For everything, absolutely everything,
above and below, visible and invisible,...
everything got started in him and finds its purpose in him.
Colossians 1:16 (Msg)
I was with my mom the first time I saw a ghost. She mega bugged out when I told her and couldn't rush me off to therapy quick enough. Twelve years without incident and then, suddenly, I get up one morning and life as I knew it falls apart.
The narrow thoroughfare went straight up the mountains never once changing or altering en route.
I shuffle my feet to a seating position. The car was a package deal that my mom could never seem to upgrade no matter how many times she passed by the used dealership. It went everywhere with her before I came along. Hence the sun fatigued dash board and decaying carpet. The engine discharged with a burst of fury. I could barely continue on with a single forethought without losing track because of the pot holes. Each bump felt like another punch to the gut stealing the breath right out of me.
Eager to disappear I clutch on to my belongings to keep them from dropping.
I hold back from looking in the mirror not wanting to spoil what spirits I had. It took a lot of energy to direct my reflection of the past few days from slanting. I didn't have the strength to pull myself out of a thought crippling bender let alone call to mind a figment of imagination from which I could induce rainbow visions of pleasant daydreams to squash my not so cheerful reality even if its affects lasted for a total of five minutes.
I push the hood over my forehead.
Mom always took care of herself as opposed to my unremarkable habit of doing things. With a Cardinal scarf tied over her chin the impeccable bun stayed put.
She approaches a stop sign and glances at me with a look of disappointment. It was a facial expression I was fond of. "You being away is for the best. Honestly, I don't understand why you're pouting for. I have to deal with the backlash of your current outburst. But not you. No, you get a fresh start. Who knows, perhaps this time you might even make friends to hang out with for a change." She emphasizes that last part with a fake smile just like the one she always manages whenever she looks at me.
Foot on pedal I take a glimpse past the steering wheel not surprised to see the number displayed on the indicator panel stayed even. She always was a careful driver. "We need some time apart, Aislin." Voice strained, mom cut off what she was about to say after that.
It wasn't hard to imagine her next words. The whole I was an important factor to her creating a picturesque lifestyle was not for my sole benefit. All joking aside, my situation was not a flourishing one.
Not caring to revive old feelings I roll my eyes and look out the window. Honestly. Would it damage her reputation to let go of the facade once? No critic was around to witness and therefore disapprove of her authentic self. "He's not my dad." I say. The truth was, when I first met my step-father, Jett, I thought he was a nice guy.
It wasn't only until after he moved in with us and gained our trust when his attitude changed. Being a practicing Catholic Jett felt a distinct calling to become a minister. Since Jett was at work it was just mom seeing me off. I took pleasure knowing the drive was just as inconvenient for her as it was for me.
Imagine that, it only took sixteen years but we finally had something in common besides our looks.
My mom sighs from her side of the car. She did that a lot whenever she was stressed or irritated, which, over the past few days, was all the time. I could tell I was wearing her down. Good. Maybe she would finally stop trying to convince herself that she cares for my well being.
Mom sneers wishing that I could take over all personal matters that had to do with my future instead of acting like I was not practically full-grown. As I understood it she didn't want the burden anymore. I never said it, but I wanted to cut all ties with the lot of them. That way she could do something of more favorable treatment instead of fulfilling habitual perennial duties that obviously grew tiresome.
Mom flicks the blinker on. The car was old and so it made a loud noise each time the light blinked. She points a finger in the air. "Just do me one favor- and I won't ask for anything else - conduct yourself in a manner that won't bring us shame. I don't care if you get tired of hearing it; I'll say it again- many kids are not offered the same opportunity."
I didn't reply back like she expected me to.
We turn right on a seemingly deserted one-way road heading forward.
Mom turns on the high beams to see better. "This is for your benefit." She liked to mimic couch doctors as her preferred method of a slap on the cheek. I tried reminding her it was meant to be done in a chronic pattern that way a flow of communication would flourish not sporadically in hopes of belittling me. It was a fairy tale assumption to think our strained relationship would get fixed by watching one installment.
The ride was silent. Instead of having conversation, I rest my head against the cold window. I stare at the white blur of snow covered trees. It was relatively quiet unlike towns closeby. With no outstanding family attractions featuring high roller coasters or campaigned music festivals to lure people into spending money there was no wonder the place was such a charming scenery indeed. If asked St. Peters Ville was known for its harsh winters and even shorter below 80 degree summers. Needless to say it wasn't a preferred destination since many contracted health issues such as inflamed lymphoid tissue for example.
