Chapter 2: The Black Cat
"She's dead," I repeated for what seemed like the millionth time that day alone; still hardly believing the words that were flowing from out of my red mouth.
"Oh, that's too bad, Beatrice," my seventh-grade homeroom teacher said, quite unsympathetically, as she handed the small note back to me which explained my week's absence. It was a Monday morning; the funeral had been held the previous day, "Just ask Travis for the work you have missed... He's in all of your classes, after all."
I felt my pale face burning bright red-- I was seething; here I was practically crying, and that fat bitch actually had the nerve to be sitting there at her heavily polished desk, worrying about my fucking grades, for God's sake! Who does she think she is? I wondered, angrily, as I sat back down at my desk, behind my best friend Carla; she turned around to give me a sympathetic smile, and I returned it, as she turned her back to me, and tried to concentrate on Mrs. Johnson, who was now droning on about some tryouts for the upcoming spring play.
I stared at a blank sheet of paper in front of me, and could immediately tell that I just would not be able to concentrate that day in school-- maybe I'd never be able to concentrate again; I sighed, and closed my eyes; I had not slept in over a week, Maybe it'd be better if I just--
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted as I felt a strong hand tug on one of my two black braids, "What?" I snapped, angrily; opening my eyes, and turning around to face the culprit.
My glaring blue eyes fell upon the heavily pimpled face of Travis Smith-- how I hated the little bastard! Ooh! Had I not been in school, he would have had a bloody nose from me venting out all my anger on it...
His ugly face contorted into a twisted smile, "So," he whispered; his eyes sparking with malice, "your ole' mum kicked the bucket, aye'?"
"Shut up," I whispered, angrily, wishing that I could wrap my trembling hands around his throat...
"What?" he asked, as if he had not heard me.
"Shut up," I repeated; louder this time, as I felt my temper rising.
"Excusée moi?" he asked, in a mocking French accent.
This was the last straw; I had always hated him, but I could not believe he could be so cold and cruel-- unafraid of the possible consequences, I let everything out, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I roared directly into his face.
"Beatrice!" Mrs. Johnson screamed; her voice equally as loud as mine had been, as all of the students' head jerked around to face me... I blushed again; a deep maroon color this time, "Yes?" I asked, sweetly, as I turned around to face her once again.
"Come up to my desk this instant!" her voice was squeaky; annoyingly high-pitched when she was angry-- not needing to be asked twice, I stood up from my desk, and stalked over to her desk, "Faster than that, young lady," she hissed, and I obeyed; quickening my pace to avoid any further conflict.
When I had at last approached her purple face, she lowered her voice to ensure that only I could hear her, "Miss Horowitz, I will not tolerate profanity in my classroom."
"No duh," I hissed under my breath.
"Young lady!" she yelled, as she pulled a yellow sticky note from a tall pile that stood in the center of her desk.
"But he provoked me," I insisted, angrily.
"Be that as it may," she whispered, as she scribbled a note, "You can take this up to the principal's office, and see what she has to say on the matter," she held out the note for me to take.
I rudely snatched the note out of her hands, and read what she had written.
BEATRICE USED THE "F"
WORD IN CLASS. PLEASE
SEE THAT SHE IS DISCIPLINED
FOR HER ACTIONS.
Mrs. Leslie Johnson
Are you kidding me? I thought, stuffing the note into my jacket-pocket, as I headed back towards my desk.
"Asshole," I muttered to Travis, as I snatched up my textbooks, and stalked out of the now relatively normal classroom.
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Another three months went by in a flash, and before I knew it, my twelfth birthday came, and as it turned out, my birthday happened to fall upon this day as it had a few times before in the past.
I stared into the mirror at my pale, yet happy face; I had finally begun to accept my mother's death-- although it had been quite difficult for the first two months; life at home had begun to go easier for both my father and me, although every now and then, my father would go into such a depression that I would be unable to bring him out of it for days; my mother's death had changed us both, but we were trying to go on with our lives; I had begun to laugh and joke around with my friends as I always had before.
I finished buttoning up my blouse, and tied my black hair back in two tight braids. Today, to celebrate my twelfth birthday, and my outstanding report-card, my father and I were going out to dinner on the other side of town; I had laughed after having showed my father the report-card. I had gotten all A's, but in Homeroom... I had gotten a zero in citizenship... That bitch, Mrs. Johnson had probably thought that my father would freak out after having seen the zero, but my father didn't give a damn-- he had other things on his mind, after all; he had been working later hours to make up for the lack of income from my mother's death, yet was always able to be at my school on time to pick me up; I loved my father for trying so hard, and yet there was a great void in my life from losing my mother-- a void that would most likely never be filled again.
After I had dressed, I went downstairs, and opened the door that led to the front yard; it was July the first, and I buttoned up my coat, as it was chilly outside, and growing dark, due to the gray clouds that were rolling in from the east; Odd, I thought, A storm in the beginning of July? My father was soon beside me, "Hey," he greeted, "Hi," I replied, offering him a warm smile; I shivered gently, as he fished the car-keys out of his pocket, and clicked a little button; the lights on our car flashed read; the doors had unlocked. We opened our respective doors, and climbed inside.
We pulled out of the driveway, and began driving away; houses flashed by in a blur as we zoomed by them. My father clicked on the radio, and some guy began droning on and on about the horrors of child obesity in America. Suddenly, just as we came to the end of our street, a high-pitched scream broke the silence of night; my father slammed on the brakes, and we stopped directly in the middle of the road.
"What the hell was that?" I asked, softly.
He shrugged his shoulders, and we sped on; the child obesity report was promptly replaced with the song Midnight Hour; although I could not explain why, I felt something watching us as we drove that night; halfway to the restaurant, I heard a small hiss escape from a nearby bush for I did not wish for my father to think I was hearing things.
Suddenly, I saw a cat; its black fur smooth and sleeky... I watched it dart out from some bushes on the side of the road, and then stop directly in front of our path.
I had been a cat lover all my life, "Dad!" I screamed.
He slammed on the brakes for a second time, but this time it was much too late; our tires slowly rolled over the cat's body... crushing it-- killing it; we had hit the poor cat...
We opened our doors, and darted outside; our footsteps pounding loudly on the gravel in the cold silence that was moonlight. We got down on our hands and knees, and peered underneath the car, but despite out worst fears, the cat had disappeared, and we couldn't help wondering all throughout dinner what had become of it...
