By Wendiann Alfieri
Your mother slams down her hand in front of you. It is breakfast time and you are sitting in the kitchen, drinking some juice and eating your cereal. She is standing in front of you daring you to say a word. “Go on,” she states. The mother who comforted you last night is gone. Oh well, the effect doesn’t last forever and you know that. Your feet are fiddling around with the chair legs, trying to twist your legs around like vines of ivy. She hits a button on the old landline, and a voicemail is playing now...
I suppose this is going to Ms. Andra’s mother as I have been told that this is your phone number. I suppose you think it’s funny to answer my calls and pretend I have called a sex hotline. It is not and if it happens again I will have to take action. Your daughter Andra seems that she would be developing fine, but something is holding her back. Her will to become complete was fading yesterday. We would like to schedule an appointment for you and her to come in to school and have a meeting with our counselors.
And this was Brenda Bakins speaking
When it finishes, her green eyes are becoming snake scales and her dark pupils are the venomous’ snakes teeth. “Mom a WHAT hotline?” You start to snicker. Your mom shoots daggers, the pupil’s teeth coming out to bite you. “Never mind that”, she is taking a breath before she bursts. It is like she needs the energy to be pissed off. But she is surprising you. “Andra, why are you fading?” she surprisingly has a too soft tone. You feel the confusion arising. “I don’t know why don’t you tell me mom?” Your mother is clenching her fists like you did last night. But you were never ready to use them.
You continue eating your colorful cereal. “FINE”. The roar of your mother’s decision comes rolling out like an abrupt hiss. “I am taking you to school now Andra, and we are meeting these people today. I don’t like the look of your hand either. Get your things Andra. Let’s head off”. You are jumping off your seat and you’re taking your empty glass and empty bowl to the sink, one in each hand. Your mother has her head in her hands but looks up and says something quietly. “Your left hand looks fine”, she practically whispers. You are looking at her now. Your eyes feel like they’re lighting up. “I’m ready,” you say.