Being sick sucked. It sucked ass.
I had a week to rid the cold from my body before my school started, but it seemed to hit harder than it usually did.
I had a tissue roll with me in bed and was playing basketball with the discards.
My eyes were so bad that I'd missed the lidless bin multiple times already, opting to deal with it the next time I stood up. That wouldn't be any time soon, at the rate I was going. The rug would not be happy with all that mucus in its knots.
I'd been watching a movie that's manuscript came from my favorite book at the time. This one was about a chronically ill girl (I always thought about what made that a trend) who fell in love with her next-door neighbor.
One hand was designated for blowing my snot and the other was to dig in my large bag of salt and vinegar chips.
My room glowed purple from the LED lights strung neatly across my ceiling. Purple was my standard; even when I turned the lights out, the walls were painted purple under them. Other than the bright color, my walls were pretty minimalistic. There was a medium-sized chalkboard on one side and lavender curtains strung along my window.
The maximalism came from the actual things that I had in the room. I had chests and barrels full of miscellaneous items I'd bought to fund my various, fleeting hobbies. my borrowed camera sat separate from all the disarray; I couldn't afford to break it.
Just as the part of the movie that always made me cry was about to come on, my eyes shifted to the camera on my dresser. I still had to return it to my dad. It reminded me of my incomplete application to the Young Art Institute summer fellowship, which was my latest personal project.
I didn't consider myself the artsy type, really. I wasn't really a bookworm either. I didn't think myself an intellectual. Even watching my movie, I didn't consider myself an expert on those either. I'd just rewatch my favorites over and over again.
"Fuck, what am I good at even?" I murmured to myself as I squinted at the TV and grabbed for another handful of chips. my eyes didn't need to be perfect for me to enjoy the flick; I'd memorized half the screenplay already and could visualize what I couldn't see.
Eventually, this squinting at the screen gave me a headache and I opted to flip my laptop open on the bed. The application was staring me right in the face.
My mouse cursor stumbled over the "field of interest" section. In reality, I knew I wasn't good enough at any of the things on the list to actually stand a chance against the thousands of other young people that'd be competing. However, if Dalia Glees wasn't anything else, she was unrealistic. Some might even say delusional. I believed in myself to measures far beyond what was reasonable, like a harmless Donald Trump. So, therefore, I was having trouble choosing just one subject area for my submission.
Poetry, sculpture, acting, spoken word, dance, they all seemed like pretty good possibilities. However, my eyes always landed on one option. Photography.
I hadn't wanted to accept my fate in the week past; I hadn't wanted it to end up being my last resort. But, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I wasn't any better at it than anything else on that list, but I had an out. I had resources.
Joy and Glee Photography Suite.
It was the family business I had refused to take part in; it was equal parts the reason for my happiness and the cause for my demise.
My parents had cofounded the space before I was even born. The photography scene in Atlanta had boomed in recent years, making it a major asset to both the city and to my fidelity. I had always lived a charmed and comfortable life; I'd never had to work for much.
I liked to compare my parents to Will and Jada Smith, and myself to Willow. They let me do as I pleased, and never pressured me to make choices that I didn't feel convicted to make by myself. In many ways, it had helped me, but in many ways, it harmed me too. That moment, as I stared at my computer, wondering about my future, I only felt harm.
I just wanted to be different; I didn't want my life to be predictable. Static. But, that was all it had been up to that point, despite my contrary efforts. It would be so predictable to take up photography, I thought, and that was why I never took interest in the family business.
However, I looked up at the camera sitting on my nightstand and recalled why I borrowed it from my parents in the first place. I needed an out, and I doubted I'd have the resources or counsel to take up another practice.
"I'm not a damn poet," I murmured to myself as my fingers flitted over the keyboard.
Just as I closed my computer to catch a breath, wails sounded from the next room.
I was like Willow if Will and Jada decided to randomly have a new baby 16 years after the first.
Tanesia Glees. Leo. She wailed like one, too. The girl had the roar of a lion at the tender age of one.
I would usually be the one to get up and check on her myself, but seeing how I was sick, my parents had to take shifts staying home from the studio to care for the child.
