Carpe Tenebras: V

We made our pancakes and devoured them greedily. Growing up as a Girl Scout, I’d taken to eating mine plain. I hated when bugs got in the butter, maple syrup, or jelly so I avoided that as much as possible. Now, while I could count on bugless condiments, pancakes didn’t taste like pancakes with anything extra. Johanna found my habit disgusting but I just continued to munch. After we ate, my best friend went to go take a showed before she headed off to work. Taking two buses got her to her lifeguarding gig downtown where she worked six times a week.

Amanda’s dad was coming as soon as he could; he’d just woken up when Amanda called him. Bored to death with no fun alternatives at home, I stuck around and played Spit with Amanda. I was used to playing two-handed but my opponent, being a professed ninja, had evolved to one-handed mastery. In my sportsman-like way, I resolved to keep my left arm tucked inside my sweatshirt, therefore leveling the playing field. Johanna came down amongst my mixed shouts of rage and elated laughter. By now, it was 10:30 and Jo’s bus left at 11. She raced around, packing her bag for work. In five minutes, she was ready to go.

“Jaemie, will you stay here and keep Amanda company until her dad comes?” I nodded, still concentrated on the game. “Oh, and guys, I told my mom I’d put the dishes away but I never did.” She laughed to herself.

“We’ll take care of it,” Amanda said monotonously. Jo left with a “thanks guys”, leaving us to our game. Ten minutes later, Amanda and I took a break and went to clean up. While I spent lots of time at the Pidgeon residence, I had no idea where the dishes went. Amanda took care of those while I cleaned up the family room, rolled up the sleeping bags and folded the blankets. Shortly after we’d restarted out Spit game, Amanda’s dad rang the doorbell. We scrambled to put away the cards and then departed.

It had poured rain the night before; I had to bike home. Placing my sandaled foot on a slippery pedal, I began my two minute journey home. I arrived in the driveway and propped my bike up against the house’s white siding. Working my way to the porch, I heard my next-door neighbor’s incessantly irritated whine. The entire brood always sounded like they were yelling, mainly because they always were. After 15 years of their bitchy, cacophonous bullcrap, I was overly sick of them. My mother was probably trying to air out the house because the front door was open. I slipped off my sandals and let my backpack fall from my shoulders by the cherry blanket chest.

“Hi, honey,” my mom called from the kitchen. I could hear her political TV shows blaring, like every other Saturday morning.

“Hey, mom.” I pounced up the stairs, eager to take a shower. Grabbing my towel, I headed to the small, windowless bathroom. The walls were papered with nasty, flowery wallpaper. The house was over a hundred years old, illustrated by tiny cracks in the ceiling. I turned on the hot water shower knob and let the water warm up.

During my shower, I pondered what I would do with my day. Recently, I’d gone to a writer’s conference and unleashed my inner poet. Ever since, I’d been scribbling poems down in a notebook. I posted a few online, using a local young writer’s website. Poetry let me get my thoughts on paper and many came out very well. I shared the link to my blog with my two favorite teachers but, apparently some on the contexts produced uncomfortable feelings for them. I’d had a chat with my guidance counselor before school got out, informing me of the situation I was unaware of. After that, things were awkward. I’d been able to talk to them about so many things that it was almost second nature. After the incident, I didn’t talk with one of them again like that; he was the one I talked to the most. It sucked and I missed it but I didn’t feel like there was anything I could do. The only other things I could think of to spend my day doing were reading and playing video games. I’d been doing that for a few weeks now, so that held no appeal.

I got out of the shower and headed to my room. I had the second biggest room in the house, only because my mom’s was made up of two rooms without a wall in between. Listening to my iHome, I picked out some clothes and got dressed. After hanging my towel over the banister and placing my dirty clothes in the laundry basket, I bounced down the stairs. I turned on the computer and internet modem, then headed to the kitchen.

“Did you have breakfast?” my mother questioned, hardly seeming interested in the reply that followed.

“Yes, mom,” I said in my half-whiny, half-annoyed 16-year old voice. “We made buttermilk pancakes; no, I didn’t have milk or fruit. I’m getting those now.” I knew the routine and decided to avoid another worn-out discussion on my eating habits. For a teenager, my diet was fairly adequate but still not good enough to escape my mother’s health-freak analysis. I poured some milk into my favorite dark blue mug and got an Empire from the fridge, which I rinsed off at the sink. Escaping to the “play” room, I placed the milk on a coaster and the apple in my armpit. You may think that’s a little gross, but keep in mind that I’d just taken a shower - my pits were clean. I have the “phobia” of biting into cold things; okay, so I’m not exactly scared of biting into cold things, I’m more afraid of the pain in my teeth after it.

Out of habit, I wiggled the mouse on its oriental mouse rug. My normal computer routine consisted of checking my school email, then FaceBook, MySpace, Subeta, Gladiatus and BattleKnight, then my Yahoo email. Sitting down in the computer chair, I opened up Internet Explorer. My high school’s web page popped up and I navigated to my email. I typed in ‘jmartell’ and my password which had never been changed. Like I had expected, nothing was in my inbox. The hopeless dreamer in me always wished for an email from Mr. Finch, my Latin teacher, or Ms. Gates. Even though it was summer, I emailed them questions, not considering the possibility of a response until school came around. Although I knew better than to get my hopes up, I’m kind of a loser.

Next, I went to FaceBook. Johanna had poked me, as usual.. I had 10 invitations to different applications, which I blocked. MySpace held nothing for me; nothing had been bought from my Subeta shop either. I collected my money from Gladiatus and BattleKnight. My Yahoo account had four notices from my poetry blog which I went to. Obviously, people had commented on my poetry. Most of the comments were level 1 or 2 comments, not very helpful. I sighed as I felt the phone in my left pocket vibrate. Carla. My hand grabbed the cell so my thumb could expertly flip it open.. She wanted to hang out, which I was glad about. I told her I’d be at her house in half an hour; it’d take me but five minutes to repack my backpack and fifteen to bike to Carla’s home two miles away. That gave me a little leg room to be somewhat lazy getting going. I chugged my milk and wolfed down my apple, eager to do something different. I repacked my backpack with some jogging clothes and DVDs then hugged my mom goodbye again.

“Where are you going now?” she questioned.

“I’m going to Carla’s, no idea when I’ll be back.” The prodding would be the same as usual. “I’m biking, I have my cell phone, I finished my milk and apple, see you later!” I hurried out of the kitchen before my mother could reject.

“Wear your helmet, honey!” I sighed.

“Maybe! I love you!”

“I love you, too! Be safe!” I grinned to myself and hopped on my bike. I pedaled off down the road, free.