Sometimes I Wonder

t

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be the kid who has nothing. I’ve imagined it to be something like this.

He walks home because riding the bus will take too long. He walks down the long dirt driveway to the old beat up shack he’s forced to call home. He kicks the beer can he finds all the way up to the house. He hears a short grumble as he opens the tattered screen door. There’s cans all across the living room floor and dad passed out in the armchair. He quietly sneaks into the kitchen to find something to eat. He opens the fridge to see two English muffins and an unopened six pack of Miller light. He takes out the English muffins and turns on the stove. Trying not to clank to much he grabs a pan and toasts the muffins. Reaching in the cupboard he grabs the small tin of honey. He scrapes enough from the inside to give the muffin some taste. Pushing the newspapers off the chair onto the floor he takes a seat and wolfs down the muffin. He hears a clank, and its his dad. He stumbles into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge. He sees your homework on the table and snorts. He mumbles useless under his breath and fumbles into the bathroom. He knows its only a matter of time until he tells him to get a job and school is a waste of time. He’ll complain about bills and say the night shift isn’t enough. Every word he says will come out in a slur. So the boy will walk to his room and pull back the covers that haven’t been washed in years. He will lay down and cry himself to sleep. He knows that’s the only choice he has, because soon he will be in the cycle. Drinking every day before going to a manual labor job that can hardly pay the bills and keep food on the table.

Absorbing

Deep down she knows she’s hurting. Deep down she is struggling. She is fighting to be noticed in a world of people who claim to be better than her. She can’t handle the stress of being who she pretends to be. This isn’t her. This can’t be her. She’s better than this. Well, she had always thought of herself as better than this. So, she buys it. She goes down town and buys anything expensive. She doesn’t necessarily like it, but it doesn’t matter. The image she is expected to uphold is fading. So, she buys. Shoes, purses, clothes, and anything that makes others jealous. When will she stop? Stop pretending to be the woman who she isn’t. She can’t though. It’s been so long since she has been real. She can’t even remember the last time. So, she buys and buys. The debt piles up, but the image stays the same. Outside she’s fabulous. Inside she’s drowning. Being absorbed by a woman she isn’t.