Fighting Hurts

Fighting Hurts

 

"Mom!" I yelled at her, "Stop checking my grades!"

 

"I can't just stop, Emma. You need to do better in school!" She yelled back. Sometimes I hated her in a lot more ways than how I liked her.

 

"Just stop checking my grades!" I yelled. "If you don't want these fights, then don't check my grades!" Her nostrels flarred, and I could see tears form in her eyes. It was true though, what I said. Everytime I had a not so good grade, and she checked it, scolding me, I would yell back. Really, everytime I have a 70 on something, she would scold me about it! I'm old enough to think, to fight back, but does she see it that way? No. I'm a little kid of four years old to her. A screaming, young, inexperienced little toddler. That's what I am.

 

"If I stop checking your grades, you'll start getting better grades?" She asked. Laughing sardonically, her snobbiness came to my face. "That's a lie, and you know it, Emma Marie Sterling!" Her uncanny ability to flick fear into a person was annoying and rude. The difference in years were like a crumbling bridge between us. I resented every aspect of this fight. All these fights I have with her almost always start with my grades. It's like she needs these fights to survive. They must be fed to her or she'd die. Yeah, well, I just can't take it anymore. I threw up my hands in defeat.

 

"Whatever, mother," I grumbled. "I'm tired of how you're treating me. I'm not a four year old, if you haven't noticed. Give me some independence." I swiftly ran past her, darting towards the door to set off on a jouney to a better place. The devil does not ride me, but it may ride her. Running out the door, I felt a fluttering sense of independence. Excitement flowed through me as I passed like a spirit towards freedom from my mother's fights. Even though I couldn't see for myself, I was sure my eyes were gleaming bright with excitement from leaving this ratty place.

 

I ran across several streets, then slowed down and started wandering the place. Many a times cars drove past me, honking, aburptly yelling. It's funny how impacient fat snobs always honk and yell at me. It's like I'm badly bejewled, and everything bad happens to me. The next car that comes by and honks and yells at me, they'd better retreat, or they'll get my raw anger at my mother displaced towards them. I guess that curiousity is a disease because just as I said it aloud, another car was sent across the road, honking and yelling at me. I picked up a pinecone and threw it at the driver as hard as I could, but the cone missed him by mere meters. I picked up another cone, and begun to through it, but he sped away before I could thrust it at him again. Then, out of timid anger, I thrusted the pinecone towards the ground and watched it as it scattered into pieces of seeds and cone.

 

A door opened and closed in the house behind me. A man with a white mustache and beard, sensatively walked towards me. His old, wraspy voice whispered, "Oh, the anger of the youth of today's age frightens me." He chuckled and cracked a smile. "Tell me dear," he continued, "What's got you all wrapped up?"

 

I tried to smile at him. "Well, Grandpa," I started, "I can't stand Mom.  She's driving me crazy and up the wall! She won't leave my grades alone. She treats me like a toddler!" I started to wimper and I burst into sudden tears. Grandpa always helped me with my problems. He was my mine of informatin and a source of calm in this crazy, messed up world. He always had some wise words or stories to help me through. I could always count on him. I don't know where I'd be without him.

 

"Well, I can tell you this: Your mother's searching hard for you. She called your friend's houses and looked for you. She called the cops. They're even looking for you. You can stay here for a while, but I must call and tell her that you're here, alright?" I nodded all teary eyed.He hugged me a little longer, then suddenly he breaks the silence. "Emma Marie, you should know that you caused your mother a lot of pain. She can't stop crying. The cops will leave soon. If you want, you can stay here until after the cops leave, Emma." His kind heart was always want ing me to stay at his house. "But you will have to be loping, and on your way home, think about how you can try harder and  get better grades.Can you do that for me, Emma?" I nodded trying to get my tears under control. Grandpa was always nice to everyone. His well-known personalitly was often how I was compared against. I got up whiped away my tears.

 

Faintly, I whispered, because that's all I could manage, "Thank-you, Grandpa." Then I tried to smile a bit, but it wouldn't come. Grandpa must have seen that, because he hugged me as he walked me inside.

 

As the door opened and showed a few faces within a bright ligh, I crawled into my grandfather's house. Seeing my mother, I ran to the other sid e fo the room. She comes towards me, slapping my face til it's red. "Elaine Rose Rosenburg. Stop hitting your child. You'll kill her." She wouldn't stop, so he got in between us. "Elaine Rose. Listen to me, Elaine! This is your daughter. You may check her grades," I tried to interupt, but he stoped me, "But you  may not, in any sercumstances, start another fight by scolding her about them. Got it?" Mom nodded, then backed into a stool and cried. He turned to me. "And you, Emma Marie, you mustn't run off again. Ever. Sort out your issues now."

 

And we talked, sorting out our issues. This was a fight to end all fights. "Thank-you Grandpa. For everything."

 

I whipped my tears from my eyes as I said the last sentance. That was years ago, when I was 13 years old. Now that I'm 32 years old, my Grandfather's heart gave out. He was nice throughout his life, not a dull memory of him.

 

I'm Emma Marie Sterling. I'm 32 years old now, and that was the story I chose to share with everyone at my grandpa's funeral.