I woke up thirty minutes earlier than usual, the sun harassing me from a brand new angle. Then I remembered where I was and why. I groaned and sat up, away from the light streaming in. Usually, I counted on the noise of my parents rushing around downstairs or Jay singing along to music to wake me if my alarm ever failed, but here I had to strain to hear even the hum of the refrigerator. I sat with my elbows on my knees and stared at the floor, wondering if this was how Emelia woke every morning, quiet knowing it was only her here, or if her optimism was enough to propel her out of bed, eager to start the day.
I didn’t want to go to school, but I didn’t want to go home, either. Emelia would probably let me stay here and I contemplated lying back down, just letting the day play out. But even though I criticized my parents for their fake concern, I suspected there would be a limit to how many worried looks I could handle from her. School it was then.
My phone had one new text. It was Jay, saying everyone was worried and asked if I was okay.
Yeah, sure looks like everyone is worried.
Once I found the bathroom, which was far too clean for a teenager living by herself, I tried to make myself not look like I had been hit by a rather large truck (key word: tried). The hair tie I used to pull my hair into a my regular half ponytail fell out in the middle of the night and rolled to wherever all good hair ties go—the aether. (Honestly, I just hope it’s happy there.) So I rifled through the medicine cabinet for another one. It was almost empty, not even an anti-allergy or a bottle of sunscreen. There was, however, a half-used bottle of purple hair dye and I was dying to know if it was for her mother or if Emelia had a phase, but asking would be admitting my snooping.
After securing a tie from a pile in the sink’s drawer, I walked into the living room to get my shoes and sneak out. I must not have been as quiet as I thought because Emelia walked in from her mom’s room. Actually, “trudged in” would be a more accurate description. When I saw her, I felt better about my own appearance. Her long brown hair was tangled and sticking up in places. She stumbled a little, losing the fight to keep her eyes open.
Not a morning person, then. It was odd to see her look so human, not careful or overly thought through. I was struck with a feeling between wanting to laugh and something else—I don’t know what, but it swirled around my ribcage and lingered, expanding my next breath.
I decided it was wise to keep any jokes to myself. Legends have been told about the fury of those who struggle in the morning. It wasn’t a chance I wanted to take.
“Uh… You okay?” I asked, ready to bolt if needed.
Her head lolled to the side, which could have been an attempt at nodding. “M’fine. Just—sleep issues,” she mumbled. “Mother.”
I guess that one word explained everything now. Yeah, my parents are the cause of any sleep issues I have, too. “Did I wake you up?”
She waved me off. “You’re fine. Where—you?”
“School. I have to leave earlier ‘cause your house is further than mine. Wanna come with?”
She returned a smile, but didn’t respond, knowing I wasn’t serious. I guess there is a baby sense of humor sleeping underneath the surface.
“Do you have to leave right away? I wanted to show you something,” she said.
“Um. Sure. I guess I have a minute.”
“Awesome.” She led me back to the art room. “I finished the painting. I thought since you saw it in progress, you should see it now.”
She gestured to one leaning against the wall. I almost didn’t recognize it as the same painting. It was now filled with an overwhelming brightness of orange and yellows spiraling out from the center and when they reached the edges, it seemed to turn toward outward, as if to consume the viewer. The three dimensional effect was aided by the texture of thick globs of paint. I barely noticed the darkness around the edges that used to dominate it before. I wasn’t sure what to say about it back then, but now it gave me a distinct impression. The darkness was used to emphasize the bright contrast. All that effort before was just to lay the foundation for the main subject. Did this come out of what Emelia was feeling?
I liked it. Would I be able to live like this, taking life as experiences, the good and the bad together as a collage? It’s not without darkness, but without regret. The foundation was plenty laid out, but to see it with the splashes of warm colors, I would need someone to paint it for me.
I nodded, free and loose. When I turned to her, she seemed relieved. Somehow, we were fine without a long, drawn-out conversation. It was easier like this, with her, a mutual understanding without words.
I thanked her for letting me stay, gathered my stuff and headed out. On my way out, she tossed me a granola bar. “Payback for breakfast the other day,” she explained.
I held up my hand in a wave.
On my way, I sent Jay a text. “Im fine. Stayed with friend. Don’t take the bus home. Ill pick u up tday ok.”
Allison must have noticed my bad mood. She usually likes to make it worse by demanding we go home together. But she shrugged and headed on when I said I was taking my brother home today. I was dreading her mentioning that I was wearing the same clothes twice in a row and she didn’t even acknowledge it. Small mercies.
I thought I would be able to get to the middle school further in the city center before they let out, but when I pulled up, Jay was leaning against a pillar, alone. A few students were left milling about. His arms were crossed.
“Um… How was last night?” I asked.
“Fine. Mom and Dad are in a bad mood. They’re working from home today.”
“What, why?” Cue immediate dread.
“Probably worried about you.”
“More like they have a lecture to finish. Hop on.” I pointed to my bike.
A couple years ago, to impress the high schoolers, I added pegs to my back wheel and rode around the skate park, believing it would ease my transition from middle school if was noticed by the BMX crowd. No, it didn’t work. Yes, I’m human and feel some embarrassment. No, not enough to muster the energy to take them off. Yes, sometimes Allison demands I drive her places.
“Do you want a milkshake or anything?” I asked when he didn’t move.
“I don’t take bribes.”
“Wait, so you’re angry?”
He marched over to my bike and got on. I turned us toward home while he ranted about his day.
When he went quiet, I said, “I’m sorry for leaving you last night.”
For a moment, he went tense and then relaxed. “S’okay. As long as you come back.”
#
The sound of the TV in the living room welcomed us back. Jay spared me a look before going upstairs, which I interpreted as “Good luck, but you brought this on yourself.” I guess I might as well get this done.
When I entered the room, they looked up at me and then back to a stack of papers in front of them. I walked in and sat by my mom on the couch.
I did not want to think anymore. I was tired and I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I was going to say something that would fix this, but when I opened my mouth, it came out as, “This show sucks. Is this what old people watch now?”
My mom looked over with startled irritation for a second. Then, she searched my face for something and turned back to the television, assuaging her hasty annoyance. “Everyone loved this show when I was a kid.”
“All the new TV shows now days are either too confusing or just stupid. Nothing’s simple anymore. It’s all about who can make the most confusing plot.” My dad joined in and somehow a bizarre discussion started while we ignored what we were all thinking.
I did not know who was right or wrong, really. Maybe I was supposed to accept responsibility and put an end to the argument we had, no matter who was to blame. I wanted to try, for Emelia, more than for my parental relationship, but maybe it was too early for “I'm sorry.”
Maybe eventually. But maybe these unspoken understandings would hold us all over for now.
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