binded

grace ; the last normal day

My ordinary life dies as it lived: I'm completely alone and completely preoccupied. My dense poof of curly hair is held back by a scrunchie, my glasses held back by my finger, my ambition held back by nothing. I send off a series of routine emails to my new teachers, introducing myself. Gracelyn Russell. Your future favourite student. The squeakiest, cleanest girl you'll ever meet.

Beside my laptop sits a small pad of paper with a checklist of every teacher I've yet to message.

AP Literature and Composition

AP Calculus

AP Physics

AP Psychology

Sign Language V

Yearbook

Student Government

Yes, you read that right. TWO math-based AP classes. That's a decision I made. An eternal pit of hellfire beckons to me. But---the credits are going to look incredible on my college transcript. I'll get through it.

My fingers twirl on the mousepad, directing around a tiny cursor. Compose. A blank email looks back at me. The black cursor line flashes at me menacingly: say something already.

After a few seconds of spacing out and contemplating what to send to my teacher, I type up their email and title the subject 3rd Period AP Psychology. My thoughts are thrown into a mental trash can and I draw a complete blank.

Before I can bring my idea back, I get a facetime call on my laptop from one of my closest friends, Penelope. During spring break, she was diagnosed with meningitis and admitted into a hospital. While on her antibiotics, she noticed that her hearing was going and by the time the doctor's realized it, Penelope became profoundly deaf. Although she can subtly read lips, I had recently begun teaching her sign language. Every night at 8:45, she calls me so we can have an entire conversation in sign.

Penelope appears on the screen and she shows her palm off, her pointer finger on her temple. She moves her hand to the right, signing hello to me. I do the same, then cupping my hands as if I am holding two cups and curve them out so my thumbs face her. I then point and finish my question, how-you?

She responds by moving her hands to tell me that she is good, her mouth partially open to show her braces with teal chains running across the brackets. There is an unbreakable silence between us as we converse with each other, some of her words having to be spelled as she asks what each word means. I use my thumb and index finger, squeezing above and below my lips to mean braces and pretend to write on my palm, then open a fake book to translate notebook. Penelope has pressed her fingertips of both of her hands to her chin and moved them out to face the camera more times than I count, repeatedly thanking me for teaching her new words.

By 9:05, we close our conversation with a quick goodbye and see you tomorrow as she ends our call. I shut my computer and realize how hungry I am, not leaving my bedroom since I got home from spending the night at my other best friend, Juliet's house. Despite her being close friends with Penelope as well, Juliet hasn't made as large of an effort to learn sign language. She enrolled in 'Sign Language I' so she could attempt to learn, but it is looking more like I'll be tutoring her for my senior year (both Penelope and Juliet are juniors).

Once I email the rest of my teachers, it is nearly 9:30 and I am mentally drained, my eyes forcing themselves closed if I stare off for too long. I've been home alone all day, and I feel oddly isolated. My mother doesn't get home from the hospital until 10. I shut my laptop and slouch over, my stomach aching. Finally, I chose to grab my phone and leave my bedroom.

While going down the stairs, my phone continues to ring and I feel a headache pounding into my skull. Finally, I sigh and pull my phone out to see that Juliet is calling me. Part of me wants to answer, ask her about her schedule. Despite my natural instincts to answer, I decline the call and send her to voicemail. A wave of guilt washes over me as I sit alone at the kitchen table, checking my backpack to confirm that all of my necessary school supplies are packed for my first day of senior year. Notebooks, check. Binders, check. Pen bag, check. Planner, check. I double check everything again, then I zip the bag shut and stare at it with satisfaction in my eyes.

As the night goes on, my eyes wander towards the study down the hallway. More specifically, the books that line the shelf. There are six shelves total, two per family member. Mine are the two at the top, lined with young adult novels that I have either finished or haven't gotten the chance to read yet. The Harry Potter series, the Hunger Games trilogy, Divergent, The Fault In Our Stars, The Outsiders and many other books are proudly displayed of my completed shelf. I then look to the books that I haven't read yet and one catches my eye in particular. IT by Stephen King stands out the most, it's girth using up a large chunk of the shelf space. I've always wanted to read it, but the length has always intimidated me. With a sigh, I get up from the dining table and make my way into the study. When my hand lands on the spine and is about to pull the book out, the front door opens, revealing my mother in all her glory. Her wrinkly green scrubs and sloppy ponytail indicate her exhaustion. Despite how fatigued she appears, a kind smile is still on her face.

"Hey mom." I exit the study and greet her with a gentle smile, "How was work?"

"I'll tell you all about it." she lifts a takeout bag from my favorite fast food restaurant, "over dinner."

My mother tells me the story about how she had to remove a woman's heart and put in a device that continues to pump blood throughout her body. Something about how excited she is makes me truly believe that she adores her career as a cardiothoracic surgeon. Part of me has desired to follow in her footsteps, but that is a bit difficult when I'm diagnosed with hemophobia, the fear of blood.

After our discussion on her three heart surgeries today, I finish my dinner and notice how late it is. I stand up and put my plate in the dishwasher, my mother following soon after. We say our goodnights and part ways, each of us going into separate bedrooms. Without a thought about the first day of school tomorrow, I shut my computer and put it on my nightstand. I set my glasses and my plugged in phone a top my laptop and turn off my bedroom lights. Within a few minutes, I'm engulfed by sleep.