her house, I noticed her dark hair swaying as she gracefully headed toward the bus.

What do you do when your seat buddy isn't your real buddy anymore?

Without a word, she gently settled down onto the seat, her head turned toward the aisle way. I made sure to keep my eyes on the window.

I counted the seconds until we finally reached the school. Seven minutes and forty-three seconds.

It was the worst seven minutes and forty-three seconds of my life.

Awkward...