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'64
Daddy still wasn't back home by the time I started ninth grade. He wrote me and momma letters, but it wasn't the same as having him home safe. And even though I came to really like Mrs. Duke, her son was stepping on my last nerves.
It wasn't just him constantly complaining about my food. "It's too dry. This smells gross. I ate dog food on a dare once. It tasted much better." But he tripped me going up and down the stairs, would take forever in the shower when he knew how badly I had to pee, and was just rude to me. The only other kid my age in the house just had to be the spawn of the devil.
"Whatcha got there, four eyes?" he asked me one day after school. I immediately whipped off my reading glasses. They were big and embarrassing and I'd rather squint all day than wear them. "Those make you look really old. What are you again? Sixty two?" I sighed and stood up. I never had a problem doing homework at the kitchen table until Phillip showed up. "Aaw, don't be like. What are you reading? A letter from your daddy?" I gaped at him. He could insult my cooking. He could insult my glasses, my frizzy hair, whatever. But he took it too far.
My eyes started to tear up. I was sad and angry and just so fed up. I started hitting him. "Don't you ever," I gritted through my teeth, "ever talk about my dad." And most embarrassing of all, I started to cry. Cries that shook my body and wouldn't allow me to breathe. "I hate you," I mumbled. I didn't know I had slumped to the floor until he sat down next to me. And in what probably shocked both of us, his arms came around me. "I hate you," I repeated.
"Shoot, don't cry. I'm sorry. I never mean any of what I say," his voice sounded a thousand miles away. All I was thinking about was my dad. It had been two years since he was home last. "I'm sorry, Betsy." He held me until I quieted down.
"Why are you so mean to me?" I finally asked. I craned my neck to look him in the eyes. He shrugged.
"I don't know. You're the only girl I've ever been mean to," he shrugged again. Phillip and I definitely weren't friends after that. We reached a new relationship instead. I started defending myself, coming up with comebacks and he'd grin if I made a good one. I tried really hard to make good ones. I secretly liked his smile.
It took another year and my daddy's death for me and Phillip to become friends.
It wasn't just him constantly complaining about my food. "It's too dry. This smells gross. I ate dog food on a dare once. It tasted much better." But he tripped me going up and down the stairs, would take forever in the shower when he knew how badly I had to pee, and was just rude to me. The only other kid my age in the house just had to be the spawn of the devil.
"Whatcha got there, four eyes?" he asked me one day after school. I immediately whipped off my reading glasses. They were big and embarrassing and I'd rather squint all day than wear them. "Those make you look really old. What are you again? Sixty two?" I sighed and stood up. I never had a problem doing homework at the kitchen table until Phillip showed up. "Aaw, don't be like. What are you reading? A letter from your daddy?" I gaped at him. He could insult my cooking. He could insult my glasses, my frizzy hair, whatever. But he took it too far.
My eyes started to tear up. I was sad and angry and just so fed up. I started hitting him. "Don't you ever," I gritted through my teeth, "ever talk about my dad." And most embarrassing of all, I started to cry. Cries that shook my body and wouldn't allow me to breathe. "I hate you," I mumbled. I didn't know I had slumped to the floor until he sat down next to me. And in what probably shocked both of us, his arms came around me. "I hate you," I repeated.
"Shoot, don't cry. I'm sorry. I never mean any of what I say," his voice sounded a thousand miles away. All I was thinking about was my dad. It had been two years since he was home last. "I'm sorry, Betsy." He held me until I quieted down.
"Why are you so mean to me?" I finally asked. I craned my neck to look him in the eyes. He shrugged.
"I don't know. You're the only girl I've ever been mean to," he shrugged again. Phillip and I definitely weren't friends after that. We reached a new relationship instead. I started defending myself, coming up with comebacks and he'd grin if I made a good one. I tried really hard to make good ones. I secretly liked his smile.
It took another year and my daddy's death for me and Phillip to become friends.
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this isn't going to be a happy story i'm so sorrybut thank you pelican park., kim kibum., and wonderwall; for commenting and anyone for reading! :]