One thing I couldn't wait for was to visit my grandmother who lived nearby. Sure, I had to sleep in the dorms, but nothing was mentioned about off-site visits. Because a lock down was never specified accompanying papers of campus information I was given I took it as consent. I wasn't a rebel though I couldn't help but feeling like one.
I blow hot air where my reflection was on the window and draw a small design, a replica of my tattoo.
It shouldn't be long. Just a few minutes and we'd be at the front gates of the institution where messed up kids like me go.
Mom gave me two flyer's earlier. Both of them were thoroughly informative with phone numbers included to cover all bases of which could be found, for instance, on Page Three roman numeral section Two, lowercase item b, under title reference Student Resources to make sure if the reader still had questions that were not previously mentioned they could always call to inform. The big one had colorful lettering with the name Stark House at the very top of the page written in bold ink.
I put them away for safe keeping in case I needed it later on. The brown folder was heavier than it seemed to be upon first glance.
The worn out material was ripped somewhat near the edges with a big yellow band holding pages together from spilling over. My whole life was in there. Every update of my attendance from when I entered grade school up until most recently when I freaked out and burned down the science room because I was paying more attention to what greeted me than handling compounds. Funny. I thought it would feel different once I got it. Like I would be able to understand why I was such a freak in the first place. To gauge how well I was doing Dr. Cambridge used a notepad and pen during each lesson. If she really knew how I was handling restless jitters I would be taken off the blacktop immediately shunned by all cultures of people with steady ordinary lifestyles.
I hold the over sized bundle in my arm and try to forget all that happened.
"I'm sorry but there's no other option. She's too much of a risk." Unfortunately I couldn't stop from repeating the same two sentences.
After much practice I recognized the look on the principles face. It was the kind which expressed his already predisposed judgment of who I was.
One that read somewhere in between the lines of 'Young lady, you need special help of which I cannot provide' and 'You can pretend all you want, it doesn't help your situation.'
It wasn't all my fault. Mom didn't see it that way. When she told Jett he chased me around the house yelling with his bible raised in the air like it was The Crucifix until I locked my bedroom door shut and escaped through the window.
Who knew, there was a perfectly good chance I would go to hell for numerous procreated sins.
above and below, visible and invisible,...
everything got started in him and finds its purpose in him.
Colossians 1:16 (Msg)
I was with my mom the first time I saw a ghost. She mega bugged out when I told her and couldn't rush me off to therapy quick enough. Twelve years without incident and then, suddenly, I get up one morning and life as I knew it falls apart.
The narrow thoroughfare went straight up the mountains never once changing or altering en route.
I shuffle my feet to a seating position. The car was a package deal that my mom could never seem to upgrade no matter how many times she passed by the used dealership. It went everywhere with her before I came along. Hence the sun fatigued dash board and decaying carpet. The engine discharged with a burst of fury. I could barely continue on with a single forethought without losing track because of the pot holes. Each bump felt like another punch to the gut stealing the breath right out of me.
Eager to disappear I clutch on to my belongings to keep them from dropping.
I hold back from looking in the mirror not wanting to spoil what spirits I had. It took a lot of energy to direct my reflection of the past few days from slanting. I didn't have the strength to pull myself out of a thought crippling bender let alone call to mind a figment of imagination from which I could induce rainbow visions of pleasant daydreams to squash my not so cheerful reality even if its affects lasted for a total of five minutes.
I push the hood over my forehead.
Mom always took care of herself as opposed to my unremarkable habit of doing things. With a Cardinal scarf tied over her chin the impeccable bun stayed put.
She approaches a stop sign and glances at me with a look of disappointment. It was a facial expression I was fond of. "You being away is for the best. Honestly, I don't understand why you're pouting for. I have to deal with the backlash of your current outburst. But not you. No, you get a fresh start. Who knows, perhaps this time you might even make friends to hang out with for a change." She emphasizes that last part with a fake smile just like the one she always manages whenever she looks at me.
Foot on pedal I take a glimpse past the steering wheel not surprised to see the number displayed on the indicator panel stayed even. She always was a careful driver. "We need some time apart, Aislin." Voice strained, mom cut off what she was about to say after that.
It wasn't hard to imagine her next words. The whole I was an important factor to her creating a picturesque lifestyle was not for my sole benefit. All joking aside, my situation was not a flourishing one.
