), but to make it fit with the context of the contest I made it longer and complecated it. There is a little semtimental attachment to this piece.I don't think the cause of the tension between mother and daughter is very realistic, so if anyone has any ideas please let me know. Enjoy.
I'm trying out the tense change. If you find any mistakes, just tell me. It would be appreciated.
Hillary runs into the telephone booth and closes the door before anymore rain could touch her drenched skin and clothing. The few coins she has left lie in her palm and seem like so little for what she needs- someone who would listen. She picks up the phone and listened to the dial tone as she looked out on the small part of the street she could see.
The loud bass of the music from some bar penetrates the glass and reaches her in a muffled form. Horns honk as rubber squeals on black pavement with a crash and the shouts of angry motorists follow. Pedestrians walk in tight groups except for the few shady figures standing in the shadows. Everything is chaos.
A metaphor for her life.
Names tumble through her mind and each is turned down instantly though one kept coming back. Her hand strays toward the buttons a few times but never do her fingers push one of them. The rain pounds harder as the search for a suitable audience does the same. The time comes to mind regularly, and she almost hangs up the phone. It's late. Who will appreciate a phone call in the middle of their sleep? A name comes into focus again.
She sighs and begins feeding the machine some coins. She empties her pockets and hopes it's enough though she knows it won't be. Slowly she dials the seven numbers and waits. One ring... Two... Three... Fo-
“Hello?”
Hillary listens to the voice and finds that she can barely find her voice in her surprise and graditude that someone has actually answered. She smiles in relief and feels tears prick at her eyes. A phone call won't be enough. “Mom? Can you... pick me up?”
. . .
The rain runs down the window, racing to the sidewalk. Hillary waits in the phone booth for her mother's car.
As a little girl, she had followed her mother around, soaking in the attention, memorizing every detail...
. . .
It was her first day of school. Her mother walked her to the bus. They laughed, enjoying the last few moments until they parted for six hours. Both were nervous, but not overly so.
At the bus stop, Hillary looked up. “Mommy,” she whispered.
She stooped down and straightened the slightly worn jacket. “Hillary.”
“I'll miss you.” She smiled. “But you said I'd have fun.”
Her mother nodded. “You'll learn bunches of new things, more things than I could ever teach you.” She straightened as the bus rolled up, hiding tears. “You're growing up on me,” she murmured, returning the snaggle-toothed grin with one of her own. She gave up the brown paper bag, laden with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and gently pushed on the pink, princess backpack. “Go on, dear.” She watched Hillary board the bus and waved until she disappeared around the corner...
Hillary grew and went through the regular phases of a child growing up. She remained close to her mother... and then high school arrived.
She went to one party. One party. The party that happened to be beside her mother's best friend's house. The drive home was a long one. Her mother was fuming. She was embarrassed.
Things with them had gone awry a long time ago. This was just the peak.
The silence was suffocating. Hillary took deep breathes to keep the tears at bay.
“I found cigarettes in your drawer.”
Hillary watched their house go by, realizing this was more than just about the party.
“I've seen your friends. I've let them stay at our house with their tattoos and piercings. What else have you been doing?”
Hillary could barely form words with her shaking lips. “No. Nothing else.”
“How can I believe you? Who knows what was going on at that party.”
“That's the first party, mother.” She closed her eyes, growing dizzy with the passing streetlights flying past. “Where are we going?”
Her mother looked over and answered flatly, “If we stop, I don't know what I'll do to you. I thought you were focused on you studies, Hillary.”
Hillary returned her mother's dull glare with a more emotional one. “I am. I am focused on school. Those cigarettes aren't even mine.
“We've grown apart. You hide things. How do I know what's truth and what's lies? Are the condoms in your glove box for a friend too?” The car screeched to a stop. “Are you going to keep lying, Hillary? What happened to us? We used to be close.”
“I grew up,” she whispered, the words choked by tears. “I grew up and realized I can't live life to the fullest by being your best friend.”
“I'm your parent first. I hope I can be your friend too, and you don't have to do what you're doing to live life.”
“How would you know?” Hilary hissed angrily. “You don't. You can't.”
“I know more than you think.” Her mother studied her and sighed. “This is your senior year. It's almost done. If you don't clean up your act, you're out.”
Hillary's breath hitched. “College?”
“You're smart. You've got that scholarship. You've got a car. You don't need me.”[/i]
. . .
College is finished. A job is hard to find. She is hard for cash, but more importantly, she has no hope left.
A car stops by the phone booth, and the tinted window rolls down. A woman, much older than the on Hillary remembered, squints against the rain pouring in, and Hillary scrambles out of the phone booth.
“Mommy,” she whispers.
“Hillary.”
*I know this says this is a part of a novel, but it's not. I'm sorry about that.
