Imagine your heart racing like a prize winning stallion at the Kentucky Derby. Initiated by the thunderous sound of your alarm clock, you wake up only to realize that you are late for school and your clothes still carry the tasteless aroma of burned meat and old tomatoes from working overtime the night before. Now imagine you are 13 years old. Tradition has lead us to believe that the art of rational decision making and successfully functioning in a competitive world can't be executed by an adolescent, but every so often tradition is broken.
On a blistering summer day that appeared so redundant, the sweat streaked down my face while making my way home from school. Endless thoughts of upcoming assignments collided with vivid images of what was sure to be the usual domestic scene of unwashed dishes and an overstuffed garbage can. There was nothing I had seen, read, or heard that could have prepared me for what life had so strategically premeditated and was about to carry out. As I stepped through the flimsy frame of what used to be a screen door so cleverly hung with a clothes hanger and duct tape, I could see the silhouette of a body, that was sure to be my mom, spread over the couch like a peacock displaying it's splendor. Quietly moving down the hallway, a dark sinister atmosphere consumed my highly welcomed sunrays and chilled my sweat filled shirt. I began to prepare myself mentally for the long walk and extended hours at Burger King that was starring at me like a deer in headlights when suddenly like the change in atmosphere; I was being charged upon like the Alamo. An obviously high and deranged woman swinging, shouting and yelling at the top of her lungs, "Why you ain't washed the dishes? What's wrong with you? You are just like your pathetic father!" And with the same breath she stopped, smiled and asked for $50. Modestly curled in the corner of my match box size room out of respect, not fear, I knew the only way she would retreat is if she got what she wanted.
