The death of my classmate, left me with internal, and external conflict.
Charlotte Rune, that name brings back more than memories. A name that has forever stained, no more like cursed me.
It's been a whole year since, hasn't it.
The classmate left behind, family, friends, and an hopeless idiot classmate who couldn't fathom a real friendship.
I skipped out on the funeral. Selfish? Honestly, probably was. I couldn't bring myself to go; go ahead call me a coward. You'd be right too, I know she would.
It wasn't like I didn't care, quite the opposite. Just hard; I couldn't do it, not in the state I was in. Death wasn't particularly a topic I could deal with very well.
It was cold that evening, walking towards a goal that had been put off for to long. I checked my phone for the other person who was supposed to come along with me on this trip. No notification appeared. I decided to take a break at a nearby park. I slumped myself, gift in hand, on the swing set, and began slowly swinging myself without ever lifting off. Before I knew it tears began to well in my eyes. The cold stinging November air stung my pale red face. The tears were a warm contrast to the weather. I looked up to the blurry sky, and smiled. I looked back to the playground to spot a yellow slide that looks like it had been through rough times. I smiled thinking, that's right.
X
"Alejandro , La cent ester listed, cono tu plato"
My mother yelled out to me. I stopped writing, and yelled back.
"Que comer?"
There was no response back.
I sighed and continued writing, finishing the paragraph I was on in my novel. I finished up, and placed the writing inside of my drawer, hiding it under reference books.
"Alejandro?"
my mother yelled once again.
I sighed rolling my eyes, and Yelled back with a lackluster tone.
"Viene, Viene"
I ran downstairs into the kitchen almost colliding with my own mother who had tortillas in one hand and a broom in the other.
"ayeee"
she yelped.
"lo siento, Mama, lo siento"
I said in hurried tone under my breath. My eyes were on the food that had been feast like prepared.
You know what they say writers need a lot of food to process their thoughts. I needed to finish so I could get back to it.
My mother still popped me on the back of the head for my careless running. I rubbed the back of my head as I went to make my plate.
We all sat at the table. Me, mom, dad and my little brother. Everything seemed to be normal no bickering just an Mexican American family eating together. I started to scarf down the food unconsciously. I wanted to get back upstairs. I had been on an interesting plot point in my story. My mother spotted me rushing my food down, and said in her Spanglish accent.
"hijo lento, what's the rush?"
Me with food in my mouth looked to my mother, as I almost choked trying to get words out. My little brother had taken advantage of the situation to interrupt me, and say.
"He probably want's to get back to writing his boring book."
I stopped for a moment and glared at my brother then looked to my parents denying his words with my eyes.
After finally swallowing all of the food in my mouth I managed to get out.
"no...it's not that I'm just hun...."
Before I could finish the sentence my father slammed his fist on the table. Startling my mother and brother.
"Alex, is what your brother saying true? Are you writing?"
I looked to my mom ignoring my brothers smirk, that bastard, my mom looked away from me and down to the ground. I looked to my father who had a firm look of justice on his face. "......."
I managed to get out something to try to appease my father.
"umm dad no, I just have homework to do, and I was really hungry. I swear to god"
My father grunted, looking at me as if he didn't believe me, but didn't want to pry more into the topic.
"Alex, you better not be writing those stupid books, do you want to end up like my stupid brother?"
He said in a disgusted tone.
"........."
All I could do was just nod. The table was quiet besides my fathers breathing, whilst he added. "Also do not swear at god in this house"
He said motioning a cross across his body.
Dinner, while it had not been ruined, had been soured.
My brother was the first to finish his food, and now begging my mother for desert. Second was
my father who started to clean the kitchen. It was just me and my mother, after my brother got his ice cream and left to the living room to watch TV. She stared at me like she had brought all this up by herself. I smiled at my mother and whispered in a gentle tone. "Mama, no es tu culpa"
My mother tilted her head and smiled to me. She didn't look relived, she looked more sorry than anything.
She gathered her plate and mine whispering in my ear, as if to not let my father hear.
"Tu padre tiene buenas intenciones. Estoy seguro de que vendra."
I looked to my mother in shock. Did she know? Of course she did, she's my mother, I thought. I nodded quietly and made my back to my room feeling completely defeated.
As I laid in bed thinking of what happened down there. I couldn't help, but curse my father, and brother. I looked to the novel on paper I had been working on tirelessly.
"Uncle, What would you do?"
I whispered to myself.
I felt a twinge of pain, knowing what he did, and honestly I didn't have the guts to do what he had, If I couldn't write.
