Part two of the Confessions installment. I am having fun writing! Hope you are having fun reading. This is an interesting new challenge for me.
Carole lay in the bed that night, feeling bloated and out of sorts. Her husband’s rhythmic snores irritated her as she contemplated the events of the day. Lying in the dark like this, it was easy for Carole to admit that she was angry about so many things. Mainly, she was mad at herself for gaining weight in the first place. She reached down and adjusted her waistband, suddenly appalled that even her flannel PJs were growing tight around her stomach. Rolling over on her side, a tear trickled out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t even bother wiping it away.
When morning finally came, Carole dressed and stepped around the same orange gift bag that had been her bedroom floor since Kelly’s birthday party last week. She maneuvered around a Webkinz and headed down the steps, noting that her husband had finally removed his single hiking boot from the bottom step. She went through her morning routine, flipping on the fireplace and starting the coffee pot before heading upstairs to coax Kelly and Sam out of bed.
I watched my mom moving about in the kitchen and I totally knew that there was a problem. So far, she had opened the fridge three times, but had yet to get me my orange juice. “Mom, orange juice please,” I reminded her.
“Kelly, please don’t use that tone with me. I just forgot,” snapped my mom. My mom was dressed in some old sweat pants and a big t-shirt and I watched her open the huge stainless steel fridge, again. This time she came out with a jug of OJ in hand. It’s about time, I thought, trying not to speak out loud. I secretly hoped that nobody I knew would see my mom. She absolutely looked awful with a greasy ponytail and bags under her eyes. No make-up, of course. Totally embarrassing I thought, vowing to never let myself go the way mom had.
“I need a snack,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. I watched in amazement as my mom dropped an entire, unpeeled apple in my black Quicksilver backpack, “I don’t like the peel on my apples.”
“Tough, I don’t like outgrowing my clothes,” snapped my mom.
“If you’re worried about your weight, why did you eat all of those enchiladas last night?” I asked, waiting for the explosion. I bent down and pretended to be looking for my tennis shoe. It seemed one of my pink Vans had gotten misplaced. I much preferred flip-flops, or my slip-on Vans, but it was a P.E. day. I finally glanced up to see why my mom hadn’t started yelling yet, but the kitchen was empty, except for my little sister, Sam. Sam’s brown eyes were as big as saucers and she held her spoon suspended in the air over her yogurt container.
“I can’t believe you said that to mom,” Sam said with her 5-year-old jaw hanging open.
“I can’t believe mom is surprised she’s gained weight,” I retorted. “Have you seen my pink Vans? I’m missing one.”
“It’s with your skateboard,” mumbled my little sister as she dipped her spoon back into her yogurt. My sister always ate yogurt and a banana for breakfast. Disgusting.
“I’m going to school.” I slammed the garage door, threw the apple in the trashcan and put on my other shoe. I always wear pink shoes. I grabbed my skateboard and headed down the street thinking about how I would never let myself be like my mom.