Paper Bags and Plastic Hearts

The bright sun shone down on me as I walked past the oh so familiar houses in the neighborhood I’d lived in for sixteen years, or in other words, my whole life. Every house looked identical, with the exception of the welcoming mats, which each seemed to deliver a different greeting.

The suburban life just about killed me. There was absolutely no originality in this place whatsoever. I felt like I was stuck in the Desperate Housewives world, only I wasn’t even a housewife. I was just a girl with no high ambitions.

My feet dragged across the sidewalk, making the all too familiar path towards home. I kicked a random rock over to the neighbors’ lawn, which I was sure they’d notice soon enough, since that lawn always looked bright green, neat and spotless.

Perfectionist loons.

I was coming back from a long, tortuous day of school, or as I liked to call it, the penitentiary. It was a place I despised greatly. You wouldn’t believe the hatred I felt just thinking about it. I guess hating school is about as cliché as anything nowadays. But I couldn’t help myself. I loathed education, or to be more precise, the educational environment.

Everyone at that school was so fake and so plastic that it’d make you want to vomit your guts all over someone’s face. Yeah, that’s how disgusting it was. Every student belonged in a typical clique. Yawn. As if that isn’t cliché enough. I guess I’m proud to say that I belonged in no clique.

There was only one person in that school who shared the same thoughts as mine. Lacey Weber. We've been best friends ever since first grade, even though we were complete opposites. Lacey had a lot more going for her. She was smart and a proud straight A student and she loved math. I, on the other hand, couldn't get an A in that class with all the tutoring in the world. Numbers weren't my thing. Never was, never will be.

Our only goal in life was to get through high school unscathed and unnoticed and leave this sucky ass town behind.

I continued walking sluggishly along the cemented path, while my fingers gripped on the straps of my backpack. I reached the familiar white door, and stepped hard on the Welcome doormat. I pulled out my keys from my pockets and wiped my sneakers over the mat before stepping inside the house. I tossed the keys on the little glass table beside the door and removed my backpack, throwing it carelessly on the floor.

“Farrah, honey, is that you?” My mother’s cheery voice rang from the kitchen.

“No, burglar,” I answered tiredly, shrugging out of my hoodie and placing it on the coat rack.

I could hear my mom laughing to herself at my usual greeting. I sighed, walking towards the kitchen. There, I found my mother all dressed up in a fancy, yet somewhat provocative attire.

“Mom, where are you going?” I questioned curiously, as my eyes carefully studied her too exposed long legs and black pumps.

She smiled widely at me, placing an earring in her left ear. “Archie’s taking me to a karaoke bar.”

I quirked a brow. “Archie? Who’s Archie?”

“My date,” she laughed, now placing an earring in her right ear.

I folded my arms over my chest, staring at her in disbelief. “Another guy, mom? Seriously? What happened to that cop…what’s his name? Larry?”

“Gary,” she corrected, fluffing her strawberry blond hair. “Oh, he’s old news. The guy was just cramping my style.”

I sighed, closing my eyes briefly. “Mother, please refrain yourself from using teenage lingo.”

“I’m just trying to be cool, Farrah.”

“Well, don’t. I beg of you,” I muttered.

“Oh, someone’s cranky.” She chuckled, spraying some perfume on herself.

I rolled my eyes. “What does this guy do? And by the way, Archie? Is he a comic book character by any chance?”

“Ha ha. He owns a hardware store,” she stated proudly. “He’s pretty succesful and he's close to rich but you can barely tell. He enjoys simplicity.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Are you seriously planning on wearing that minuscule piece of black fabric you call a dress?” I inquired, once again eyeing her attire.

She looked down at herself, examining her outfit in confusion. “What? It’s sexy.”

“Don’t you mean slutty?”

She narrowed her eyes, placing both her hands on her hips. “I’m just showing off what God gave me, Farrah. Not many women in their thirties can pull off legs like these.”

“Oh God,” I mumbled, rubbing my forehead.

She laughed at my oh so enthusiastic expression. The doorbell suddenly rang, causing my ears to twitch slightly. My mother's lips formed a huge smile as her eyes averted from my face. She walked swiftly past me to answer the door, which had me shaking my head in disapproval.

My mother was a beautiful woman. Tall, blonde, emerald green eyes and proud owner of a body of a twenty year old. She was young. Having given birth to me at the tender age of sixteen, she was only thirty-two years old. I never really knew my father. Mom said he’d walked out on us just three months after I’d come into the world. What an awesome man.

I grew up watching my mom go on date after date after date. I think the longest she’d ever been with a guy was probably six months, give or take. I wasn’t really fond of going out with her. The reason for that is because every time we went out, men would always jump at the opportunity to hit on her and I would automatically become invisible.

Sadly, I didn’t inherit any of my mother’s features. I’m a red head, just like my dad. My eyes are a dull brown color, which barely has any life in it. I have very few freckles scattered around the upper parts of my cheeks and my nose, but to some they’re barely noticeable. And last but not least, I’m not tall. But I’m not short either. About 5’5, which I heard is the average height for a sixteen year old girl such as myself

Many would question me being my mother’s daughter, not only because we didn’t look alike, but also because of our small age difference, which almost always made people think we were sisters. You'd think I liked that, but I actually didn't.

Having a young mother used to be pretty cool back in the day when I actually remember being a fairly happy child. My mom, being in her early twenties, would take me out everywhere. We'd have so much fun. She used to be carefree and wasn’t looking for any men to be my father figure. I didn’t need it, anyways.

But today, I hate having a young mother.

I sighed in exhaustion, pushing my weight forward as my feet dragged themselves towards the front door, ready to meet yet another stranger who wanted to invade my mother’s life, and consequently, mine.

Mom had the biggest smile on her face as she looked up at a tall buff dude standing in our doorway. His clothes consisted of washed out jeans and a simple white shirt, which was a teensy bit tight against his flesh, showing off the contours of his man muscles.

Right away I could tell that this guy was the show off type. I despised show-offs.

“Archie, this is my daughter, Farrah,” mom said brightly, pointing at me.

The guy’s lips formed a large smile, which revealed a set of ridiculously straight teeth. “Hi there.”

I forced a brief smile at the man who looked like one of the cast members of Jersey Shore, before making it disappear completely. I could tell my mom was slightly glaring at me but I pretended not to notice.

“Wow, you must’ve had her when you were a teenager!” Archie stated with his beaty little eyes widening just a tad.

“As a matter of fact, I did!” My mother smiled proudly.

“You don’t look anything like her, though,” he said, chuckling as he studied me.

“We get that a lot,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “No surprise there, Archie.”

He just nodded, still chuckling. I sensed a bit of nervousness in his chuckle. I smiled internally, knowing my gloomy attitude would probably be enough to send this guy away.

“Farrah, honey, I’ll be back around eleven. There’s a TV dinner in the freezer and microwave popcorn if you’re hungry,” mom said, slipping her black coat on then placing the strap of her small black purse over her shoulder.

“Nutritious. Thank you, mother,” I replied in the voice my mother secretly loathed. She hated when I was being a smartass and I quite enjoyed getting a rise out of her. Of course she wouldn’t go out on her way to being rude and tell me off right in front of Archie.

She furrowed her brows at me, forcing a crooked smile. “Be good, okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” I smiled sweetly.

For some reason, this made Muscle Archie Buff Pants laugh.

Mom sighed and planted a kiss on my forehead before turning back to Archie, who offered his arm for her to take.

“Bye, baby,” she called, waving.

“Bye, Sarah,” Archie called, not looking back at me.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s Farrah,” I grumbled, before closing the door a bit forceful than intended.