Anxiety

By
I trudged my way home, having the same strange thoughts that were always in my head. I came to the road that separates me and my house. The white figure of a person crossing the street flashed on the stoplight. I looked right than left. Took a little step forward, and looked right and left again. I scurried across the street and looked behind me. A car zoomed past me, That could have killed me, I thought. I walked in to my apartment building, the pristine, air conditioned lobby felt like a shield that protected me from the dangerous world outside. I pressed the button for the elevator, which was one of the worst parts of my day. The elevator door creaked open. I skeptically looked around the elevator before entering. I stepped in and pressed the round 10 button, which lit up right after. The doors creakily closed and started going up. The elevator jolted and bumped it's way up for five seconds, which seemed like hours. When I finally got up to the tenth floor the elevator doors did not open for half a second. I began to panic, wondering what would happen when they found my dead body in here or if a cable snapped and this elevator would go plunging down, instantly killing me. As all of these unrealistic thoughts flooded in, the elevator doors had opened. I stepped out, as if my state of mind was actually normal. I twisted the key in the in the keyhole, which then made that satisfying click sound that meant I was home. I walked in to the duplex apartment, plunked my heavy tote backpack down with thump, and made my way over to the kitchen. I opened a bottle of organic root beer and gulped it down. I went to a cabinet to see what I could eat. I looked around for a little bit, when my eye finally caught something. I opened a red and yellow cardboard box with Paul Newman on the front and pull out a package full of kernels. I put it in the microwave and heard the loud popping sounds and the smell of butter permeated the air. I sat down and pulled my homework, which was always way too much, out of my backpack. I made myself comfy while I did what seemed like millions of FOIL problems. I heard the door open. I look around the corner, with panic in my eyes to see who it was.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” I heard the comforting familiar voice of my mother.
“Mom, I'm in here,” I said. She came in, her wavy, dark brown bob rested below her shoulders and her ice colored eyes looked happy to see me.
“How was school today?” She asked.
“School was... School,” I answered, thinking about the massive amount of homework I have for tonight. She did not seem too thrilled with my answer. I shrugged it off not wanting to talk.
“Did you get anything back from school?” She asked eagerly. I did not know why every time I came home from school she asked me this same question. I as I thought about answering her or not, she got more eager and impatient. “Well?” She said.
“Uhhh, oh yeah, I got my History essay back.”
“And?”
“I got a B plus.”
She sighed disappointedly and I knew what that meant. “That's okay,” she said. “Anything else?”
“No.”
I realized the popping sound had stopped, I got up and opened the microwave a popped a sweet piece of kettle corn in my mouth. “Do you want some?” I offered.
“I'm fine. I just want to know how your day went.”
“I told you it was fine.”
“Elaborate.” She said.
I sighed defeatedly. “Uh, lemme think...Okay, I had caesar salad and jello cup for lunch.”
“That's good.” Mom said. “Did anything happen in your classes?”
“No.”
Mom sighed again. She walked over to the kitchen counter and brewed herself some tea that smelled like roses. She sipped her tea, “Do you want to go up stairs and finish your homework?”
“I guess.” I trudged upstairs in to my lilac room. I don't know why but ever since I started eighth grade I had become very distant from my family. My older sister, Jennifer, barged in to my room.
“Ever heard of knocking?” I asked and rolled my eyes.
She ignored me and began to riffle through my desk drawers.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I'm looking for--- Oh, found it!” Her dark wild hair framed around her face. Her hair wasn't frizzy it was curly. She had the same ice colored eyes as Mom. “How was school?” She asked.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I said.
“Probably because you're going to be in High School next year.” She said, she was in eleventh grade. I hated being younger because it made me feel so immature. At the same time, I got scared, I could never imagine myself as a high schooler.
“What's high school like?” I asked, as she was leaving.
“Hm, well, it's harder than Middle School, obviously, but I it's easy to make the transition because so many people are transitioning with you.”
“Oh.”
“Is that all? Can I go?” She asked, bored.
“I'm not stopping you, go ahead.” With that she left.
I got started on my homework. What do I have? I thought to myself. Math, English and History. I assured myself it would not take a long time. Two hours later I only had History left. I looked at my watch and saw it was five thirty. I took a shower and went down to dinner. Mom had made pasta with pesto and chicken on top, and caramelized carrots. I realized that I was such a zombie doing my homework upstairs, I had not heard Dad come in. I went in to the kitchen and saw him pouring himself a glass of sparkling water.
“Hi Dad,” I said.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback