Her gaze fell onto the wheels of her computer chair. The round blob of very dark gray plastic was covered by a thin hood, as if it were a real car tire that could throw up dirt. The color was supposed to be black, yet it was not nearly dark enough. Thousands of tiny little impurities in the surface kept the surface matte without reflection. Surely, this was the most boring thing to focus on. Yet, it provided peace and calm to follow the mechanical details of the chair.
"Your friends don't love you. Your friends use you for a purpose. That friend that just left, she only hangs out with you, because you can so totally let yourself go. She wants to experience that relaxation. That's all she wants. She does not care about you."
The step father was standing in the door of her room. His face was tense. His body moved forcefully, fast, and short with each phrase of the sentences that came out of his mouth. In her body, she could feel her physical heart tearing with terror. Physically, he was at a good distance, yet she felt like she had no space left. She tried to shut him out.
Her gaze focused back down to the casters on her chair. A black and white converse sneaker was pushing onto the beams that connected the little wheels to the center base of the chair. She had gotten the converse sneakers on a vacation trip to Italy. Instead of 'made in China,' they said 'fatto in Cina.' The black color of the canvas was a little different to fit the Italian taste. Only an insider would know. A cute boy at the hotel had written 'me amore' on the white toe tip. She remembered feeling good and excited in the foreign city meeting her new friend.
"You are so lazy. You spend your afternoons doing nothing. But, that's why Stephanie likes you. She is also an outcast without friends, bad grades, and a lack of life aspiration."
"But Stephanie really likes me. We had fun. We were going for a run together. We are good friends."
"C'mon, you are so naïve. You believe in those cartoons that you waste your time on, don't you? She has nobody else and she doesn't want to be alone. That's the only reason she is hanging out with you. She doesn't like you. She only pretends to keep your affection."
Her chin fell down on her chest. She saw her own cleavage. She saw the center of her teeming, young breast that did not grow that well. They always reminded her of buying plants in a store. The plants were always lush, full, and beautiful in the store. However, once they came home, the plants started to shrivel and lose foliage. Her breasts were kind of like that. She was stuck with them to love as her own, yet they didn't hold up to what beautiful breasts should look like.
She looked at the sliver of pink bra that cradled her breasts. There was a bit of a gap between the skin of her breasts and the bra, because they clothes didn't fit. In the morning, she had felt so proud and daring for wearing the pink bra that was visible beyond her clothes. She had felt titillating to the boys for showing a bit of her underwear. She had felt daring and strong to the girls, because she was showing how progressive she was.
Right now, it made her feel horrible. The stomach rolled over in agony over it. She stood out like a sore thumb, when she wanted to hide, crawl away, become invisible to blend in with the wall paper. The menacing step dad kept going at her. He did not leave, despite her silence. She felt helpless.
Her lungs wanted to quiver. She did not want to let him see her lungs quiver. She tried breathing deep, slow, and controlled. Seconds later, her chest quelled up with a deep inhale that on the exhale released quivering all over her body. Tears burst out of her eyes. Runny snot emerged from her nose. Everything overwhelmed her. She ran.
She only paused to think, when she was sitting on the closed toilet lid with her knees pulled up to her chest. Snot and tears were running out of control. Her body was quivering on its own. The bathroom door was closed. He had not tried to stop her. He had not followed her. He didn't even try calling after her.
Sad and alone is how she felt. Her young life was so promising. She had worked hard to get into an elite school. She was supposed to have fun with girl friends. She was supposed to tease the guys. She was supposed to be loved and held. There she was all alone crying in a bathroom. She was crying over her own beauty and the beauty of life that she could not get.
The minutes calmed her down. The terror of her step dad never left her. Though, you can't sit in a bathroom forever. You have to do something. She opened the door. He was gone. She went back to her room. Well, school would not wait for her. She had to do her math homework. She pulled out the notebook and put on headphones. Punk music drowned out her feelings so that she could focus on clear mathematical thoughts.
The next morning, the shrill screeches of the alarm woke her up. It was still dark outside. She had gotten up fifteen minutes early to study her bible. The bible study guide said that as Christians, we have to forgive our evil doers. We have to follow Christ's example. The bible study guide explained the pitfalls of forgiveness: Conditional forgiveness is not true forgiveness. We must forgive without expecting anything in return. Forgiveness for show does not count. If we get only one ounce of goodwill or better standing among the men of our community, then our forgiveness does not count in heaven.
April thought about her step father. She forgave him. She forgave her mother for never standing up for her. She prayed to be forgiven for any ill thoughts that she had about her step father. There was the day fantasy of screaming at her step father. She felt very guilty about that. She also remembered that yesterday during lunch, she had not shared the last cookie on the desert tray with her sister. She felt guilty and wrong about that. She asked Jesus for forgiveness for her failures. And, she would use her pocket money to buy her sister a cookie twice the size to mend her damage.
Half hour later, her morning routine was done. She stepped into the cool morning air with her book bag strapped to her back. The book bag wasn't just any book bag. The leather was pale brown leather. The seams were stitched with a large black thread. The book bag was the exact replica from a rock video, where the daughter of the lead singer climbed out of a school bathroom to ditch school. She admired the confidence in the girl to wear short skirts, drive a convertible, and seduce a male model to skinny dip only to run off with his clothes. One day, April would be that strong and rule the world. The book bag made her feel like she could touch that world. At least, she had the sense of style of that rock video girl.
The moon hung low over the buildings. The atmosphere magnified the moon into a giant orange ball with its freckles of dark lunar spots guiding her to school. The classroom was a busy shuffling of teenagers. They had five minutes to class start and so much to do: Put jackets on the chair's back. Pull out the books for class. Drink last sips of refreshments. Catch up with friends. The teacher had an extra green sweater on. The teacher was one of those serious teachers: Dressed like a teacher, focused on getting his lecture done, and on to the next class room.