I was the surrogate third parent, and I couldn't really blame my parents for the position I found myself in. I didn't have a job, I wasn't in any clubs, and I really only had one close friend. "Dang. I really do need to win this competition. I'm not getting into college otherwise..." I eyed my computer and camera yet again before falling forward into my Iets. I felt another headache coming on. If this wildly impossible competition was my only way out of my parents' house, the odds weren't in my favor at all.
The wails calmed down and I assumed that someone had tended to my baby sister. The silence from next door, paired with the monotonous sounds of the movie I'd watched a million times, lulled me to sleep.
It was irritating being legally forced to be with imbeciles for eight hours each day, five days a week.
The term had just started; I was over it already. The average high school student, especially where I existed, was super concerned with their grades and colleges' perceptions of them. I, however, was not a fan. Clubs were a no. Games and social events were no. Alcohol was definitely a no. It tasted horrible. But, on second thought, being unaware and drunken might prove to be the better alternative than consciously living through my nightmares.
Being there was just draining.
I never had any energy within the walls of Trent High. Trent didn't deserve my energy.
I was one of those "high-intelligence, low-drive" students that all the teachers threw their weak, sympathetic smiles towards.
From a young age, though, I could tell that I wasn't into it. I checked out as soon as scratch paper was required in math class.
Everyone else was doing it, and they seemed happy to do so, so why couldn't I?
Graduating could be where I figured it all out; I'd been content with just figuring it out. As adulthood loomed evergreen, I realized that maybe just "figuring it out" wouldn't be possible. I'd have to take agency of my own future.
Sometimes I would have surges of wanting to do work and succeed at school, but those would never last very long. All it would do is raise my teachers' and families' expectations of me, and I could not stand disappointing people. When I lowered others' expectations of me, they expected less. It worked out that way.
I yawned as I haphazardly shoved some papers into my locker. My room was spotless, but my locker, not so much. I leaned my shoulder against the group of lockers and faced the inside of the door to try and collect my thoughts.
The previous night had been filled with a marathon of the Divergent movies, along with my going down the Miles Teller internet sinkhole. It was only the third day and I was already self-destructing.
"Where are my keys?" Wendy sauntered over, frantically patting herself down.
"How would I know?" I rolled my eyes and stood a little taller against my locker.
"Girl, you're the reason we were even late today. I'd imagine you're part of the reason for my keys disappearing and making me even later for my first class," she flipped the bang of her side part out of her face.
And I was the reason we were late that day, but truth be told, it was usually her. And on top of that, she was usually leaving her expensive possessions somewhere too. I didn't see what I had to do with it.
"My bad about this morning. I didn't really get much sleep." And I didn't. I was up thinking about the competition. Usually, I could let things go and move on to the next thing without much trouble. But something about this felt important like I needed to pursue it further. I just didn't know how. I thought to the camera sitting on my nightstand, then thought to my couple of failed attempts to put it to use. I was no more masterful at photography than anything else, despite whether or not it ran "through my blood."
"Yeah, you don't look like you did. Do you need concealer?" she asked me. "Our complexions are close enough for you to get away with it," she started digging around in her purse before even waiting for a response.
"No, girl, you're good. I'm good," I reached out a lazy, tired arm to get her to stop. It was like she'd already forgotten about her lost car keys.
She moved her side part out of her eyes again. The hairstyle had to be fresh. Her first day of school hairstyle had been one of the best straight bobs I'd ever seen. She'd traded up for a 30-inch side part that she kept bothering as she nervously looked for her keys.
"Just retrace your steps. Where else did you stop?"
"Oh, right. Terrence. I probably left my keys in his car."
"Terrence?"
She rolled her eyes and waved me off. "He likes me. Bought me flowers today. I don't know if I'm feeling it or not. But I know where my keys are now, Â so thanks, talk to you later."
"Great," I responded as she sauntered away.
Wendy and I had been together since our daycare days, and while she'd blossomed beautifully into a self-assured, put-together young woman, it seemed like I was still in my awkward phase. The boys at Trent had been lined up to pay her tribute for a while now, so I wasn't surprised in the least to see that she'd found a new boy toy. Good for her.
My mind flitted to the fact that she was still my ride to and from school. It seemed everyone at Trent had a car except for me. I was too scared to drive.
Realizing that a license was yet another thing I was behind on, I sighed and pushed down the feeling that I was going to have just as bad a day as I had a night.
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