Four books, school sweater, regular sweater, two shirts, leggings, shorts, jeans, an extra school skirt, black tights, undergarments, hairbrush, toiletries, socks, an extra pair of shoes, and a blanket. Then a small box of photos and sentimental items along with a chocker and some pencils, what I'm wearing, and I'm packed. One small suitcase.
"It holds a lot." I tell the man when I go to put it in the back. He does it for me and then gives me a lollipop. Even he laughs.
The home is on the fourth floor of a four floor complex without an elevator. There a few rooms and I'm lead into one on the back. The bunk beds have three levels and are against each wall with enough space for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder in between them. At the end of the one on the right in another bunk bed. The beds range between getting out of extra chores to a five start hotel. There is a dresser against the wall a set at the end of the beds, facing in so we can retrieve things from our beds.
"This drawer is yours and you can chose one of the two open beds. If you need to hang anything, use the closet in the hall.
I put my things on the middle level on the left next to a window and below the empty bed. The other window is beyond the end of the bunk beds.
I unpack and put my blanket on my bed, sheets and a crappy pillow provided. I put my school bag against the wall near my feet and put in my headphones before opening a book and diving in.
-
"College will be paradise of I'm not dead by June!" I sing, looking out at the empty room with the expectation of a few people. I continue singing until, "Just not today."
"Thank you. That was right. That's what I want in the show." Then why did she take until today to fix it. I had to do that eighty million times. I sit down at the front of the stage next to Jamie and take a sip of my water. Or ten sips. She starts flipping through my cards.
"Third, masculine." Next. "First, feminine." Next. "Fourth. Feminine."
"This sucks."
"You don't have to take the class."
"How do you even do this school and perform. It's like not possible."
"Is too. Sure school is hard and all but if I go, do activities until three-thirtyish, homework until five, come here and leave at nine, and then I can do my homework until one and sleep until six ten. The show is not on for long. I'll survive this."
"And then go back to classes."
"They aren't as long and don't have added rehearsals."
"Pippa."
"What?"
"You said you'd meet her at noon." She turns me her phone and I grab my little phone book from my stuff, dialing her number in Jamies phone after she hands it to me. I stand up and walk to the wing.
"Pippa, I'm so sorry. I had rehearsal this morning and we went over. I'm grabbing my stuff now." I say, struggling to put my burgundy zip up sweater on while holding the phone between my shoulder and ear.
"That's fine. It happens."
"I can be there in- um, however long the subway takes. Within a half hour. You don't have to wait."
"I'm actually reading a very good book and drinking a great smoothie. So I'll gladly wait. See you then."
"Okay, sorry again. Bye!" I give Jamie her phone back and zip up my bag, jumping down off the stage before leaving.
"You made it!"
"Sorry, again." I say, sitting down across from her.
"No problem. I just got this. So good timing." She slide a coffee over to me.
"Oh my god. Thank you. You're saving me from dropping dead right here." She laughs.
"I really hate this addiction, though. There's a part of me. Mama Pippa. She wants to pull that away from you."
"But twenty something year old Pippa says..."
"That you look dead so drink it."
"Thanks." She closes her book and crosses her arms on the table. I would feel worse if I didn't know that she comes here just because she likes it. Not that I don't feel bad for making her wait. I just think that she would have came if I hadn't have been.
"So a show?"
"Yeah. It's all next week and the one after and it's killing me."
"School show?"
"Sorta. Nothing big. Just deadly." She laughs.
"Hows home?" I shrug, looking down.
"Non abusive."
"But not home." I nod.
"I'm about to ask you what you'll absolutely hate answering. Have you ever been abused?" I put my coffee back down and my eyes fall on the table, my posture lacking. "So you have." I nod. "Oh, Elena-" she reached across to grab my hand.
"No, don't." I say, pulling it away. She looks scared for a moment put slowly brings her hand back to my side, grabbing my Latin book. "Page?"
"142." I whisper. She begins flipping through until she lands on the page.
"The infinitive of clamare?"
