3.

 

 

            I’m finally home. Man, I hate school. I pull my scraggly hair into a ponytail, and realize my hair is getting long… and very, very matted and messy. Who cares?

            I was in the principal’s office during lunch. Hungry. My stomach feels as if it is being stretched back and forth like an accordion. I decide to scavenge the kitchen for something that resembles food.

            Nothing in the fridge, at least no normal snack foods…yogurt, an apple, something. It seems like I haven’t had any good food like that in a while. In a long time, actually. I wonder why.

            I ransack the cupboards, only an empty box of crackers, a who-knows-how-old box of Cheerios, and a half empty jar of peanut butter are inside. Probably all expired anyway. I sigh, and shut the doors to the cupboard. A voice interrupts me. I look behind me. Dad. He looks…different. His eyes are rimmed with red, runny nose, vacant eyes. I feel like it’s one of those days. What days? Why did I just think that? I feel like I’m forgetting something important. I hate that feeling. He looks like he has been drinking. That’s normal, lately. He didn’t use to, though. When did he start? I don’t know.

            “What are you lookin’ for?” he repeats. His glassy eyes seem to be going right through me. He looks…sad, lost….Pitiful? I stare at him, and then ignore his question. I know it’s probably my fault there’s no food. I go grocery shopping for him. I pay the bills, do laundry, it’s my job. He would probably blame me. He’s not a bad dad! I fiercely remind myself in my mind.

             I look at his clothing. Boxers and a dirty shirt, at 3:30 in the afternoon? On a weekday?

 “What are you doing home?” I ask, out of pure curiosity. I see fire in his eyes, and then it fades quickly. He sniffles a little, looks down.

“Lost my job.” He replies. I feel like for some reason I already knew that.

“Since when?”

“6 months.” He says quietly. I look around our house. Crushed Mountain Dew cans everywhere, the carpet is dirty and speckled, and trash is crumpled up everywhere. I feel like I just noticed the chaos in my house. It’s like I’m looking through another person’s eyes.

            I don’t know what to say. He sighs, shrugs his shoulders and says once more, “What are you looking for?”

 “Food….just a snack or something…” I trail off. Light bulb. I’ll have the last of the Cheerios…and I could make an egg. I open the fridge and look around. Okay, I can’t find the eggs.

“Where are the eggs?” I ask.

“You made the last of them for me the other day, Jill. Remember?” He looks embarrassed, sad. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

            Why is he acting like this? “Oh.”  I respond. What? I made eggs for you?

 “I don’t think I made you eggs, Dad…” I add. He stares at me incredulously,

“Jill, that was two days ago….you know I’m sorry.” Confusion sweeps over my mind like a black tarp. I say nothing, there is nothing to say. He stares at me, like he is testing me. I just walk upstairs to my room. Today has been so weird. I am so confused. I don’t know why, or about what, but I am.

            Maybe I should just read a book. There are 248 books in my room, lots of choices. I like classics, because I know how they end. I flip through a few pages of a Charles Dickens, and realize I don’t feel like reading. I’m exhausted.

            I sit on my bed and look out the window, it’s raining. Rain makes me sad, and scared. I know it makes everything gray and dreary or whatever, but that’s not the kind of sadness I feel. I always see the same image in my mind, each time I think of or see rain.

            I see the rough dark pavement of a street, wet from rain, with a big puddle in a pothole. A traffic light’s vivid red splash of color has a blurry reflection in the puddle. Flashing red and blue smaller lights…kind of like a police car, or an ambulance. It makes me feel weird, like a puzzle missing its last piece. I guess I just randomly associate things with others.

            I count the drops of water on my window. There are a lot. I don’t blink once while I count. 342 beads of water on my window. One slides down the glass and combines with another. No! That throws my counting off. 341. I hate when that happens.

            I sigh after a few more slides down and combine with others, and lay on my bed. I’m so tired. I could get thousands of hours of sleep, and I would still be tired.