When I woke
up, I was still clutching my trumpet. I set it down and rubbed my eyes as light filtered into my room. 'I slept longer than I should have,' I thought to
myself, frantic. Once I figured out my mouthpiece was fine and not
stuck, I started putting it back up into my case. I put my stand to the side so
it was out of the way. Stretching, I glanced up at the clock. 8:20. 'Macy
should've woken me up by now,' I thought and pulled the door open. I was
greeted with the soft aroma of bacon and eggs. I licked my lips, and followed
the smell into the kitchen.
Macy flipped a piece of bacon over,
causing it to sizzle. Scooting over a bit to the left, she scraped an egg off
of the griddle and slapped it down on a plate.
"Looks good," I commented,
smelling the hickory sweet bacon up close. Macy turned from food to me, making
her Sunday dress twirl.
"Thanks. I got this at the
grocery store last night. Anyway, how did you sleep?" Macy turned back,
using a fork to place the slices of bacon down by the egg.
"Pretty good - I didn't mean to
actually go to bed, just a nap. I guess I was just really tired," I said,
pulling two glasses out of the cupboard.
"Yeah, I was going to wake you
up to help me with breakfast, but you and your trumpet looked so
peaceful," she joked, bringing the plate of food to the table. My cheeks
flushed a bright red as I pulled another plate out.
Opening the fridge, I tried to
change the subject. "Do you want orange juice," I asked, pulling it
out. Macy nodded, and I filled the two glasses, stopping about 1 inch from the
rims. I brought the plate and drinks to the small plastic table. Sitting down,
I put two slices of bacon on my plate, and cut the egg in half. Stabbing the
larger half with the fork, I set it down on my plate. Just as I was about to
shovel a bite of egg in my mouth, Macy cleared her throat.
"Don't you think we should say
grace?"
I looked up from my breakfast.
"Grace," I muttered sarcastically.
Macy's eyes furrowed, and she closed
her eyes. "Dear gracious heavenly father, we come to you today with
thanksgiving in this wonderful new day you have given us..."
I zoned out as she prayed, my mouth
watering. I had never been much of a prayer', but Macy had a knack for it.
"Thank you for Alexandra, and a
wonderful new neighborhood to live in. In your highest name we pray Lord,
Amen."
"Amen," I mumbled, digging
in. I devoured my egg in about 15 seconds flat. Macy may have had a knack for
praying, but I had a knack for eating. After I was finished (only took about 5
minutes) I looked up at the clock. "It's 8:45, I'm going to go get
ready." I put my plate and glass in the sink.
"Alright, we'll have to leave
about 9:30," she said, still eating. I nodded heading for my room. I shut
the door behind me, and looked in my closet. I had a total of three dresses
hanging, and one skirt. I actually had a lot more outfits before, but we only
had a 48 hour notice hanging on the door on the day of eviction.
I sat down on my bed, thinking
back...
I remember Macy had just moved in
a year, since there was no one else after my parents had died. When I heard
news of first my dad's death, actually a heart-attack, I wasn't all that
troubled by it. Shocked yes, but it never really bothered me. I hadn't seen him
much anyway, he always slept in late in the morning, and stayed out late into
night at the casino. Mom normally would go with him, leaving me by myself, or
with a babysitter when one was available. The point is, my dad's death didn't
bother me, because I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have been bothered too much by
my death.
My mother's death was a little
different. Yeah, she did gamble a lot, and drink a little too, but we did have
our happy moments. I remember baking cakes for relatives with her, and I vaguely
remember us going shopping once of twice. Though I hadn't a single memory of
her or my dad reading me a bedtime story. When I had gotten home, she was lying
on the floor, an empty pill bottle in her hand. I was 12 then, but I still knew
what an overdose looked like. I stayed next to her the entire day, and then
night, falling asleep occasionaly. In the morning, when my neighbor (whom
hadn't seen me get on the bus that morning) came by, word first got out of the
confined estate that my remaining parent had died.
Macy, apparently the closest
relative I had still living, gladly came and lived with me. It was actually
fairly easy for her to become my legal guardian. Just several visits to court,
staying up late filling out papers, and a ton of coffee.
Life had been okay for
about a year, until the day. That day.
I sighed,
walking over to my closet. I picked out a white and pink silky dress, and went
back to my dresser. I put it against myself and looked in the mirror. My long
dark hair reached down past my shoulders.
I remember what I looked like the
day the orange paper was on our door. My hair was cut shorter, a new style I
was trying in middle school. I had torn the piece of paper off the door, a
little confused on what it meant. E-vic-ted. The term was new for me then, but
I know it all to well now. Running inside with the neon paper, I had shown
Macy.
"Evicted, what does evicted
mean?" Macy had torn the piece of paper from my grip, reading it intently.
After she was finished, she crumpled to the floor, her eyes filling with tears.
I remember feeling so helpless, I thought Macy was sick - or dying like my mom
had.
But Macy wasn't dead. At
least, not physically. Emotionally, she was.
The court made up a really long and
boring explanation, but it basically turns out to be this: things don't turn
out too swell when you have gambling parents. My father had lost all of his
money, gambling - trying to rebuild back some of the family fortune. No money -
bada bing. Me and Macy are kicked out onto the streets. (With a generous
two days' notice.)
Slowly and
carefully, I put the dress on, as not to rip the fragile fabric. After I was
done, I brushed my hair, running it through slowly...
I always thought that people on
the streets were lazy, and unwilling to work - but sometimes I guess bad things
happen to good people...
After I
finished brushing it, I looked in my suitcase, still half-way packed. I pulled
my curling iron out of the side pocket, and turned it on. While I waited for it
to warm up, I gazed into my light blue eyes. My mom had light blue eyes, I
remember, just like mine.
'I wish she were here,' I
thought, and began to curl my hair, with the now heated iron. 'Macy doesn't
look anything like me. Short, light brown hair and brown eyes with tan skin?
Try comparing that to my whopping height of 5'9", dark brown hair, light
blue eyes and pale skin.' After I finished a few curls on the right, I
moved on to the left. 'Macy's not even fit to be a guardian, much less a
mother - she's only 20, and never babysat one day in her life!'' For a few
seconds, I was angry with Macy. Why couldn't she just leave me be? But as I
finished curling my hair, the anger melted into understanding. 'She never
wished this upon neither me, or her. At least she's trying...'
I turned the curling iron off, and looked at
myself once more in the mirror. I never really wore make-up. I always thought
it was too time-consuming. "Alexandra, you ready?" Macy yelled at me
from the kitchen.
"Almost," I yelled back,
grabbing my phone. I never really used it - didn't really need to - all I had
was a "QuickMessage" app which allowed me to message other people and
post stuff on a 'wall'. Of course regular texting and calling were enabled too,
but I never really used it.
I slide my black dress shoes on and
walked out to Macy, who was smoothing out her dress in the small living room.
Noticing me, she grinned. "You ready to go?" Immidiatley I felt bad
about accusing her of being an unfit guardian. She gave me everything I needed,
and was nice to me. It was a start.
"Yeah," I opened the door
and Macy followed me out into the warm, sunny morning.
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