As soon as I opened the door, I knew I was in for it. I think if I had a knife, I could have sliced the air into chunks and built a house out of it, the tension was so high.
Sighing, I bit my lip hard, hoping to bring tears to my eyes. I didn’t think it would really help, but anything was worth a try.
Mum was sitting at the dining room table, a rapidly cooling cup of coffee by her elbow, a magazine open, ignored, in front of her. Dad wasn’t home yet, but I knew he would be no help. Mum was furious. Her eyes not only pinned me to the wall, they drew daggers and peeled my skin off bit by bit.
“Well?” Her voice was harsh and clipped. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Look, I can explain…” I rushed, hoping to any higher being listening that I could.
“No, the police did that for you. What did I tell you about using drugs, Rachel? I thought I had raised you better then this. What the hell were you thinking?”
I winced and let my eyes drop. “I don’t know.” That it was worth it, for a moment of peace. And that’s what it was; a simple moment away from the fears and the overwhelming feeling of unworthiness that tore at my inner being, every day of my pathetic life.
“I don’t know.” She repeated, standing slowly. “I don’t know. You never know. Well, I’ll tell you this. I don’t know either. What am I going to do with you, Rachel?”
She was walking towards me slowly, studying me as if I was some kind of insect that she had found on the bottom of her shoe.
“It was just weed, not like… acid, or something.” I muttered, unwilling to look her in the eye.
“Just weed? Do you know what marijuana can do to you, Rachel? It can ruin your life, lose you jobs, and kill your brain cells, Rachel. Why? Do you think it’s cool? Did your friends give it to you?”
Friends? I thought. No, Sara didn’t give it to me. I bought it off a kid at school, and decided to take a holiday from the glares, the sniggers, and the insults. Take a break from being different. For that moment, I didn’t care. I laughed at nothing. I smiled. I was happy. And now she was taking that one moment and making it dirty, shameful. Anger clawed up my throat, my breath growing fast and ragged. I lifted my eyes, and glared back at my mother, letting a hint of venom drip into my voice.
“If you knew anything about me, Mother, you would know I don’t have friends. The one I do have, wouldn’t. So you shut your mouth about things you don’t know about.”
Well, that went down just fine.
My mother isn’t ugly. Her hair, dark, like mine, fell in waves around her face, hints of grey creeping through. Her face was smooth, covered in hundreds of dollars of skin products, all promising to hold back the signposts of time. She was shorter then me, with real womanly curves. I envied them. But now, her face inches from mine, her dark eyes boring into my skull, she was the most hideous thing I have ever seen. Her delicate features were screwed up into an angry, self-righteous mask. I was frightened, frightened that she was going to hit me, right then and there.
Instead, she opened her mouth, and uttered two words, laden with hate and anger. “Get. Out.”
I felt my mouth drop open, shock like a hammer to the back of my head. I think if it was possible, my eyes would have popped out of my skull. My relationship with my mother was nothing but rocky, but never, had she told me with such conviction, to leave.
I slowly backed away, my head spinning. Her face didn’t change, daggers still slicing me to pieces. I span, ripping open the door, and ran down the path, choking back a sob.
Why can’t she understand? She never understands.
I ran blindly down the street, unable to hold the tears back. I cried, uncaring to who saw, who heard, who judged.
For the second time in my life, I didn’t care. And this time, I didn’t need a plant. It was almost a good feeling, not caring. Maybe I should stop caring altogether.
Eventually, the tears slowed, my run stumbled to a walk, and the doubts crept in once again. I could feel my hair stuck to my damp face, and I was sniffing constantly. Glancing around, I tried to figure out where I was. I was alone, with only small change, no food, the last of the drug that had got me here, and the clothes I was wearing. Maybe later Mum would ring and ask me to come home. Maybe Dad would come looking for me. Maybe.
I recognized where I was, once my vision cleared. I was a block or so from Sara’s. I hadn’t consciously decided to come here, but I guess my feet are smarter then my head, at times.
I sighed nervously. I hadn’t been inside Sara’s house, but I knew where it was. I usually walked past on the way home from school, talking to Sara. It was usually a beckon of loneliness, the point where my one companion would turn and wave goodbye, leaving me alone with my thoughts. But maybe today it would be my haven, my safe place.
It took me less then a minute to get there, walking fast. I wiped my face quickly on my sleeve, and drew my fingers through my tangled hair, before knocking on the red wooden door.
As I waited for an answer, I glanced around. The front was surprisingly normal. White weatherboards topped by a grey slate roof, a simple, tidy lawn stretching to the white picket fence, and a straight concrete path up to the door.
Strange, you would imagine Sara living in a medieval castle, or a multicolored cottage, maybe a gypsy caravan, but not a white, weather boarded house.
Eventually, the door opened, and a guy stood in the doorway. I felt myself tremble, staring dumbly up at him. He was tall, and seemed to be around eighteen, a full two years older then me. His hair was dark, like Sara’s without the coloured hair mascara, and his eyes were grey and cold. He radiated effortless style. He was handsome, I decided, in a harsh way.
“Yes?” He asked politely.
“Uh…. Is Sara here?” I swallowed, hoping my nerves weren’t as evident to him as they were to me.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll get her.” And then he disappeared. I tried hard to not to feel disappointed.
He was replaced quickly by Sara, a welcome but less admirable sight.
“Rachel! I was just… Rachel, are you okay?”
I shook my head, biting my lip against more tears. Crying in front of Sara would be hell.
Sara ushered me inside, calling to someone I couldn’t see further down the hall. “I have a friend over. She may be staying. Can you freaks give us some privacy?”
I heard someone grunt, and I was steered into the left hand door.
I found myself in what I guessed was Sara’s room. It was painted black, with florescent green trim. Posters littered the walls, and clothes littered the floor.
Sara steered me to sit on the bed, standing in front of me with her arms folded.
“So, what brings thee into my domain, mortal?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Her expression did it, the most haughty, snobby look I have ever seen, her nose raised in the air, her eyes glaring down at me. I laughed until tears sprung to my eyes, until my ribs ached. I laughed at the madness of it all, at the pettiness of humankind. I laughed because otherwise, I would cry. Eventually, I sucked in breath after deep breath, calming myself down. Sara raised her eyebrow.
“Well, now the hysteria is over, would you like to explain?”
“Mum kicked me out.”
“I told you not to do it.”
I dropped my head, sighing. “I know, Sara. Don’t rub it in.” I was surprised by a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked up at Sara, puzzled. She had never been comforting in all her sixteen years, as far as I could tell.
But now sympathy was the only expression written on her face, and I blinked, unsure of what I was seeing.
“Rache, you’ll be okay. I’ll look after you.”
I frowned. Was this a joke? I glared at her suspiciously, but only saw sincerity.
“Uh… thanks, Sara.”
Sympathy was replaced by a malicious grin. “Good. Now you can help me with my homework.”
