Status: Currently on Hiatus
The Breakdown of Natalie Whitman
Natalie Whitman
People just don’t understand how important grades are sometimes. Like Dr. Phillips, she said it would “be a bleep on the radar,” what she doesn’t know is how important grades are to my mother. As I walked with a C- in my pocket all folded up, I began to wonder what I could do to avoid my mother’s reaction. My first thought would be to not show it all; the downside was that my mother knew that I had given in a paper for English and she would ask soon or later. The sky was grey and the air was muggy, it was a terrible day in all the sense. As a walked near a construction site filled with dirty men and loud tools, I spotted a hammer. My second reaction was to hurt myself, so my mother would have sympathy. A hammer blow to my thumb, until the finger was black and gory and the nail was cracked. Frantically, my mother would ask and I would simply reply in a nonchalantly way: I injured it in gym. She would be so worried that I would have to spend the entire weekend in bed. No…that wouldn’t work either. And then, a terrible idea came across me: how about getting hit by a car?
A car, it’s a residential road so it wouldn’t move that fast. Is it terrible to think this way, over a grade? It was just…maybe if I just took a wrong step in the road, it wouldn’t seem intentional. Holding my breath, carelessly I walked into the dark wet road as a car with an unsuspecting driver came. I looked down so I didn’t have to see the face of the person who would be doomed just because they hit me. All of a sudden, the rubber screeched, I squeezed my eyes to the point of giving myself a headache and hoped for the best. Silence filled the already quiet road, my leg throbbed. Soon I heard the sound of a car door opening and followed by the clacking of frantic heels.
“Natalie! I didn’t see you there. I’m so sorry!” I opened my eyes and found myself with a bumper by my leg and with an anxious Mrs. Torres. Horrified, I tried to run, but my leg did hurt a lot and something in the back of my mind told me to stay put. “I’ll call your parents; do you need a ride home?” Yes, I did, but not from her, I would rather walk. On the other hand, my leg did hurt. Hesitantly, I nodded and with that, she helped me walk to her car. It was weird to sit in a teacher’s car. Mrs. Torres stayed outside to quickly call my parents and ask if it was alright with them for her to take me. Surprisingly, my mother said yes and with that, Mrs. Torres quickly entered the car and drove off with me acting as her GPS. When she finally allocated herself, the stupid questions stopped. Her perfume, that’s what the car smelled like, it was actually quite pleasant. An empty thermos sat in the cup holder and her purse was on the floor. It seemed as if she was on the verge of crying, turning bright red and kept mumbling that she was sorry.
After a few turns and twists, we were at the white picket fence and the beautiful large house. With a stop, she sighed and leaned back into her seat. All the color that she recently received flushed out of her face as she closed her eyes. Mrs. Torres was a fraud of a woman; however she did not deserve to panic like that. On the other hand, it’s her fault for panicking, but whatever it was, she didn’t look so good. However, she quickly got out from her slump and went for her purse to retrieve something edible because she quickly popped it in her mouth.
“This is my house; I’ll walk inside…thanks for the ride.” However, Mrs. Torres wouldn’t leave me alone and insisted on taking me to the door. However, I rejected her offer once again and walked by myself to the door, with a bad leg and all. She didn’t leave until she saw me get inside the house. See, that was the thing about that woman, she was also so…caring. Yeah, until she would go and try to butt into your life, yeah I wasn’t going to fall for that again. No one was home, at least in the car, she was there…I kind of wish she did take me to the door…I would have been with someone for at least a few minutes longer. The shadows said hi, my echoes returned me with the same answer, the little spiders in the corners hid and I was alone. Slowly, I went up the stairs to check out my leg and to take off my pants.
Big and purple, just what I expected. The bruise was nasty and as I took off my pants it caused me to wince. As I put on my sweats, I heard the door being opened and the sound of heels: it was my mother. As she thumped up the stairs, I sat on the bed. The door swung wide open and in came my worried mother, the reaction I was hoping for.
