Please Pause the Pressure

Waking up with the bright stretch of the sun's stinging arms reaching across my face waking me up causes my eyes to squint. "Ugggh!" Oh man another day with more homework to finish-- on a weekend. Why couldn't today be different than others? When will the summer awaken so that I can wake up just one morning wihout the worry in my eyes of making sure I finish three projects that are due on the same day when I get back?  I just hope I don't forget anything today and create more pressure on myself to be Ms. Perfect when I know I'm Ms. Forgetmenot. As I crawl out of bed (I have a pretty wide bed) I can hear my dad's voice telling me to wake up (which is pointless since I am up) as the skillet scrapes against the stove top.  "Mmmmhh!" I race down stairs in hopes I can extinguish the hunger that's blazing up in my stomach. As I skim down the stairs faster than a cheetah gliding down a hill covered in slick, I stopped. I suddenly remember that I turned in two assinments late this past week. "Oh man, not again!" I tell myself as I bite my lip hoping my dad won't ask to see powerschool.  As I slowed my road to walk down the long hallway that passes the living room, the bathroom, and the into the kitchen I see my dad with a smile so wide you can see his mollars sends the most sharpest pang into my heart knowing I'm going to be its murderer.  At this point I know that I'm busted-- but instead of worring I tell myself just forget about and so will he....
After having breakfast, I go upstairs into my vineyard (my room) and stare into my mirror telling myself everything is going to be okay and even if my dad does remember he won't be as upset as I think he will be.  Tears n ow begin to weal up in my eyes, my plams begin to shake, my bottom lip starts to quiver, and now I quickly turn away so I won't have to face the sorrow of myself and feel sympathy. "Why couldn't I just do my work on time?!" I silently yell at myself so no one will hear my inner rage.
I know that sitting infront of the mirror crying won't bring progress to my errors; so I lie down in my for an hour starring at the ceiling thinking about other things that's not going to make me feel bad.  I think about the fun times that my brother Henry and I share and how old we've gotten and how this is his last day befor he goes-- WAIT!
HOLD ON! THIS IS HENRY'S LAST DAY!
This didn't make me feel better, in fact I cried even harder knowing that I won't have anyone to goof around with when I need to smile,(like now for instance) throw oranges, peaches, and apples across the kitchen to see who causes the most damage to the fruit.  Now I tell myself that it's time to stop procrastinating and I finish the last of my homework. 
At this moment it's 3:30 and my dad calls me downstairs because he wants to check my homework.  Luckily, I finished just in time and the thought of powerschool is far from crossing my mind. I content, in a satiate releam knowing I'm making my dad proud to know that I'm NOT wasting his money and that I'm NOT being lazy!  I know begin to clamly breathe and laugh a little as my dad side eyed me with a bewildered look upon his face.  In my head I sing "Dog Days are Over" by Florence and the Ma-- Oh no! He wants me to bring down my computer to see my grades! As I get up from the couch, walk down the hallway form the living room, up the stairs, and into my vineyard my world begins to shatter faster than my neighbor's window when Henry threw the baseball in the wrong direction seven years ago.  "OMG, OMG, OMG!" I begin to silently and rapidly chant at a steady rate as I pace in circles brainstorming for an excuse to cut me free from these shackles called life. (20 mintues later) tears slowly glide by my cheek bones to hide in the caverns of my dimple and now I slowly walk back to the mirror trying to think of a suitable lie-- Yeah I said it, lie!-- that in hopes would get by and out smart the mind of a wise 57 years old entrepreneur.

THINK! THINK! THINK!

At this moment I feel like Jimmy Neut--Brain blast! I'll just tell my dad that I forgot my powerschool username and password! That's the perfect excuse, I mean whio doesn't forget their username and password?   As I pick up my computer, dry my tears, check the mirror to see if I have red eyes something tells me not to and just face the pain of disappointing my dad. At this point I'm shaking my head and walk out of the warm comfort of my vineyard and into the brisk, dusty world. As I walked down the stairs and turn the corner that leads outside onto the front pourch I pause, take a deep breath and continue down death road knowing niether one of us will be sporting a smile at the end. I walk towards my dad sitting on the couch and take what feels like my last breath and blink my eyes for the last time.  My dad smiles at me and I return his sincere gift with a smile that hides a cascade of tears waiting to pour out the moment I open my screen; but I keep them in. I think maybe if I cry he'll feel sympathy and won't be so hard... I show my dad my disgraceful grades...

"What? How are you missing two assignments in World History?...OH, and you got an "F" in Geometry".

