Tuesday, May 12, 2009

This is Skyer No. 2

Right now, I really did want to see the moon shatter. Not only because I would be able to witness the ‘moon-shatter-exhibition’; because I really wanted to scream. Maybe to see if my mom would really fly upstairs like wonder woman and saved me from this deluge, or ignore it—not even hear it and go back to her heavenly sleep. But both of our bets laid on the second.

I hated watching my mom get up in the morning for work. I had made me so uncomfortable, melancholy that I would numb the entire morning hours into awkward hours. Just staring at her always-same expressions, expressing: asphyxiate, execration laceration, prostration—all the way to life fluster. It was hard to get used to. She usually got up around six, the same time I would wake up for school just to make me breakfast. Most of the times I would lie myself away, no matter how hungry I was and tell her to go back to bed so she would get at least 30 more minutes of sleep.
I hatched around 11. It was a breezy summer morning in North Collins. I swear, I might have swallowed a generation of mosquitoes in my sleep from leaving the window opened. Claire left before I woke up because all so suddenly, her family decides to go out for breakfast with her great grandmother—who is probably breathing her last oxygen. I woke up with a post-it attached to my forehead saying “Got to go! Check your phone!”
My mom wasn’t home of course; she left about an hour ago to work. She left a note---not on my forehead, but on the refrigerator along with two ten dollar bills clipped under a magnet. It was for lunch. She left me some cold eggs and bacon in the microwave so my lazy ass could just heated up. I’d never cook for myself, unless my intestine threatens to take a bite of my kidney, but it never went that far.
About 90 percent of the people I’ve met told me that I look nothing like my mother. They’d all be surprised when my mom would introduce me to her friends—they only get it when they see the similarity of the longitude around our left to right ear. It’s kind of funny actually because I’ve never thought my head was big—it thought it was, ‘converted perfectly’ because I was always ‘big boned’. So it meant, if I gained five pounds, it would have made me look like I’ve gained twice as much—ok, shut up. I’m just big boned.
When I’d see myself in the mirror, I’ve never seen anything from any two sides of my family. I had my own two eyes and nose, small ears, and my own highly complimented shaped teeth. My mom would say that, ‘the good ones came from me.’ By which she means that entirely all the flaws had been passed down from my dad’s.
During my long, lazy brunch—companied by The Simpsons, the phone started to ring. I was certainly not in the districted distance from the phone. It might be the damn advertisers again; whom I sang to, accidentally. I meant to turn off the phone but instead, my butterfingers decided to slip to the ‘call’ button—and in the same time, I was singing along to Secondhand Serenade in front of my mirror—with my brush. Dramatic. As soon as the song ended, the first thing I heard was a small speaker answered voice through the phone that kept repeating “Hello?” But, when he had the chance to hang up, he decided to listen and monitor my voice---how fucking embarrassing.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

haha!! This made me laugh!
This is greatttttttt!

I'd like to read more!