No More No More

Spring Break

     "Annie!"  My mother's shrill voice seeped through my bedroom door and leaked into my ears. "Annie!  We're leaving soon!"
     I glance at the small clock, ticking away on my nightstand.  Just like my mother to exaggerate things.  They don't need to leave for another hour.  Nonetheless, I remove myself from my bed and slide on jeans and a teeshirt, thankful that I get to go a week without wearing a dress or shoes that pinch my feet.  My mom doesn't like it, my dad doesn't care, and I love it.

     My mom is what you'd call a housewife. She wears the apron, has the short curly hair, cooks a family-meal every night.  This morning I get to enjoy a breakfast of Belgian waffles and bacon while my dad puffs on his pipe, reading the paper, left leg crossed over the right under the table on the black and white checker board flooring.  I exit my room and pad across the green carpeting of the tiny living room, which houses a black and white TV against the wall, an orange couch facing the TV and my bedroom door (if you look to the right a little bit), and a coffee table.  Continuing through the living room, you reach the kitchen, which has the table closest to the windows, a stove, sink and refrigerator against the wall, and a small island with three wooden stools in the middle. If you'd chosen to turn left out of my room, you would've seen the bathroom door, and eventually my parents' room.

     "Are you ready to go, Annie?" my mom asks me, looking back at me from the sink where she was cleaning the dishes.  I think I heard my father chuckle.

     "I'm only going to Anthony's," I say like I do every year, "if I need anything I can come get it."

     "Are you sure you still want to stay there?" my dad asks.

     I laugh at his ridiculous question, almost spitting out little bits if my buttery waffle.  "It's Anthony. Of course I want to stay there."

     My dad frowns, but goes back to the crossword section.

--

The floral-print suitcases are ready and waiting by the door and I was already at Anthony's long before the taxi arrived. My parents stopped over to say goodbye, my mother hugging me several times and thanking Mary (his mom––I call her mama, but to save you the confusion, for now she'll be "Mary") and Mr. Pereira (his dad).  Anthony's sister, who had a similar name to mine, mostly let us keep to ourselves.  I never saw much of Anne-Marie, but she was like a sister to me.  Just like Mary was my second mom, and Mr. Pereira was my second dad.

     Anthony and I spent the day wandering around Hopedale, and hanging around later on with the bassist of his band.  Anthony was in a band called the Jam Band.  They were really good.  Tom was a killer bassist.  Tom was also freakishly tall (though I'm quite short).  He had blond hair and blue eyes and was just... cool.

     That night, because it was the first Saturday of spring break (Mary had off too––she taught gym class at a local school), Mary took two blankets out of the chest and gave them to me just before Mr. Pereira snapped his newspaper closed (he was reading the stocks––he was an accountant) and said he was off to bed.  Anne-Marie was already in bed (leaving Anthony and me to finish the board-game.  God knows why we were playing it).  Mary had her hair in curlers and her nightgown on already.

     As I do every year, I steal a pillow from Anthony's tiny bed and curl up on the old chair in the corner of his room.  I also steal a few pairs of socks from his drawer because Anthony had recently taken to snoring and it annoyed me like you wouldn't imagine.  I was okay with the transistor radio on the nightstand playing Rolling Stones songs, but if Anthony starts snoring, I'll pelt him with socks.

     Naturally the whole "going to bed" thing was an act.  Of course we're going out to party with some other friends.  Janet, my best girl friend, will for sure be there, so will James, the boy she's had a crush on for as long as I can remember.  Tom should be there, as well as a few other friends.  We don't know who'll show up till we get there.