My life is a little crazy. Four kids, homeschool, hotel clerk, write, create and coffee. Coffee is a verb. Do you coffee? I aspire to blow glass and finish / publish my novel. I would like to have an impact. Also, coffee.
Treble Charger, "Friend Of Mine" and the beginning of music I'm thirteen, sitting cross legged on the worn blue carpet of my bedroom floor. "Bye-Bye-Bye" blasts from my CD player boombox. I sing along while I draw in my sketchbook. The heel of my palm drags across the linen paper as the graphite marks a path behind it. The air is hot. I wipe a small bead of sweat off my forehead. The rhythmic whirling of the box fan reverberates in the window frame. With no warning my bedroom door swings open, jarring me from my peaceful state. I gasp in surprise but then sigh in relief as I realize the perpetrator standing in my door is only my brother.
***Content Warning: Abuse*** The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I stood there, hair dripping, wrapped in a yellow striped towel, white-knuckling the cold ceramic sink. My reflection did the same, but still, something was off. My palms were all that supported my teetering balance as I leaned in and inspected the faux visage for its defining flaw.
Her words drifted to me like grains of sand on a breeze. “What do you notice?” My eyes darted from left to right but I saw nothing. I felt warm. I heard a steadily increasing rhythm. A train maybe... Yes, a train. But its hypnotic chugging wasn’t the strongest sensation I had.