As I tried to explain to my dad that I actually have an "C+", but not all of my grades were entered. "You're out of that acting class with Krystel on Tuesdays!" No, no, no this actually went worse than I ever imagined!  Maybe I should've lied, at least I would still have my privileges. After 20 minutes of awkward silences, yelling, tears wealing up and going away, and  excuses my dad tells me to go upstaurs and get ready to go to my brother Chas's house to say goodbye to Henry.  I walk back up to my room at a increasingly steady pace so that my tears won't leave my pupils before I reach my mirror.  I sit back down infront of my mirror in hopes of any advice, none appears. Maybe the advice is there it's just having a hard time pervading through the smudges that I've been meaning to clean.  I stand up for, my butt is getting tired from sitting on a light green stool. I gather my coat, cell phone, and Spanish book to study from like my dad told me in the mist of his yelling.   20minutes later, we arrived infront of my Chas's house and what feels like a rock smacks me off my feet as I get out of the car.  My whole world paused, mouth gaped wide open, and now I'm leaning against the car for support clenching the door.  I forgot my Spanish book on the living room table right befor we left!

"Ummm daddy, I left my Spanish book at home by accident."

I knew I messed up by the look of plead for my mistakes to stop on my dad's face and the lecture and more yelling that follows until we get inside of my brother's house. As we come in, I give my brother Chas a hug, a hug for which he think is a greeting but what really is out of sadness. After 30 minutes of telling jokes with my brothers Chas and Rashad and my cousin Eric, Chas recieved a call from my mom.

The Voice inside My Head

As a teen my pre-blessed mornings begin as any other teens’ in America: filled with excitement from being rushed by your mom telling you to get up for the third time!Waking up is no sweat, but getting up is where the workout begins.  As I literally threw myself out of bed—a very effective way of making sure you’ll wake up, but it still hurt—I thought to myself, “Something tells me today is going to be different.” Was it the fact that it was mid- December and snow wasn't present? Instead of stoping to find the solution that may change my life I quickly got dressed; sweeping on my crispy white dress shirt, khaki pants, and black leather moccasins in hopes of being the epiphany of Target employees.  As I left, something seemed too innocent about the day; so ignore it and moved on running to get to the car before my mom so if I’m late I can blame my her—although it never works.  As my mom nags me to the brink of death about how I need to have better time management skills something slips by: something important!

“Helen, be prepared for me to pick you up early from school today”

Whoa there! Did this really just happen?  Am I actually going to get a break from school?  Oh don’t get me wrong, I love the way that one teacher in the halls stalks your every move making sure you don’t have too much fun by breathing too hard.  I especially love the tons and tons of wide load homework that teachers give you and expect for you to finish in one night, all correct, and without complaint like the little robot your parents constructed you to be. Oh how am I going to miss all of that  luxurious stress?   As my mom drops me off at school the sedentary life of a student hits so I blank out most of the day until la clase de Espanol. 

During Spanish class, a sudden pause occurs and within that pause a feeling as though something bad is about to happen and it involves me.  You know I, myself is having way too much of fabulous time chatting it up with my B.F.F.s Alexia and Victoria as a teen to pay attention to that! I have to give all my attention to my perfect hair; which is never perfect when I wake up, my flawless face; well except for that one zit that never wants to leave so it turns into a mole, and finding love; then hating every single aspect of love and the person whom just broke your heart 1 minute 38.7 seconds ago.  After wasting 15 minutes of class time, I decide to get some work done and make my teacher proud by grabbing my a book to do citations.  As I return, my friend Alexia is sitting in my seat--Oh that Alexia always finding ways to make me laugh and enjoy life a little too much.   You know as a teen girl we tend to take things too serious and assume things which make matters worse and create awkward moments between family, friends, random bystanders, and occasionally the boss.  Don’t get me wrong it all works out in the end when applying to be on Basketball Wives, Bad Girls’ Club or even a random family relative on The Braxton’s.  After 15 minutes and 36 seconds of raising voices, lowering voices, running over one another’s words, pointing fingers, name calling, people starring with their mouths gaped wide opened waiting for a fly to swoop in and call it home: Alexia and I as friends were done.

After Alexia and I’s friendship was terminated, it hit me that was the bad feeling I was getting all day this was those pauses I shouldn’t have ignored! Why did I do that? Oh yeah now I remember why; because I was way too busy making sure I was looking photo booth babe ready for any unexpected paparazzi—I can be famous at any moment!  In World History, the period after Spanish, although I was still heated I was hurt, hurt to know I lost a great friend that I talked to every moment, a great friend whom I told something about myself to that no one else knew, a great friend whom I felt as though I can express all of my goofiness to and not be ashamed 5.3 seconds later, and most of all a great friend that didn’t judge behind one’s back.

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! (Dr. Wessel skates by ten desks and Super-Manning over a pencil to answer the phone before the front desk has it hear,

“…If you would like to make a call please hang up and try again.”

Dr. Wessel: “Yes?”

Front Desk: “Please send Helen McNeil down to the front office for an early dismissal!”

Dr. Wessel: “Okay.”