Not caring to revive old feelings I roll my eyes and look out the window. Honestly. Would it damage her reputation to let go of the facade once? No critic was around to witness and therefore disapprove of her authentic self. "He's not my dad." I say. The truth was, when I first met my step-father, Jett, I thought he was a nice guy.
It wasn't only until after he moved in with us and gained our trust when his attitude changed. Being a practicing Catholic Jett felt a distinct calling to become a minister. Since Jett was at work it was just mom seeing me off. I took pleasure knowing the drive was just as inconvenient for her as it was for me.
Imagine that, it only took sixteen years but we finally had something in common besides our looks.
My mom sighs from her side of the car. She did that a lot whenever she was stressed or irritated, which, over the past few days, was all the time. I could tell I was wearing her down. Good. Maybe she would finally stop trying to convince herself that she cares for my well being.
Mom sneers wishing that I could take over all personal matters that had to do with my future instead of acting like I was not practically full-grown. As I understood it she didn't want the burden anymore. I never said it, but I wanted to cut all ties with the lot of them. That way she could do something of more favorable treatment instead of fulfilling habitual perennial duties that obviously grew tiresome.
Mom flicks the blinker on. The car was old and so it made a loud noise each time the light blinked. She points a finger in the air. "Just do me one favor- and I won't ask for anything else - conduct yourself in a manner that won't bring us shame. I don't care if you get tired of hearing it; I'll say it again- many kids are not offered the same opportunity."
I didn't reply back like she expected me to.
We turn right on a seemingly deserted one-way road heading forward.
Mom turns on the high beams to see better. "This is for your benefit." She liked to mimic couch doctors as her preferred method of a slap on the cheek. I tried reminding her it was meant to be done in a chronic pattern that way a flow of communication would flourish not sporadically in hopes of belittling me. It was a fairy tale assumption to think our strained relationship would get fixed by watching one installment.
The ride was silent. Instead of having conversation, I rest my head against the cold window. I stare at the white blur of snow covered trees. It was relatively quiet unlike towns closeby. With no outstanding family attractions featuring high roller coasters or campaigned music festivals to lure people into spending money there was no wonder the place was such a charming scenery indeed. If asked St. Peters Ville was known for its harsh winters and even shorter below 80 degree summers. Needless to say it wasn't a preferred destination since many contracted health issues such as inflamed lymphoid tissue for example.
One thing I couldn't wait for was to visit my grandmother who lived nearby. Sure, I had to sleep in the dorms, but nothing was mentioned about off-site visits. Because a lock down was never specified accompanying papers of campus information I was given I took it as consent. I wasn't a rebel though I couldn't help but feeling like one.
I blow hot air where my reflection was on the window and draw a small design, a replica of my tattoo.
It shouldn't be long. Just a few minutes and we'd be at the front gates of the institution where messed up kids like me go.
Mom gave me two flyer's earlier. Both of them were thoroughly informative with phone numbers included to cover all bases of which could be found, for instance, on Page Three roman numeral section Two, lowercase item b, under title reference Student Resources to make sure if the reader still had questions that were not previously mentioned they could always call to inform. The big one had colorful lettering with the name Stark House at the very top of the page written in bold ink.
I put them away for safe keeping in case I needed it later on. The brown folder was heavier than it seemed to be upon first glance.
The worn out material was ripped somewhat near the edges with a big yellow band holding pages together from spilling over. My whole life was in there. Every update of my attendance from when I entered grade school up until most recently when I freaked out and burned down the science room because I was paying more attention to what greeted me than handling compounds. Funny. I thought it would feel different once I got it. Like I would be able to understand why I was such a freak in the first place. To gauge how well I was doing Dr. Cambridge used a notepad and pen during each lesson. If she really knew how I was handling restless jitters I would be taken off the blacktop immediately shunned by all cultures of people with steady ordinary lifestyles.
I hold the over sized bundle in my arm and try to forget all that happened.
"I'm sorry but there's no other option. She's too much of a risk." Unfortunately I couldn't stop from repeating the same two sentences.
After much practice I recognized the look on the principles face. It was the kind which expressed his already predisposed judgment of who I was.
One that read somewhere in between the lines of 'Young lady, you need special help of which I cannot provide' and 'You can pretend all you want, it doesn't help your situation.'
It wasn't all my fault. Mom didn't see it that way. When she told Jett he chased me around the house yelling with his bible raised in the air like it was The Crucifix until I locked my bedroom door shut and escaped through the window.
Who knew, there was a perfectly good chance I would go to hell for numerous procreated sins.
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