It was Sunday, and I was unbearably bored. When other folks in Georgia, Tennessee would be putting on their nice, flower print dresses, I was munching intently on Cheetos and lounging around in my oversized, over worn, pajamas. Watching TV, I quickly got tired, so I slowly reached forward to grab the remote and click it off.
Now, I had absolutely no idea what I would do next.
I slowly got my lazy butt up and pulled my long, tangled, curly hair into a messy bun. I decided to go to the basement and do a little research. I know that sounds strange, but I enjoy going into my basement and discovering things I never knew we had…and no, I don’t mean dead cockroaches and the dead bodies of rats, I mean cool things like family history and love letters between my parents.
I walked quickly down the dark, dusty staircase and skipped over to the bookshelf. There, I found my family photo albums. This should be interesting.
I opened it and a puff of dust flew in my face, choking me. I flipped through the pages and laughed when I saw all the silly poses my parents and cousins had made for the pictures. Then, I flipped through a few more pages and saw images of my mother and I in the hospital when my little sister, Kara was born. I was about three when she was born and now, I am 15 almost 16. There, I realized that I looked nothing like my family and there were no pictures of me under the age of three, but I decided to put that in the back of my mind, though, and slammed the book shut.
“Scarlet, what have I told you about eating before dinner!” Margaret, my mom’s maid shouted. I assume she found my Cheetos bag lying where I’d left it in front of the TV.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” I shouted, smoothing out my hair after decidedly taking out the bun that did nothing but give me a migraine.
I trudged up the stairs, not wanting to confront her nagging. I managed to slip into the bathroom and look at my reflection. Despite all my efforts to tame my long, curly hair, it looked like a rat’s nest as usual. My dark blue eyes had turned more gray(they had a habit of changing color to match my mood), due to the fact that I had a sinus infection and my shirt from 8th grade had become far too short considering I was now 5’8.’ The only thing that I was very proud of was my body which had always been thin because of my high metabolism. I was very disappointed that I had bags under my eyes despite my efforts of trying to get rid of them, but I had insomnia so I supposed I should find my medication.
“Your mother’s home!” Margaret shouted. My mother was a workaholic who hardly ever saw me and when she did she never really stayed around, but I didn’t mind. I had Margaret.
I sat down awkwardly like I usually did. I never really was myself around my mom, whom I usually called Jackie. Jackie plopped herself down on the wooden chair and hungrily picked up a fork.
“Long day at work, Jackie?” Margaret asked as she absentmindedly fixed the salads. Well, she had done it a thousand times before.
Jackie nodded and dug into her lasagna.
All the time I didn’t touch my food and she didn’t care. I just heard the quick clanking of her fork. She started getting all detached when dad dies a few years back. The first year, I understood, but now it was just getting old. We tried talking to her, but her expression remained blank. I threw down my fork in anger, getting sick of everything that was happening. I let tears fill my eyes and I ran to my room. I heard Margaret running after me, but I didn’t care. I felt hopeless because of how much I loved my mom. I had given up.
To my surprise, Jackie was the one who entered my room. Her face was scrunched up with worry. She opened her mouth to say something, but I held up my hand.
