Dysfunctional Life

I see my mom first when I entered the house, I always see her first. She told me once before I started high school, that us Banks were noticeable. It doesn't mean that we were perfect looking, but that we had something going on. And I didn’t believe her, but now, I can see that she has something going on.

Her face is red, she is screaming at my father who is just as furious but stands tall. He towers over my mom, but I’m glad that they are standing at a distance from each other. I drop my duffle bag and my backpack on the floor. My shoulders stop sagging and relax without all of the weight.

They both look at me.

“Aleena.” My dad speaks up. I shake my head, pick up my things, and run up the stairs past them. Kori comes out of her room just as I past it. “Hey.” she says.

I jump although I saw her come out. I push a strand of fallen brown hair back. “Hey.” I look at what she was wearing. A black ill fitted dress that clings onto her body. Her makeup is dark as outside; all black and shadows. She had tall heels dangling from her hand.

“Going somewhere?”

She purse her lips and leans against the wall. “Yeah, how was practice?” She nods down at my duffel bag and uniform.

“Fine.”

There's more shouting from downstairs. Kori groans. “They’ve been like this all day.”

“You were home today?”

She squints. “No, I was joking. I was at school Aleena. I don’t skip all the time.”

I start walking to my room and close the door, really wishing I had some food.

~

The shouting didn’t die down until 10. And until then, there was more screaming, shouting, even some crashes. I knew Kori already left because at one point, the door down stairs slammed and upstairs was quiet.

I listen to soft instrumental music while doing my homework. I turn the volume all the way up just to block out the noises. When I finish, my ears feel broken and I consider that I might have gone deaf. I wait a few more moments in pure silence, then leave my room.

I creep downstairs and go straight into the kitchen. Nothing is on the stove so I grab the loaf of bread and head to the stairs.

I turn around and there she is. My mother that's glowing at the age of 44. Plump lips, small nose, even red eyes.

“How was your day?” I ask, because that is what I always asked. She smiles. “It was okay. Busy, but okay. Yours?”

I nod once. “Good.”

“You should get ready for bed soon. It’s late.”

I try not to give her a weird look since I'm still in my practice gear didn't eat tet.

I turn and run up the stairs.

I didn’t even pay attention and notice that dad left too. With Kori? I doubt it, but he might’ve. I shower quickly and brush my teeth. My hair is still wet and blow drying it is too difficult. So I put it in a sloppy wet bun and sleep on my side.

~

The alarm wakes me up. I feel sick and my head hurts and I’m cold and hot and I knew I should’ve put on those pants and dried my hair. I slump out and find jeans and a wrinkly Tee shirt that says PARIS on it in cursive fancy print. My hair hurts so much when I comb it out, I cry in frustration and tie it in a bun again. I’m putting on my socks when Kori comes in. But instead of walking in, she falls in and collapses onto the floor face first.

I jump. “Kori!”

She doesn’t move for a second and I think she is dead. She lifts her head up and I see that she didn’t shower or wash her face or take any of the makeup from last night off. It slides and is smeared on her face. Her eyes are red and her lips are chapped.

“I need money.” She says not looking quiet at me. I stand up and shrug on my blue puffy jacket that I only wear when I’m desperately cold.

I blink at her. “Why?"

She groans and punches the carpet. This time when she looks up, I see that the carpet is now stained black. "I need money. I'm going to the drug store to pick up a test. I'm out of money."

I zip up my jacket lowly. “What?” I bend down and help her stand, or rather fall onto my bed. She starts crying. “Shhh. Hey, stop it. What test? Not a...”

Silence.

She shakes her head and her voice shakes. “I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything. It was an accident. I threw up."

She’s gripping onto my shoulders hard. I turn around and check the time.

“I’m going to be late. You’ll be okay, okay? Be okay. You are always throwing up. But you are not pregnant.” I  assure her.

Downstairs, I expect to find mom cleaning the house like she always does in the mornings, but it’s quiet. I check outside, and the car is gone. I leave the house quickly.