Well at least I don’t have to stay in school trying to be cool acting like nothing ever happen between Alexia and I for whenever people wanted to ask about what happen, or stare at you as though you had a third eyeball forming out of your left earlobe.  Rushing to my locker, head pleasantly filled with the new accompany of stress that’s been longed missed! At that point, I’m holding back tears of joy as I see my mom so I can bombard her with my pre-Basketball Wives’ drama.  The next day, Alexia and I totally ignored one another as if one was a dried up piece of gum left underneath the chalkboard eraser back in 2007. Sadly, this went on for what felt like my entire teen life- but you know it didn’t because at some point we had to make up like in Glee.  Three point seven-five months later, Alexia and I began to mutually talk and dare I say it look at one another.  It was extremely awkward and surprising at first when we talked again due to the thought that friendship is the least likely thing to ever come up again!  The chances of friendship were compared to the chances of a squirrel trying to cross the I-90 at 6:55am (Not going to happen!)  Today, at this point in time, Alexia and I are gladly friends again and wish for an encounter like before to never occur again!  Although I know our friendship and bond between one another won’t ever be the same, I’m just glad we’re back to doing stereotypical accents!

A Stroll with My Neighbors Down Memory Lane

One's childhood is never completed until they had neighbors like mine!  The Wilsons lived to the right of me and they still live there.  They were known as the stuck up, sweater tied around the neck, always keeping a dog in their yard so if your ball crosses over the green short gate that divided the yards, then it stays, fancy cars, and a stick in the mud dad.  My family never did really speak to them-unless it was to say “hi” or apologize for something my brother and I broke in their lawn.  One beautiful sun shining day, my brother, Henry and his best friend Johnathan whom lived across the street from us was playing baseball—with my dad’s softball.  Earlier that week Henry had been practicing his swing and it showed from his slightly above amature stance.  Ding! There goes the ball out of the yard leaving the look of astonishment upon Johnathan’s young 11 year-old face. Smash! There goes the Walker’s new window on the second floor.  The frighten look on young Henry’s face was not enough to aviod my dad from becoming upset.  Mr. Walker never was opened to Henry’s adventous and troubled persona.  Mr. Walker’s look of disbelief mixed with anger was expressed through the years of being the victim of many of Henry’s “accidents.”  My dad paid Mr. Walker back for his new mosiac window that Henry created and took away his bat and ball from Henry.  I feel bad for the Walkers—but aye, that’s the price you pay when you live next to my brother Henry.

The Walkers lived to the left of my house and still do live there.  I grew up with them; they’re like another set of grandparents for me.  Mrs. Walker always gave my four siblings and I money whenever our birthday came around.  Mrs. Walker also taught me how to walk in heels when I was six years old.  I remember Mr. and Mrs. Walker always participated in the Fashion Show held at Capitan Hard Times’ banquet room.  I remember my mom urged me to get on stage to show off my new dress that I got earlier that week.  I took my right foot and step on stage --  bright lights and millions of brown, blue, green, (is that purple?) eyes all fixed on me waiting to see what my next move will be…  In the end, I didn’t walked down the run-way showing off my new dress, but I did burst into tears: revealing my fear of being on stage.  As I was picked up by my daddy and placed in a chair I was drenching myself in gallons of salt-water tears.  Mrs. Walker walked over to me in her 2 ½ inch baige heels and matching flamboyant hat and told me “it’s okay… you did great… you looked beautiful!”

 Across the street lived one family -- I never did know their names.  They were known as the spoiled apples in the bunch that you know you need to throw away, but instead you keep them so the produce section in your refridgator won’t appear too vacant.  They were known for their loud obnoxious music, slovenly tended lawn, and having way too many people for a hummble sized home to company during parties.  Parties every week all day and night- disrupted many of our sleeps- annoyed my mom to the point she called the police six times over.  That family enhaled so much alcohol there were always red plastic cups coverted in their grass –which could use a good three inch trim.  There were always a constant population of at least three toddlers in that family!  It was as if there was a cloning machine hidden in the depths of their home used to maintain the number of toddlers.  On hot and humid days, the toddlers would run through the sprinklers in their yard and sit on the holes of the sprinkler; blokcing the only passage of freedom that the pressure of the brisk water can be released.  The adults would watch the toddlers from lawn chairs, drinking from red plastic cups, and talking to one another.  My mom always told my siblings and I to stay away from them because they were only trouble –she was right.

When I was 4½ , I remember getting into an argument with a girl from their family whom was about the same age as I.  The argument reached it’s melting point when she said that she had Power Puff Girl light-up gym shoes and swore that I didn’t. Those words were a declaration of the beginning of a new war!  At that point I was heated and so was she from the way she had her right foot forward, fist balled, back arched, and ready to pounce like a Bob cat stalking an Antelope.  I ran up the seven or eights concret steps and pushed open the two front doors. I was rushing upstairs, making sharp turns, and into the room of my parents demanding my mom to tell me where my light-up Power Puff Girl shoes were!  As my mom gave me the shoes, she had a flabbergasted expersion upon her light brown, slightly tanned face from the sun.  Ignoring my mom’s bewilderment, I quickly ran and jumped down steps, hoping she was still outside so I can show off my shoes.  And there she was standing there and with the look of, “I can’t believe she has them!” (trying to hide her look of disbelief.) The argument continued and at one point we were daring one another to cross the street that divided our war zone.  Since nether one of us could cross the street the war died.  Through out the 12 ½ years that I lived in that house my neighbors always did plant a smile upon my face that is still sprouting new flowers till this very day!