Question by K i A R A: first and a bit of the second chapter!!!!!! read and tell me striaght up what you think!!!!?
Prologue
“…I am fucking done with your excuses, Corrine.” My mom screamed at me as she slammed my bedroom door and raged down stairs.
Never have I heard my mom use the “F” word with me. It’s just so powerful when a parent uses it. Us, teenagers use it as a verb, noun, adjective and adverb daily in our lives. At least I know I do.
I remember that night so well. I rarely end up remember anything, mostly because I am always trashed or high. One of the two.
I am sure if my real dad was present that night, he would have defended me. He’s an award winning pot head. Living his own life up in Washington. He left my mom because I was born. I was an “accident”. Ever since he left, my mom took it easy on me. She spoiled me and I took advantage of her kindness and threw our life in a blender. Sometimes I think this world would have a been a better place if I wasn’t born. I actually give credit to my dad who didn’t want me as a child….
Hell Gate
For the very first time, in 17 years, my mom was acting like a “mother”. Christine, my mom, threatened me with words whenever I got myself into trouble. She would then give me the “Don’t-do-it-again” glare, followed by, “Go to your room.” That, I do not understand. How is “Going-to-my-room” a decent punishment. Well I took that for granted, because now she is beyond sending me to my “room”. She is sending me to New Jersey. I much, much more prefer my room.
The San Francisco Airport could easily qualify for a zoo. There are all kinds of people here. People who run like crazy, eager to get on their specific flight, and then there are people who wait in line, moving at one centimeter per minute. I look around me as I follow my mom to the Wendy’s line. I only had 45 minutes left in heaven, California.
My mom leaned against the counter, squinting her eyes, getting a better look at the menu above the cashiers head. It’s so amusing when they serve you your meal, and it doesn’t look anything like the pictures posted on the menu. Photoshop is taking over this world, I swear.
“I’ll have a salad and a cup of water, please.” My mom ordered. She faced me. “What would you like, Corrine?”
“A time machine.” I muttered under my breath. She ordered me a salad also. Was I speaking French? No, I wasn’t. I wanted a god damn time machine.
We sat down. I poured the ranch dressing over my salad, took a bite.
“Corrine, I hope you’re not disappointed.” My mom said, taking a sip of her water. There was an awkward silence.
“Don’t worry, I am no where near “disappointed”.
“Well that’s good to hear.”
“I don’t think you would want to know how I am feeling.”
“Look…Corrine. Sometimes it’s necessary to make certain choices.”
“I just don’t see how sending me to Jersey is going to change me, that’s all. Might as well send me to Mars, if you please.”
“Corrine, you need to grow up.”
“I have been growing up in front of very eyes, mom. You just never have the time to see it.” I get up, throw away my empty container of my salad and start walking towards the Hell Gate (Gate 43). My mom follows.
My mom breaks down as soon as we reach the Gate. I cannot handle it when people cry in front of me, especially my mother. She deserves much, much more than me. I’m just a tool, used to mess up our life.
I bite my lip and hug my mom. I adore the smell of her perfume, I adore everything about her. Her attitude, her humor, her cooking style, and most importantly her pure heart, that never stops loving me, no matter how many times I hurt her, emotionally.
“Say hi to aunt Jess, and be safe…” She says, as her tears soak my right shoulder.
“I’ll be okay.” I can’t recall the amount of times where I have told her that I would be okay, and I ended up being so “not” okay.
I let go of my mom and start to walk into the tunnel. I turn around, I take one last glimpse of my mom. We have the same dark brown hair, same tan skin, same straight teeth, same light brown eyes. I have my dad’s nose, that is it. Most of my features I got from my mom.
Sometimes I wish I was just as “good”. Just as “nice” and just as “forgiving”.
Exit
I ask the flight attendant lady where my seat is located. She smiles and points to the right. “Right over there, Miss.” I make my way toward my seat. I hate how people stare at me as I pass them. I am not an endangered species, nor a celebrity. What is so interesting about me, anyway? Just a normal teen, making her way to her seat. Damn owls.
My seat is located by the window. I am fully satisfied with that.
I set my bag in front of my seat. I get cozy, and I stare out through the window.
One last look at “trouble-for-me-ah”.
Best answer:
Answer by Frig: alter-ego of JuJu
Umm… maybe add some more description??
Add your own answer in the comments!
