I suppose that there has to come a time in a person's life where they push aside childish activities like playing with dolls and move on to playing with makeup and curling irons. And with all the traveling I've done, I guess I've had to grow up faster than some girls my age. When you've done what I've done and seen what I've seen, nothing much seems to affect you. How wrong I was…how wrong I was…
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It started off like any other day. My alarm went off in the morning, playing Sugar Ray softly until I slammed my hand on the top of the radio, efficiently shutting out the noise. I rolled over and pulled my quilt farther over my head. As I drifted back to sleep I heard footsteps padding around in the hallway. Jack, no doubt. He was always up early. Said he liked to get ready for school early so that he could relax and eat breakfast. But I know better. I know he wakes up early so that he can use all the hot water. Few people know that Jack is actually very selfish with his hot water. I know this always guarantees me at least another half hour of sleep time.
And that half hour seemed to fly by, and before I knew it, sun was streaming in through the crack between the shade and the window. I lazily rolled over and with my arm dramatically flung over my face I peered out at the dawning day. It was beautiful, as always; and usually the sun is what provokes me to get out of bed. But today was different. As I sat up in bed a pounding around my eyes began. The terrible dull ache accompanied by a scratchy throat could only mean one thing.
"No way."
"Please, Molly, I have an Algebra test today!"
"No way. You have a fever. I'm not allowing you to go to school when you're this sick."
I would've responded, but that would have required me to speak, and noise wasn't playing a grand role in my life right now. As I curled back into bed I heard Molly on the cordless phone in the hallway.
"Hi. This is Molly Phillips. Yes, well, Annie Thelen won't be in school today. Why? Well, she's close to hacking up a lung, is that okay with you? I thought so."
And as testament to Molly's statement I began violently coughing. Jack, who was standing across the room, ran over.
"Use the bucket!" he cried, thrusting a neon orange plastic pail into my hands.
"Jack," I whispered, massaging my head with my hand, "I'm not going to puke. And for God's sake, quit yelling."
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It started off like any other day. My alarm went off in the morning, playing Sugar Ray softly until I slammed my hand on the top of the radio, efficiently shutting out the noise. I rolled over and pulled my quilt farther over my head. As I drifted back to sleep I heard footsteps padding around in the hallway. Jack, no doubt. He was always up early. Said he liked to get ready for school early so that he could relax and eat breakfast. But I know better. I know he wakes up early so that he can use all the hot water. Few people know that Jack is actually very selfish with his hot water. I know this always guarantees me at least another half hour of sleep time.
And that half hour seemed to fly by, and before I knew it, sun was streaming in through the crack between the shade and the window. I lazily rolled over and with my arm dramatically flung over my face I peered out at the dawning day. It was beautiful, as always; and usually the sun is what provokes me to get out of bed. But today was different. As I sat up in bed a pounding around my eyes began. The terrible dull ache accompanied by a scratchy throat could only mean one thing.
"No way."
"Please, Molly, I have an Algebra test today!"
"No way. You have a fever. I'm not allowing you to go to school when you're this sick."
I would've responded, but that would have required me to speak, and noise wasn't playing a grand role in my life right now. As I curled back into bed I heard Molly on the cordless phone in the hallway.
"Hi. This is Molly Phillips. Yes, well, Annie Thelen won't be in school today. Why? Well, she's close to hacking up a lung, is that okay with you? I thought so."
And as testament to Molly's statement I began violently coughing. Jack, who was standing across the room, ran over.
"Use the bucket!" he cried, thrusting a neon orange plastic pail into my hands.
"Jack," I whispered, massaging my head with my hand, "I'm not going to puke. And for God's sake, quit yelling."