This is completely fiction (I was feeling like a real writer tonight!!! (I know I’m talented, please don’t steal my work (joking….))).
In the face of impending doom, I was speechless, or rather, motionless at that.
“Lacey, it is not that bad,” my mother drawled, rolling her eyes. She lazily flipped the page of her magazine. It was a tabloid or something else with absolutely no merit. I don’t know why she likes to read garbage.
“Not that bad? Mother look at me!” I yelled and turned to face her. She rolled her eyes over to me, letting her head rest on her shoulder.
“Lacey I don’t know what the problem is. The pink looks cute!”
She was talking about the pink casts. Yeah I said casts, not cast. Casts as in the rock solid, hot pink THINGS that went up past my elbow and kept my arms at an a awkward ninety-degree angle. Casts I got by breaking not only one, but both of my arms in a freak accident. Freak accidents happened to people like me.
I’d been on the football field taking pictures of the cheerleaders waiting for the football team to run out after halftime. It was for my photo-journalism class that my best friend Wilson had roped me into or else I wouldn’t have ever been at that football game (so this was exactly why sticking to your routine is always your safest bet. As in: if I would have just settled for cooking pasta and watching movies with Wilson–our Friday Night Tradition–then I never would have been at the game and broken my arms). If I wouldn’t have been at the football game, then the band wouldn’t have started playing before I could get my shot, and if the band hadn’t started too soon, I wouldn’t have been running for my life on my out of shape legs that are too long for the rest of my body, and if my legs weren’t so out of shape and gangly, I would have made it across the field in time before tripping on my own two feet and getting trampled by fifty of our school’s largest boys and sixteen of the world’s tiniest cheerleaders.
And if I hadn’t been completely invisible to the human race (besides Wilson, my mother, and Mr. McBride the Calculus Teacher) then maybe this 66 people would have noticed me and perhaps not trampled me.
I managed to escape the trampling with two broken arms where my bones had been snapped in like ten thousand places by the linebacker Joe Ridgefield (my left arm) and the quarterback and the school’s heavenly father (cliché I know), Jason Whitting (the right arm). I also had a bruise on my thigh and a cut from my left eyebrow to the middle of my mouth from where the giant camera flew into my face and somehow sliced through it, creating a perfect bloody crescent on my otherwise pristine face. The camera did not survive, and unfortunately, neither did Jason Whitting’s ankle. He rolled it and it made a sickening snapping noise when he stepped on my arm and was out for the rest of the game. So, instead of feeling sorry for me, like most humans would for an innocent girl who had just been trampled, they booed me until they’d packed my stretcher into the ambulance because, you know, Jason Whitting’s ankle (and the fact that they were down their prized player and might not win the game therefore ruining our school’s flawless record) was more important than the girl who almost died on the football field.
The pain had been unimaginable and I’d mercilessly screamed out for them to sedate me when they casted me. I was just being overdramatic really, but they did it and while I was knocked out my mom chose the pink casts. So here I was standing with two bent
elbows with what looked like the ugliest pink gloves on the planet, with a red moon on my face and a very achy body. I was about to go back to school for the first time since The Trampling (sounds like a scary movie or something, right?) and I wasn’t sure I was prepared for the torture. Now, everyone knew who i was, the girl who cost Jason Whitting his A-game ankle. The girl who almost ruined the game (which they did win, 35-2). And now the broken girl with that thing on her face.
“Lacey, honey, it is really way too early for this,” she said, tossing her magazine aside and picking up her coffee from my nightstand while reaching into her hoodie’s pocket for a stick of gum. She’d just quit smoking after being an avid smoker for sixteen years and so she’d replaced it with a caffeine addiction and a gum chewing habit. She smacked it like a cow, like she had no idea how to chew like a human. Sometimes I wished she would just give into her cigarettes again, but at least the gum made her breath smell better and the coffee made our house smell like we were a happy-go-lucky normal family’s house.
“You’re right. It is too early. Too early to be alive, too early to go to school. I should just stay home,” i said. I was using my announcer voice which always annoyed my mother, who just as I knew she would, put two fingers to her temple as if I was already giving her a headache.
The doorbell rang.
Eagerly, she hopped up from the bed and placed the coffee back down. She raced over to me with my backpack, hooking the straps on for me and ushered me out of my room and down the flight of carpeted stairs. She was moving so fast I almost tripped.
“Watch it! You’re going to break more of my bones!” I grumbled, shaking her hands off my shoulders. I stomped ahead of her and went to the front door to get away from her.
I couldn’t move the knob with my casted hands. I sighed, frustratedly and blew the hair out of my face. She stared at me, amused.
“Will you please open the door for me?” I asked reluctantly, not looking at her eyes that were shining with laughter. She tiptoed, pecked me on the forehead and practically shoved me out the open front door into Wilson’s arms. He stumbled back, unsteadily.
“She’s a real treat these days, Willie,” my mom said winking, which made Wilson blush. It was kinda weird. Every time she called him Willie I felt like she was making some weird penis joke. And then she did the winking thing and it became more uncomfortable. The fact that my mom was thirty-nine and hotter than me also didn’t help. ” Your slings are in your backpack sweetie. Don’t forget to drink more milk!” And she shut the front door excitedly. Wilson looked at me comically, his wide mouth pulled into a goofy grin.
“She’s just excited to go back to work and not take care of me anymore,” I mumbled and moved past him to walk to the car.
“Your mom doesn’t work,” he answered, smiling and I ignored his stupid face, sliding into his old Volkswagen after he opened the door for me.
“Leave me alone.”
Wilson pulled the lever into drive and we chugged off to school.
Well. Here we go.
Woo okay so it’s obviously a snippet (and not a finished story) but I didn’t know what to write about myself because I am not all that interesting……so…….. until tomorrow my friends (or later on today cause it is tomorrow).