Not Helping

Viviane

"The catastrophe that left students wishing it had rained harder on their parade—" I slap my Apple dock, hitting, among many others, the power button.

My radio alarm. It's 7:15. School starts in twenty minutes.

I fly up, scrambling the pile of clothes on my trunk to tug out the first two fabrics that match. Disheveled hair and homework in teeth, I bounce around the room on one leg, rushing to pull on a pair of off-white cargoes.

Kumen thought I seemed stressed when I got home? What about now? How stressed do I seem now?! He told me to just take a second. That he'd wake me in an hour. Really? Because I haven't seen him since my head hit the pillow.

"Thanks a lot, Kumen," I spit into the air—quietly though. No one else can hear that I've been back home until at least after work or things will get real dicey, real fast. In our old house my room was far enough from my parents' that I wouldn't even have to think of them hearing. That's a point for Cincinnati right there.

I zip up my pants, freeing a hand to pull the papers out of my mouth. "You've been a real help and all,"—Not.—"but we gotta bounce. Now." I yank a blue camisole and a shiny black boyfriend-tee over my head, adjusting them in the mirror for maximum coverage.

"I'm serious, Kumen, let's go." the order hangs in the air for a moment, as I stroke on some knockoff eyeliner and dart back to the knapsack at the foot of my bed.

My old school didn't start until 8. That's another definite point for Cincinnati.

Still no Kumen. I'm flustered, tired, and late; this is so not the time to be messing with me. Racing to the mirror, I check my reflection one more time, brushing away a few stray feathers that have clung to me from the bed sheets. I'd have to wash those tonight.

"Don't test me, Kumen," I hiss at the seemingly empty space. "Not today!" After a beat, I huff out a sigh and give in. He's here somewhere and I hate to leave him, but my hands are tied. I grab my bag off the bed and my entire upper back screams in protest, but I have about as much extra time to worry about that as I do for Kumen's antics. Less than none.

My eyes drift momentarily to the bedroom door before I turn, hiking the knapsack straps on my shoulders, and hoist myself back out the open window.

It had been so much easier climbing in this morning before I had a chance to register the damage. Every muscle in my torso quakes now trying to lower myself along the stone wall. It's never been this sore in my life. Everything hurts from skin to bone and it's all I can do to bite my lip and stifle a scream. Must've been something I did last night.

I can feel all three of our dogs' staring holes into my back as I scrape from toe-hold to toe-hold. My fingers slip once and only once, grazing my knuckles across the weathered slate before my toes finally catch whisper of a solid landing. There isn't a sound as I alight on the back porch roof.

Never could have done that in our old house. We didn't have a porch in Cincinnati. That's a point for Columbus I guess. Then again, if we hadn't had to move, I probably wouldn't have had a reason to climb down my house anyway. At least not as often. Point recalled from Columbus.

Ever since we moved here last year I've been keeping score between the two cities. I was trying to mind-over-matter myself into being cool with the transission, but Columbus has been trailing so hard there's almost no contest. They don't even have a train station here. I mean, what the Krump? Is this or is this not the capital.

I should've quit, but I was already in the habit. Besides, it doesn't really matter, because convince myself either way it's not like I can go back to Cincinnati anytime soon. Can't be retracing my steps after putting so much work into covering them.