my cereal was soggy. i stood in the corner of the kitchen with the bowl in one hand, a spoon poised in the other as i watched ma pace. she was shouting into the phone pressed to her ear, a thick, curly cord coming out the end and twirled around her finger. she had her hand on her hip and her eyebrows were knitted together in a frown. i wasn't entirely sure what the conversation was about, since all i had were huffs and strained shouts with no context that my tired mind couldn't piece together. my eyes shifted to the clock mounted to the wall above a basket of bruised fruit on the counter then back to my cereal floating lifelessly in my bowl. the dish had my name scratched into the side in boxy, spaced out letters. i ran my finger over the dulled, dented plastic and briefly remembered making the mark with an unfolded paper-clip when i was 9.
i can't eat this, it's gross.
maybe i should go get another bowl.
i could really go for some orange juice or something, actually.
i was jerked from my pleasantly aimless thoughts when ma slammed the phone to the wall so hard, i thought the thick yellow plastic it was made of was doing to shatter like glass. i jumped, spilling my breakfast onto the kitchen tile with a retch-worthy slosh. she still had her hand on the phone, and though she was facing the wall, i knew tears were welling in her eyes and her face was twisting with emotion. a sigh rose in my chest, though i didn't dare let it past my lips. i instead pushed it down and invited the pang of guilt i felt to spread all the way to my fingertips, compelling me to reach out and rest my hand on her shoulder despite the pool of uneaten cereal on the floor between us.
"ma?" i said tentatively, rolling my lip between my teeth with anticipation.
she was shaking, and before i knew it, sobs were racking her body as she sat hunched over on the couch, my hand resting between her shoulder blades. i couldn't help but notice the stench of alcohol that seemed to stain her skin as i wrapped my arms around her small frame and the loathsome one of cigarette smoke in her hair as i pressed my lips to her forehead. she looked up at me, a watery glaze over her eyes and wet eyelashes framing them. i sighed, wiping her cheek clean of tears with my thumb.
"you'll be okay, ma."
-
twenty minutes late, i stumbled into school with my laces undone and the bag over my shoulder empty, a sheet of crumpled paper in hand. i stuffed the paper into the pocket of my jeans and navigated my way through the empty hallways and up the stairs. i stopped at room 203 and cracked the door open. film room. everyone was sitting on the cheap bean bags placed around the room as mr rivens fumbled around with a camera, as if he knew how to use it.
"and this one... ah, this one turns it on. everyone got that? okay, great, now-" he looked to where i stood in the door way, lips curling into a grin. he was an odd man, mr rivens. he always wore mismatching socks with florescent orange and green sneakers and he couldn't smile without closing his eyes. he also regularly dyed his flaming orange hair to black and wore glasses that were too big for his face, not to mention the fact that he taught film class and didn't know how to use a camera.
"mr bixenman!" he sang, oversized glasses sliding down the bridge of his pointy nose. "you're late! please, take a seat."
i nodded and fell into one of the cheap blue beanbags by the door. they felt as if they were filled with metal balls, digging into my back.
they swapped the good ones out at the end of last year because people were stabbing holes in them with scissors and throwing the balls at each other.
i found myself letting my mind wander as mr rivens rambled about something that was most likely irrelevant; a habit of his that i had gotten to know last year. i had hoped for a more qualified teacher this year, but to no avail. he was waving his hands around and moving his bushy eyebrows so much, i was sure they'd fly right off and out the window.
