It's Called Tomorrow

two

"Because this is what I believe - that second chances are stronger than secrets. You can let secrets go. But a second chance? You don't let that pass you by."

― Daisy Whitney

...

I hate being in here.

Everyone in town comes to Burton's to buy groceries. While I wish there was another place to shop so I could avoid all the people in this town, I always manage to walk through the sliding doors of this place without dying.

"You're going to be okay?" I ask Monet, before leaving her in the cereal aisle. She distractedly nods her head—her mind already on the cereal—and I resort to the aisle of canned foods.

I push the cart and I look for the salmon.

When I can't spot it, I stop and let go of the cart. "Where are you salmon?" I ask, bending down a bit to check. They could've possibly moved the salmon to another aisle even though it hasn't been a long time since I've last been inside this place.

I finally locate the salmon and put four cans inside the basket.

I continue down the aisle.

Being in this store always has me wishing to be somewhere else other than here. Ever since Mom and Dad died in a car accident two years ago, I've been wanting to leave this town.

Even when they had been alive, I always wanted to leave this town and the people in it.

I want to go to a place where people will accept me for and me, and I'll have no problem doing what I want to do.

But I know that's impossible.

I live with my mentally handicapped sister and I dress dead bodies for a living.

I put more stuff into the shopping cart and what we need.

When I'm about to head to the condiments aisle I stop in my tracks.

"She's a veggie!" I know that high nasally voice from anywhere.

I push the cart quickly to the next aisle and I spot Heather McComb and her asshole boyfriend, Manny Shambles, both taunting my sister.

Leaving the cart, I throw the couple a glare, and gently grab my sister's arm. "C'mon, Mo," I say, my voice tight.

"I need to pick out one more box," she whispers, pointing to the different rows of cereal.

I shake my head and look at the two boxes of cereal she has in her arms. "You have enough."

I give the couple who're staring at us the bird and leave. Yet, I don't miss the words they throw at both Monet and I.

"Bitch."

"Retard."

|| || ||

"Here," I say, handing Mo her dinner.

She moves her eyes away from the TV for second and grabs the hot plate from my hand.

She places it slowly down on the TV dinner tray and mumbles a thank you before turning her attention back onto the moving picture.

I don't feel like eating, so I go to my bedroom and take out my 35mm hand-cranked camera and stare at it.

I want to direct movies.

That's what I want to do when I leave this town.

More so independent films, but if not that. I'd like to edit people's movies for them.

Though I don't see myself ever leaving this place as long as my sister's here. And I'm not blaming her for why I can't follow my dreams. It's something I've come to accept, that perhaps I won't be able to follow my dreams as long as I'm alive.

It used to make me sad, but I've gotten used to this cycle and it's only now that I've come to terms with it.

I go and look in a box I keep in the corner of my room, through the old films that Dad had of all us—the whole family—and how he'd film us with this old thing. Sometimes when I'm feeling sad, I get the films out and watch them.

In high school, I remember when I'd play with Dad's hand cranked camera, whenever I had the chance. And each day when I got home from school I would carry this thing around outside and film things, like the birds in the trees, and the way the trees would move in the wind.

I smile wistfully at the old thing. After a second, I frown—the smile off my face.

I know I'll never be able to follow my dreams.

As long as I'm in this toxic town, I won't ever get to follow my dreams. I would sometimes cry whenever I'd think about it, but not anymore. I can't cry about things that I can't change, I learned that the hard way when my parents died. I can't cry about the missed opportunities, the things I won't ever get to fulfill cuz God just didn't want it that way.

I put in an old home video before climbing into my bed.

I'm not going to sleep cuz I have to put Monet in bed first, and I can't have her glued to the TV all night.

I put in the video of when Mom, Monet, and I had been doing this corny dance routine for some thing Mom had set up for the local kid's community center.

She was a great dancer and Monet was, too. But me... I couldn't dance. And I still can't... but that's what makes this video funny. It's Mom and Monet dancing while little me can't even keep up... but we're having fun.

And we were happy.