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.