"Awe look at my baby, growing up to be such a successful woman."
"Come on mama, just take the picture." We gather around holding our diplomas.
"Im sorry, its just so hard to believe your grown now. No more acne, no more blood stained undies, no more...
The feeling that took over my body this morning was disorientation. Nothing felt right, it didnt look right, nothing was right.
Or it could just be the fact that I'm laying upside down on my bed and the blood is rushing to my brain causing me to feel uneasy. Hoping that it was the second one, my hand absently searches for my phone on the night stand which seems not to be there, instead a pink house phone is placed with a curly cord swirling from the back.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Um....
If its not over there then it must be in between the bed and the night stand on the floor. I dig around that area and still feel nothing but candy wrappers and cassette tapes.
Wait, cassette tapes?
I pull one of the tapes off the floor and examine it like it was a piece from an alienated space craft. I never in my life owned a cassette tape, let alone a whole collection of them.
Choosing to ignore all of this, I quickly hop out of bed; my toes getting tangled in the rinkled sheets, to sit in my computer chair to facetime Sol. Soon I start to question if this is even my room, based on the fact that my MacBook pro is replaced by a cube computer with static swimming across the curved screen. I lean my head back blowing air out of my mouth in frustration when my eyes latch on to the glossy posters on the ceiling and walls. The same Michael Jackson posters that I plastered my dark room with in 7th grade.
So this has to be my room. But if it is then why does it look so retro and out of date? Oh shit, what if this a birthday prank my obnoxious cousins pulled in the middle of the night? I'm probably sitting right in front of the camera that they placed in between somewhere, looking like a complete idiot. Or maybe this could be--
"Zeena! Come down here, ya food is ready!" I hear my mom call from downstairs, assuming she was in the kitchen. Maybe she can explain the sudden change of decor in my part of the building. So I decide to temporarily put a pause on this multi retro, outdated mystery and leave the scene for later.
The overbearing smell of maple glazed bacon wafts my nose before I even hit the last step to the kitchen. My mom's cooking always made you forget the most important things in life no matter who you were. It was like her super power; which unfortunately did not run in the family.
Jet black hair and pink highlights come into view as I turn the corner of the staircase. A hot pink frilly skirt covers her too little tights that stops right above her knee high converse. Her wrists were covered in bands and bangles to where you could barely see her skin which was also covered. Her hair was pulled in a messy side ponytail which inhanced the thick eyeliner that swept across her almond eyes with pale eyshadow laying acroos them. I dont know what I was seeing but Sol did not look like Sol.
