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Memoirs of a Post Modern America Chapter 2 "Miranda" (part 1)

posted 4/5/2008 10:01:46 PM |
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The doctor was talking, but the words were coming out jumbled and blurry. He was saying something about writing or drawing pictures. Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. There were paper, pens, crayons and markers in front of her, but for some reason, she could not figure out what to do with them. She sat there for several minutes until the doctor whispered that it was ok, maybe she wasn’t ready yet. Slowly, Miranda picked up a pen and began to write. “My name is Miranda and I am 10 years old.”
It was another crazy morning in our tiny apartment. It always looked like a tornado swept from end to end as Mommy tries to pin down my two brothers long enough to put their clothes on. By the time she has pants on Devon, Michael is running around the kitchen. He looks like superman with his t-shirt for a cape. Daddy always said it was bum holes and elbows just to tie their shoes. Well, he didn’t say bum, but I’m not allowed to say that other word. I just wished he would come and sing silly songs like he used to every morning. Mommy sometimes said it was god-awful and that he should keep his day job. I’m not sure what that meant, but I would just laugh and shout “Again Daddy, again!”
By the time Mommy had everyone dressed and in the kitchen for breakfast, my bus was already outside. I was hungry, but I grabbed my backpack and ran outside anyways. I was nine, so I didn’t really need to eat every morning anyways. Mommy hardly ever did. I climbed the rail on the stairs and slid all the way to the bottom. It burns your hands, but it’s faster that way. As I came outside, the bus was already starting to drive off. Lucky for me, I’m a fast runner; so I just grabbed my bag tighter and ran as fast as I could to catch up. Well, maybe I’m not that fast, because the bus left anyways; but I guess Mr. Gilbert, the bus driver, was too busy driving to see me. Some of the kids think he’s mean, but I like the way he talks. Mom said it’s called an accent and it means he’s from Jamaica. I don’t know where that is, but if everyone talks just like that, I want to live there when I get bigger.
As I walked back to tell Mom what happened, Andrea and her mom drove up and asked me if I needed a ride. I was so happy I could have jumped up and down. Last time I missed the bus, Mommy had to drive me to school. I liked that, but she was late for work, and her boss said mean things to her and told her that if she was late again, she couldn’t work there anymore. I hopped in the back seat of Andrea’s mom’s car and away we went. I was sweating a little from running so fast, so I grabbed my sweater from my backpack to wipe my arms and legs off. Andrea’s family is rich and I didn’t want to make their car all stinky. My family used to be rich too, but since Daddy went away, we don’t have much money anymore. I don’t mind though, I just wish everyone wasn’t so mad at Daddy. The news always talked about “missing money” and “black water”, then they would show Daddy’s picture. I don’t understand everything, but I hope they find whatever they’re looking for. Mommy said it was just politics and that it wasn’t as bad as everyone made it look. Why did they take him away then? I guess I’ll understand one day just like Mommy says.
When we got to school, it wasn’t time to go inside yet, so Andrea’s mom let me use her cell phone to call my mom. She was a little angry that I rode with Andrea and her mom, but she told me to thank her anyways and to make sure that I rode the bus home. I’m not sure why things like that make her mad. Like last week, Mrs. Shelby, my teacher, gave me some clothes that she said were too small for her now. I thought it was weird because she didn’t look like she ever used to wear clothes that size. But I just said thank you and took everything home. When I got home though, Mommy yelled at me and said that we didn’t take handouts or charity. She told me that my school was only for rich people and that since we were no longer rich, that I must stop going there after this year. She made me throw the clothes away but I didn’t care because I didn’t really like them anyways.
That day we learned about a tea party long ago. Mrs. Shelby said that wasn’t like the tea parties Mommy used to have when we lived in our big house. This one was an angry tea party where people threw the tea into the ocean. It didn’t sound much like a party to me, but throwing tea into the ocean seemed like a good idea, I guess. I like tea and I guess that if you threw enough into the ocean, everyone in the world could drink it. It was kind of like the time me and Michael put soap in the fountain in front of our house. There were bubbles everywhere. The gardener Mr. Ortiz was so angry, but Mommy just laughed and laughed. We played in the bubbles all day until Daddy got home. I thought he would be mad, but he just laughed too, and got into the fountain with us, suit and all! I miss Daddy…
It was lunchtime and I was so hungry I wanted to eat everyone’s lunches in the room. I opened my bag and got out a pear. I already knew what was inside because I packed it myself. I pack Michael and Devon’s lunches too so that Mommy doesn’t have to worry about it. Sometimes I forget, but Mommy always remembers the next morning. I don’t know how she can do so many things at once; I can only do one thing at a time. Unless I’m doing homework, then I can watch TV too, but sometimes I get a lot of questions wrong. While we were eating, Mrs. Shelby said that today we were going to meet a real live soldier. I was excited because Daddy’s soldiers used to come visit us all time and I hadn’t seen them in a long time. They were always very nice and gave me presents from all over the world. I was shocked though when the soldier came. This soldier didn’t look like Daddy’s at all. This one was actually a girl! When I asked her, she said that I could be a soldier too when I grew up if I wanted to. When I told her about Daddy’s soldiers, she just laughed and said that she was different. She also said that all of her soldier friends were home from the war and were never going back. I was happy to hear that and I thought that maybe I would be a soldier first then go to Jamaica.


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Memoirs of a Post Modern America Chapter 2 "Miranda" (part 1)