“Luka, darling!” my mom called up the stairs. “This is wonderful. Come down here.” A pause. “Luka?!”
I rolled my eyes and slammed the journal shut. I wished she would shut up and leave me alone. We had too much bonding time for my own good, anyway. I treaded down the staircase making sure not to touch my mother’s pristine peach walls, a color which made no sense to me because everything is gray, grey and black. Even as I leaned against the balustrade halfway down the staircase, I looked down into her pale face haloed in highlighted gray hair she called blonde. I was glad my hair was black; at least I could see myself as I was.
“Oh, aren’t these flowers pretty?” mom said, as she thrust the grey bouquet into a see-through vase filled with murky water before smothering her face into it. “It is so sweet of Jeremy to send them to you. I hoped it didn’t cost him too much.”
Jeremy, ah yes, Jeremy the rich kid. Jeremy who liked exotic things, and now that vampires were the in-thing, Jeremy had taken a sudden interest in me, the ultra-weird Gothic girl in class. Maybe Jeremy wanted more; maybe he wanted to see me dead. I should do that, slit my throat in front of his face so he could watch me die. I stifled back a giggle.
Immediately mom turned her face upwards. “That’s my girl. It’s a good feeling getting flowers from a boy, isn’t it? Why don’t you wear one of these in your hair? Or carry it with your books? He will like that.”
I rolled my eyes, and turned to stomp back up to my room.
“Where are you going, honey?”
“I have to go to the Poetry Club, mom,” I said without turning my head.
As I continued up the steps and down the short corridor to my room, mom called up one of her many good intentions. “Darling, you should wear one of my new blouses. The pink one is really nice…”
I slammed the door behind me, and changed into a black long-sleeved shirt and an even darker skirt. I opened my journal again and read the haiku I wrote.
The world layered grey,
A slap, a miss, a cold kiss,
Overwhelmed me.
Pretty pathetic, but it was the best I could do. I wished that Mrs. Tucker had picked any other topic but love. Yet I did not want to protest too much because she was the only teacher left who did not hate me. In fact the Poetry Club was the only place where I felt that it was okay to be different. Even if they did spend the whole two hours talking about colors and music and sweet scents, which made no sense to me, at least Mrs Tucker was willing to let me speak my own mind, and the members to listen with interest.
After quickly twisting up my hair into a bun, I stuffed the journal into a bag and ran down the stairs and out of the house before my mom came after me. I pulled the sleeves down to hide my hands. I hated my pale skin and wished that it was darker and not look like the underbelly of a dead fish.
A grey car slowed to my pace and a paler Jeremy called out, “Hey girl, need a ride?”
“No, thank you.”
“Wow, you said thank you. So I guess you like the flowers eh.”
“My mom likes them.”
After a long pause, Jeremy asked, “So you want a ride?”
“You don’t remember too well, do you?”
“Depends I guess.”
“Oh look, we’re here,” I said, and turned into a side gate leading to a narrow path along the school field. The tires behind me screeched.
I hurried as fast as I could without breaking into a run. It was so hard to breath, and suddenly my stomach cramped again. It had been cramping on and off since the night before but not this bad. I climbed up the short flight of steps into the gymnasium and crossed the almost empty basketball court. Coach Jenna eyed me and suddenly I felt myself pee. I tried to step up my pace, but doubled over as the cramp spread to my chest.
She ran to my side, grabbed my shoulder and turned me so I faced her. “Girl, are you okay?”
My eyes followed her gaze, and I saw something that was not grey and not black trickling down my legs. My back hurt and I was forced to curl myself into a fetal position. I am going to die, I thought as I lay there.
Voices mumbled, mumbled, mumbled. I wished they would stop because they were making my headache worse.
“What do you mean she has never had her period before?” the nurse asked.
“She never had. Today is her first,” mom’s voice added.
“Didn’t you take her to see a doctor?”
“Some girls are slow. I guess she is just one of those slow ones.”
“Well, you should at least have tried to find out first, before you make that kind of conclusion.”
“It’s not a big deal. I mean she has it now.”
The nurse sighed. “I should let you take her home with you, let her get some rest. Would you like to explain things to her or should I?”
“I am her mother. I am more than capable of doing that.”
“Very well.”
I pushed myself up from the bed, and immediately mom gushed, “Oh my baby,” and came to my side to cup my face with one hand and brush my hair with the other. “Mommy’s going to take you home right now, darling.”
I resigned myself to my fate. After making a list of my complaints which my mom rattled out on my behalf, the nurse gave me some aspirins for the cramp and headache then sent me home. The whole car ride, mom kept talking about her first period; about what she did, and how her family fussed over her and then about the girly embarrassments and little secrets between her and her girlfriends. She earnestly hoped that I would experience the same thing. I, on the other hand, was sorely disappointed that I was not dead.
On reaching the house, mom made some herbal tea which she insisted could take the edge out of the discomfort, and I forced myself to sit down and spend some time with her, though in truth I also used the time to fantasize about killing her. Again, I saw the color in my mind.
“What color is blood, mom?”
“It is red, darling.”
“Your lipstick is red, right?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. It is not the same thing.” Mom began to fan herself, as she always did when she became upset. “You say the most unusual things. Sometimes I just don’t understand you.”
I stood up and turned to leave the kitchen, no longer hearing my mom’s demands that I finish my tea. I went to my desk upstairs, and found my pen knife exactly where I thought it would be. After staring at the dull glistening surface for a moment, I used the tip to draw a line across my left arm. A lighter shade of red oozed out. I licked the wound then ran my tongue over my lips and looked at myself in the mirror. My lips were beautiful. My smile was perfect.
The door opened and mom stepped in with a dish of cookies. “Darling, I am so…,” and screamed, “What happened? Oh my baby!”
She put down the dish on my bed and ran over to me, I slashed out and carved open a wide gash across her face. She stared at me, stupefied, and her hands reached up to touch her face. I swung my arm again, cutting open her throat. Other than a gurgle, not a sound came out of her, and for the first time in my life I saw how alive my mother was.
She fell back, and dropped down to the floor grasping her throat. As she lay there with eyes pleading and one hand strecthed out to me, I watched until her arm dropped back to the floor and she began to quiver a little as though about to fall into a deep sleep. Then I lay next to her and breathed in her scent. She smelled wonderful. I kissed her blood soaked lips. She tasted sweet. Suddenly my chest felt tight, and I longed to be as perfect as she was. I took off my clothes and began to lather myself with the red liquid pouring out of her. Then I stood and looked into the full-length mirror. I was beautiful.
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