I looked at the crumpled letter in my hands while rubbing my stomach sadly. I wished he didn't do that...I guess it wasn't his fault. He's been under a lot of pressure.
'Dear Craig,' it read in my mother's robust handwriting. 'How have you been, sweetheart?' I smiled at that. Hand-written letters had always made me feel like the person spent more time into writing to me. I don't know.
'You are probably very happy living with your father, but I think you should have a chance to come a visit me, visit us. You know you have a little sister, Angie. You've never seen her, I know, but I feel that you two would have an instant affinity...I know that it's up to your father to make such decisions, as you are still a minor, but I think you should at least have a choice. Please consider this, and please don't show this to your father. I know how upset he gets sometimes. If he ever does anything to hurt you, I'm just a phone call away.' I winced at these words. I wouldn't call her, not after dad exploded like that.
'I miss you, and I wish you could meet Joey, your stepfather, and Angie. Love, Mom.'
I put the letter carefully onto the coffee table once more, smoothing out the edges and patting the wrinkles in the paper down. I reflected silently on the letter for a few moments, and got up.
Instantly, I buckled over and fell back onto the couch. Deciding not to fight the pain in my gut, I instead sprawled out onto the couch and turned off the light. I began to snooze quietly.
As soon as I had closed my eyes, it seemed, I opened them. I got up with a start, and instantly fell back onto the couch again, rubbing my stomach. I looked at the clock on the mantlepiece.
"Holy shit! I'm late!" It was 10:45.
I got up instantly, running up to throw some clean clothes. I pulled on a flannel while hurrying downstairs in my socks. I grabbed a Pop Tart and opened the fridge, looking for some orange juice.
After I hurriedly poured myself a glass, I threw down the Pop Tart and the sneakers that were halfway on my feet. "Fuck this," I muttered. I walked back into the living room and turned on the television.
At around four o'clock, there came a knocking on the side door. I scratched the back of my neck as I answered it.
"Hi, Macy," I said quietly while rubbing my stomach. It still hurt to stand up.
"Stomachache, huh? You've been sick a lot lately. I brought you your homework." She walked in wearing a yellow 1940's sundress with her hair tied back in pigtails. I liked it when she pulled her hair back; then I could see the mole under her left ear...
"Thanks," I mumbled with a smile. "What's up?"
She sat down at the breakfast table. "You'll never believe what happened today!"
I pulled up a chair next to her as she set her books down onto the table. "No, what?"
"Well," she started, looking directly at me with her hazel eyes and her perfect lips and her Joan Jett nose...
"Weellll," she continued, her eyes darting, "When Kyle Porter was picking up Loni after school today, he asked me out!"
'Dear Craig,' it read in my mother's robust handwriting. 'How have you been, sweetheart?' I smiled at that. Hand-written letters had always made me feel like the person spent more time into writing to me. I don't know.
'You are probably very happy living with your father, but I think you should have a chance to come a visit me, visit us. You know you have a little sister, Angie. You've never seen her, I know, but I feel that you two would have an instant affinity...I know that it's up to your father to make such decisions, as you are still a minor, but I think you should at least have a choice. Please consider this, and please don't show this to your father. I know how upset he gets sometimes. If he ever does anything to hurt you, I'm just a phone call away.' I winced at these words. I wouldn't call her, not after dad exploded like that.
'I miss you, and I wish you could meet Joey, your stepfather, and Angie. Love, Mom.'
I put the letter carefully onto the coffee table once more, smoothing out the edges and patting the wrinkles in the paper down. I reflected silently on the letter for a few moments, and got up.
Instantly, I buckled over and fell back onto the couch. Deciding not to fight the pain in my gut, I instead sprawled out onto the couch and turned off the light. I began to snooze quietly.
As soon as I had closed my eyes, it seemed, I opened them. I got up with a start, and instantly fell back onto the couch again, rubbing my stomach. I looked at the clock on the mantlepiece.
"Holy shit! I'm late!" It was 10:45.
I got up instantly, running up to throw some clean clothes. I pulled on a flannel while hurrying downstairs in my socks. I grabbed a Pop Tart and opened the fridge, looking for some orange juice.
After I hurriedly poured myself a glass, I threw down the Pop Tart and the sneakers that were halfway on my feet. "Fuck this," I muttered. I walked back into the living room and turned on the television.
At around four o'clock, there came a knocking on the side door. I scratched the back of my neck as I answered it.
"Hi, Macy," I said quietly while rubbing my stomach. It still hurt to stand up.
"Stomachache, huh? You've been sick a lot lately. I brought you your homework." She walked in wearing a yellow 1940's sundress with her hair tied back in pigtails. I liked it when she pulled her hair back; then I could see the mole under her left ear...
"Thanks," I mumbled with a smile. "What's up?"
She sat down at the breakfast table. "You'll never believe what happened today!"
I pulled up a chair next to her as she set her books down onto the table. "No, what?"
"Well," she started, looking directly at me with her hazel eyes and her perfect lips and her Joan Jett nose...
"Weellll," she continued, her eyes darting, "When Kyle Porter was picking up Loni after school today, he asked me out!"