Demented

Booze and Dreams

I listened to the thumping of my ball as I bounced it repeatedly on the wall.

"...Joy? Joy!" someone snapped, and I jerked upwards, missing the ball as it flew past me and hit someone in the desk nearby. Mrs. Commer was red in the face, fuming with her hands on her fat hips. I grinned sheepishly and grabbed the bouncy ball.

"I'm not in the mood today," she hissed, turning back to the board. Some of the kids sneered and chuckled.

The bell ringing was the only thing on my mind as the kids gushed out of the doors, spewing towards their lockers to rush home.

I opened my locker, a familiar scent of old crackers wafting to my nose as I grab my backpack, shoving my things inside. I heave it over my shoulder, accidentally knocking into some freshman hurrying by, and dragged myself down the rusty stairs. A couple of kids were passing a basket ball to each other, shoving one another on the shoulder and messing around. 

I bite back an irritated moan as the kids slowed down. How hard is it to walk faster? I mumble to myself as I push past, ignoring the sharp replies.

If the smell of sweat and angst wasn't enough for me in the school, the bus wasn't any better. It was like a meshpool of teenager smell. A junior was yelling and laughing hysterically with his friends. Idiots, I thought.

I flop down on an empty seat and look out the window, shoving my backpack in the free space sending out a clear message. I don't want to be bothered. But, of course, kids are blind. A freshman tentatively walked up and began to stutter a question, but I cut him off by hastily grabbing my bag and placing it on my knees.

A blast of cold air shot up my legs and face as I cantered off the bus, my feet clapping on the pavement as I walked up my driveway. Resentment boiled like my moms overcooked spaghetti as I gingerly opened the door, making sure it closed quietly. I dropped my bags and kicked off my feet in a hush manor, careful not to disturb my mom. I turned to walk up the stairs, but the sound of footsteps caught me like a mouse in a corner.

"Explain to me why your grades are so low?" my mom snarled lazily as she came into my view. I let out a large sigh and faced her slowly. Her breath smelled of booze and she was leaning against the wall slightly.

"I dunno," I mumbled, avoiding her peircing gaze.

 "You don't know? You don't know? Y'know what else you dunno? Ya dunno anything!" she spat, stifling a hiccup. "If it weren't for yer bad grades, we coulda got out of here! This, this dump..." she lost focus for a second, but then pointed her finger at me. "This is your fault! You fuckup," she hissed. I preferred her yelling over her quiet remarks. They stung more than any punch she'd throw.

"You're a fuckup and ye know it!" she slurred, her eyes bloodshot. Tears trailed down her wrinkled face. "All I asked fer was a simple child. And yet I'm landed with you. I shoulda used birth control," she grumbled as she turned back into the kitchen, muttering other things.

 I spun around and walked up the stairs, entering my room. Why couldn't I be good at school? I thought in despair, tears prickling my eyes. Don't cry, you whimp, I scolded to myself, furiously wiping my eyes. I looked at my hands, and then my eyes traveled to my cupboard.