“Your teacher called me. Are you ok? I cannot believe it, how could this happen? Didn’t you look both ways or was it your teacher’s fault? I can’t believe this.” Showered in hugs and kisses, this is what I wanted. Digging my face into my mother’s shoulder, it felt good like all my problems faded away. Unfortunately, good things never last. I felt my mother bend down and then push me away. “What is this?” In her hand, she had my paper. Stupid! I forgot to take it out of my jeans. Her eyes became wide and filled anger, like a crazy witch. “Wait…is this why you got that bruise? Oh I see…you thought that if you got injured, I would feel sorry for you…that’s right, isn’t it! You little liar…”
Grabbing my hair, I was forced to go into her room. I begged for her to not hurt me, trying to explain that it’s not a big deal, but she was locked on perfection mode. In a way, I lied to her and I guess that made her up. Then it happened, what always happens behind closed doors. My mother would remove her lady mask to reveal a monster. Ever since I could remember, this is how it went: you messed up, you faced the consequences. With my face against the hardwood floor, I heard the door close behind me and my mother go into the closet, getting her tool of the trade. Her tool, as she said, in making a child perfect. “Your sister was a defect, but you…you are meant to be perfect.” Then, I heard it…the crack of the genuine leather belt with the beautiful diamond studded buckle. Here I was, sixteen years old and still taking it like a five year old who did not know any better, but then again…I didn’t know any better I guess.
Ever since I was little, that belt was my worst enemy. I remembered when my mother got it; I was about three when she came from the mall. Brown bags filled with clothes around her arms, my mother had also purchased clothes for me too: a little pink jumper. Then, she took it out, that genuine leather belt with the diamond studded buckle. First thing I thought was that the buckle was beautiful, sparkly and it was eye catching and for the longest of time, I thought the belt was really beautiful. It was a couple of weeks later when I realized, that buckle was my worst enemy. With my crayons, I drew on the walls which were like wide open canvas. My sister spotted me and quickly told my mother, as if to get me in trouble. Rushing into the living room, my mother sneered and wrapped her long pianist fingers around my arm. Into the bedroom I went and I was force to pull down my pants. Being only three, of course I couldn’t imagine what was to follow but then I knew. Pain traveled down my legs and tears spurted out. The beating went on forever it seemed and finally my mother was done, leaving me to cry in a small little heap.
Now, thirteen years later, it was the same story again. The pain wasn’t as intense, physically. Emotionally, it felt as if she was beating me with a meat mallet. Finally, after five minutes it stopped and again I was left in a tiny heap as my mother sneered. Then, my report came in the shape of ball and a horrid comment, “You’re a disgrace!”
I hate my mother…
A car, it’s a residential road so it wouldn’t move that fast. Is it terrible to think this way, over a grade? It was just…maybe if I just took a wrong step in the road, it wouldn’t seem intentional. Holding my breath, carelessly I walked into the dark wet road as a car with an unsuspecting driver came. I looked down so I didn’t have to see the face of the person who would be doomed just because they hit me. All of a sudden, the rubber screeched, I squeezed my eyes to the point of giving myself a headache and hoped for the best. Silence filled the already quiet road, my leg throbbed. Soon I heard the sound of a car door opening and followed by the clacking of frantic heels.
“Natalie! I didn’t see you there. I’m so sorry!” I opened my eyes and found myself with a bumper by my leg and with an anxious Mrs. Torres. Horrified, I tried to run, but my leg did hurt a lot and something in the back of my mind told me to stay put. “I’ll call your parents; do you need a ride home?” Yes, I did, but not from her, I would rather walk. On the other hand, my leg did hurt. Hesitantly, I nodded and with that, she helped me walk to her car. It was weird to sit in a teacher’s car. Mrs. Torres stayed outside to quickly call my parents and ask if it was alright with them for her to take me. Surprisingly, my mother said yes and with that, Mrs. Torres quickly entered the car and drove off with me acting as her GPS. When she finally allocated herself, the stupid questions stopped. Her perfume, that’s what the car smelled like, it was actually quite pleasant. An empty thermos sat in the cup holder and her purse was on the floor. It seemed as if she was on the verge of crying, turning bright red and kept mumbling that she was sorry.
