struggling with my Calculus homework when Aunt Rachel walks into the roo m. “Hey, Katherine , what are you up to?” she says, tone a little too light to sound natural. I wonder what she’s up to.
Aunt Rachel and I are closer than I have ever been with my mother. More than anything, she reminds me of an irresponsible big sister I’ve been forced to stay with while my parents are on some dream vacation. Sometimes, I try to convince myself that that is actually the situation; my daydreaming works most of the time, until I see the thick scars on my w rists, proof that this is reality .
“Calculus,” is all I respond, not in the mood for conversation. Keeping my head down, I fumble with the tiny keys of my calculator, threatening to throw it across the room and sendi ng it a mentally silent warning to start cooperating.
Aunt Rachel sits down next to me, brushing her long bangs away from her green eyes. This is one thing her and I have in common; our eyes are the exact same shade of emerald green. I once had a boy tell me they were the most beautiful color eyes he’d ever seen, but my inner-critic told me to shut him out and think the opposite, so that’s what I did. That is what I d id with everyone, but I’m working on my self-confidence.
“Oh my, I’ve always hated math, especially calculus!” Aunt Rachel gushed, pushing her cuticles back from her perfectly manicured fingers. I never understood why she acted the way she did in her free time; so flippant and carefree. In reality, Aunt Rachel’s job is to be serious. She i s the town’s only attorney, which shocked me when I came here. It did explain a lot though, like her ability to buy me the newest gadgets and a new wardrobe. I get the feeling that she is extremely modest with her money, which she must have a lot of.
Not saying anything, I nod my head, silently wishing she would leave me alone. Instead, she speaks again. “Why don’t you go for a ride today? I’ m going to work in a little bit and have a date tonight, so I won’t be home until late,” I look up, startled she said “date.” She winks.
“Go to the barn! You haven’t been down there yet to meet the horses. The black one- Dino- is the softest one to ride. Do you remember riding a horse when you were little?” She gushed again, grasping at her chest as if she was in physical pain. If she wasn’t smiling, I would’ve thought she was having a heart attack, the way her nails dug into her shirt.
“I don’t think so. And n o,” was all I said. The silence got suddenly awkward so she patted my shoulder, ignoring my flinch, and left. Moments later, I heard the crappy old car groan to life. When I asked her why she didn’t get rid of the POC (which stood for ‘piece of crap,’) she said it was a classic that belonged to my grandfather and she could never part with it. I had laughed internally, wondering what it would take to make her sell that hunk of junk for parts.
Instantly, a thought flashes through my mind. Tristan gave me his phone number, and while I have a cell phone, I never use it. There is one person in my contact list, and it’s Aunt Rachel because she plugged it in for me. I’ve never been one to embrace technology, preferring books to the internet and television.
Before I lost my nerve, I went into my room and got the phone from the drawer beside my bed. Flipping it open and pressing what I remembered to be the “on” key, I waited for the chiming music to signal me its’ powering up. Ding , the phone chimed to life.
I opened it and dialed Tristan’s phone number, which I had written in sharpie on my hand still . In less than ten seconds, I heard his
Aunt Rachel and I are closer than I have ever been with my mother. More than anything, she reminds me of an irresponsible big sister I’ve been forced to stay with while my parents are on some dream vacation. Sometimes, I try to convince myself that that is actually the situation; my daydreaming works most of the time, until I see the thick scars on my w rists, proof that this is reality .
“Calculus,” is all I respond, not in the mood for conversation. Keeping my head down, I fumble with the tiny keys of my calculator, threatening to throw it across the room and sendi ng it a mentally silent warning to start cooperating.
Aunt Rachel sits down next to me, brushing her long bangs away from her green eyes. This is one thing her and I have in common; our eyes are the exact same shade of emerald green. I once had a boy tell me they were the most beautiful color eyes he’d ever seen, but my inner-critic told me to shut him out and think the opposite, so that’s what I did. That is what I d id with everyone, but I’m working on my self-confidence.
“Oh my, I’ve always hated math, especially calculus!” Aunt Rachel gushed, pushing her cuticles back from her perfectly manicured fingers. I never understood why she acted the way she did in her free time; so flippant and carefree. In reality, Aunt Rachel’s job is to be serious. She i s the town’s only attorney, which shocked me when I came here. It did explain a lot though, like her ability to buy me the newest gadgets and a new wardrobe. I get the feeling that she is extremely modest with her money, which she must have a lot of.
Not saying anything, I nod my head, silently wishing she would leave me alone. Instead, she speaks again. “Why don’t you go for a ride today? I’ m going to work in a little bit and have a date tonight, so I won’t be home until late,” I look up, startled she said “date.” She winks.
“Go to the barn! You haven’t been down there yet to meet the horses. The black one- Dino- is the softest one to ride. Do you remember riding a horse when you were little?” She gushed again, grasping at her chest as if she was in physical pain. If she wasn’t smiling, I would’ve thought she was having a heart attack, the way her nails dug into her shirt.
“I don’t think so. And n o,” was all I said. The silence got suddenly awkward so she patted my shoulder, ignoring my flinch, and left. Moments later, I heard the crappy old car groan to life. When I asked her why she didn’t get rid of the POC (which stood for ‘piece of crap,’) she said it was a classic that belonged to my grandfather and she could never part with it. I had laughed internally, wondering what it would take to make her sell that hunk of junk for parts.
Instantly, a thought flashes through my mind. Tristan gave me his phone number, and while I have a cell phone, I never use it. There is one person in my contact list, and it’s Aunt Rachel because she plugged it in for me. I’ve never been one to embrace technology, preferring books to the internet and television.
Before I lost my nerve, I went into my room and got the phone from the drawer beside my bed. Flipping it open and pressing what I remembered to be the “on” key, I waited for the chiming music to signal me its’ powering up. Ding , the phone chimed to life.
I opened it and dialed Tristan’s phone number, which I had written in sharpie on my hand still . In less than ten seconds, I heard his
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