Loretta of the Lamp

Screw it all

[Loretta's POV]

"Loretta! School?"

Waking was one of my least favourite activities. I did it, but I didn't enjoy it. Especially on week days. It wasn't entirely related to the art of sleeping itself, it had more to do with getting out of bed.

The sunlight streaming in the window was high enough, and the house quiet enough that I had a niggling idea of how late it was when I finally opened my eyes. Claudia was already long gone, which meant my mother had the time to walk her to school and walk home, and still I was not up.

Being late, running late, and arriving late. These things are all bad and I do know it. I know it because I am taught to fear, I am taught to be uncomfortable and ashamed, and I am taught that there will be consequences and repercussions that will be bad. But I consider myself lucky enough to not be burdened by this fear. If I am late for school, my form teacher will inevitably give me a detention. But to be honest, so what?

I went to ballet classes until I was fourteen. I was late a couple of times, but only when my father was in hospital, and even then it was because of my mother that I was late, not me. Priorities put it all into perspective for me. After my father fell asleep, my mother's priorities changed. I had a priority to be on time for my pre-major ballet exam. My mother did not. At the time it was more important for her to cry and stay in bed. She said she was unwell, but I knew it was because of him. So when my mother made me late for my pre-major exam, her priority was to mourn my father. She mourned him for a year until they finally turned off the machines that kept him alive.

I no longer go to ballet, I failed that exam twice, and then my mother refused to pay for my classes any more. It all links back to my father I know, the funding to do ballet, the house we lived in, the school we went to, and the understanding of priorities and lateness.

But seriously? Screw it all.

The reality then, when I was late to his funeral, and my mother screamed at me and told me to get out, it didn't really bother me because his funeral was not my priority. He was already gone.

"Loretta." My mother was in my room standing right over the bed now.

"What?"

"You are very late," she informed me.

"I am very tired," I retorted. It was the truth.

"Get out of bed." She snapped, and stripped my bed of the blankets.

Yes, it was time to get up. I opened my eyes and got out of bed. Picking up my uniform from the floor, I trudged toward the bathroom.

"Don't think you have time for a shower!" she yelled behind me.

By the time I was finished showering, my hair raked into a messy bun on my head, and my un-ironed uniform on, it was already ten o'clock.

"What did I say to you?" she said, standing at the shower door as I exited.

I shrugged, "Get out of bed?"

She took my shoulder in her hand and shook it, "I said you didn't have time for a shower. It's already ten now, you won't be at school until half past at the earliest. You are missing out on your life, Loretta." She stared straight into my eyes. Her eyes were wide and round, the same eyes that I have, or at least that's what I've been told, except hers were blue and big and round, and people always told her they were beautiful. Mine were big and round and brown.
I pushed a stray curl back up into my bun and then pushed her hand off my shoulder. "I'll see you later," I muttered as I headed for the door.