After a few turns and twists, we were at the white picket fence and the beautiful large house. With a stop, she sighed and leaned back into her seat. All the color that she recently received flushed out of her face as she closed her eyes. Mrs. Torres was a fraud of a woman; however she did not deserve to panic like that. On the other hand, it’s her fault for panicking, but whatever it was, she didn’t look so good. However, she quickly got out from her slump and went for her purse to retrieve something edible because she quickly popped it in her mouth.
“This is my house; I’ll walk inside…thanks for the ride.” However, Mrs. Torres wouldn’t leave me alone and insisted on taking me to the door. However, I rejected her offer once again and walked by myself to the door, with a bad leg and all. She didn’t leave until she saw me get inside the house. See, that was the thing about that woman, she was also so…caring. Yeah, until she would go and try to butt into your life, yeah I wasn’t going to fall for that again. No one was home, at least in the car, she was there…I kind of wish she did take me to the door…I would have been with someone for at least a few minutes longer. The shadows said hi, my echoes returned me with the same answer, the little spiders in the corners hid and I was alone. Slowly, I went up the stairs to check out my leg and to take off my pants.
Big and purple, just what I expected. The bruise was nasty and as I took off my pants it caused me to wince. As I put on my sweats, I heard the door being opened and the sound of heels: it was my mother. As she thumped up the stairs, I sat on the bed. The door swung wide open and in came my worried mother, the reaction I was hoping for.
“Your teacher called me. Are you ok? I cannot believe it, how could this happen? Didn’t you look both ways or was it your teacher’s fault? I can’t believe this.” Showered in hugs and kisses, this is what I wanted. Digging my face into my mother’s shoulder, it felt good like all my problems faded away. Unfortunately, good things never last. I felt my mother bend down and then push me away. “What is this?” In her hand, she had my paper. Stupid! I forgot to take it out of my jeans. Her eyes became wide and filled anger, like a crazy witch. “Wait…is this why you got that bruise? Oh I see…you thought that if you got injured, I would feel sorry for you…that’s right, isn’t it! You little liar…”
Grabbing my hair, I was forced to go into her room. I begged for her to not hurt me, trying to explain that it’s not a big deal, but she was locked on perfection mode. In a way, I lied to her and I guess that made her up. Then it happened, what always happens behind closed doors. My mother would remove her lady mask to reveal a monster. Ever since I could remember, this is how it went: you messed up, you faced the consequences. With my face against the hardwood floor, I heard the door close behind me and my mother go into the closet, getting her tool of the trade. Her tool, as she said, in making a child perfect. “Your sister was a defect, but you…you are meant to be perfect.” Then, I heard it…the crack of the genuine leather belt with the beautiful diamond studded buckle. Here I was, sixteen years old and still taking it like a five year old who did not know any better, but then again…I didn’t know any better I guess.
Ever since I was little, that belt was my worst enemy. I remembered when my mother got it; I was about three when she came from the mall. Brown bags filled with clothes around her arms, my mother had also purchased clothes for me too: a little pink jumper. Then, she took it out, that genuine leather belt with the diamond studded buckle. First thing I thought was that the buckle was beautiful, sparkly and it was eye catching and for the longest of time, I thought the belt was really beautiful. It was a couple of weeks later when I realized, that buckle was my worst enemy. With my crayons, I drew on the walls which were like wide open canvas. My sister spotted me and quickly told my mother, as if to get me in trouble. Rushing into the living room, my mother sneered and wrapped her long pianist fingers around my arm. Into the bedroom I went and I was force to pull down my pants. Being only three, of course I couldn’t imagine what was to follow but then I knew. Pain traveled down my legs and tears spurted out. The beating went on forever it seemed and finally my mother was done, leaving me to cry in a small little heap.
Now, thirteen years later, it was the same story again. The pain wasn’t as intense, physically. Emotionally, it felt as if she was beating me with a meat mallet. Finally, after five minutes it stopped and again I was left in a tiny heap as my mother sneered. Then, my report came in the shape of ball and a horrid comment, “You’re a disgrace!”
I hate my mother…