Spaghetti Dreams This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

     I do not remember much. Of what I recall, I see spaghetti. My father calls me a fool and says I made it up some time during that silence when time is turned into a memory. But I know it is true. She would take the thin noodles between her forefinger and thumb, her other fingers splayed. Her head would tilt back, the same angle as when she laughed, and she would hold the spaghetti above her head, her mouth open as though to engulf the entire ceiling and she would let the noodle coil down into her mouth. My small chair was placed directly under her right elbow and there I would sit, watching each noodle disappear from her plate. Then she would turn to me and give me a secret smile.

He says it is ridiculous, that my mother was more sensible than to eat like that. He claims I never saw my mother because she passed away as I was born. He lies, because I know. I remember the spaghetti. I have powers he does not realize. I can go wherever I want. I can even leave here. I do not need a suitcase, because where I go there is no need for anything from home. I close my eyes and I am gone.

My father takes me to the zoo on Fridays. I like to watch the elephants. Sometimes they like to watch me too. We stare at each other until one throws his trunk high in the air and screams. Just for me. And for that elephant, I would close my eyes and go to Africa and bring him back to his home and his family. There, his father and his mother would wrap their trunks together with his in one tangled mess. They would let me climb onto their backs and see the world. I would sleep on their leathery skin and think about how I don't miss home. Not one bit.

I have two brothers. No sisters. I know why. I remember it. My sisters were so beautiful that they are now princesses in the Far East. They were granted beauty, I was given my power. Sometimes I even visit my sisters. They show me around their palaces and treat me as if I were a princess too. And when I get tired of being a princess I go anywhere else I want to go.

My father does not believe me. He does not notice when I am gone. I don't mind because these journeys are for me alone. Maybe one day I will bring him to the table where my mother ate spaghetti with her hands, or to an African safari or even to see my sisters in their palaces. When I do, he will thank me and we will sit and eat spaghetti with our fingers and our heads tilted back. And I will realize that home is the best place to go. And I will give him a secret smile.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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Lily">This teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
yesterday at 4:39 am
i love this !
pinksun said...
Jun. 18, 2009 at 3:34 am
You nailed your descriptions; I could totally see how the mom was eating the spaghetti. I found myself slowing down and really taking in what you had to say. Thanks for writing this, I really liked it.
sallyloco said...
Jun. 17, 2009 at 4:36 pm
This was very beautiful! I dont know why no one commented on it! I think that's just rude. This piece is amazing.
itsjustmeHannah replied...
Apr. 19, 2013 at 8:44 pm
i totally agree! this was an amazing, amazing piece! great job, it made me really sad for some reason, but i loved it!
Anansesem This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
May 29, 2013 at 8:16 pm
The beauty of daydreams, huh? If only she could take him with. If only.
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