Track shoes and Clarinets | Teen Ink

Track shoes and Clarinets

April 8, 2009
By bubblylittledancer PLATINUM, Waterloo, Iowa
bubblylittledancer PLATINUM, Waterloo, Iowa
30 articles 0 photos 22 comments

You know it's going to be a bad day when the science rat dies. Yeah, I know, having the science rat as your only friend in a school of 563 people is pretty pathetic. Especially when you lie to your parents so they can't tell that you're a total social loser. It's going to be a bad day. Period.

But maybe you could make soume friends in sports right??? So you're a klutz...too late for basketball or volleyball...but you're fast. Track seems perfect. Once you get your sweats, mom picks you up to go run errands.

Who knew that one pair of blue and white track shoes with yellow stripes could brighten a bad day? They fit perfectly, like they were made just for you. The spikes on the bottom are for speed, and they're perfectly comfortable, just the way you like them. Your bad day begins to fade, you have new shoes, you can't wait to show dad how cool they are, how fast you'll go with them, what a great investment they were. You rip them out of their box the second you're in the door. Dad is actually home, a rarity for him. "Dad, look I got new track shoes!" You say, holding up your prized shoes for dad to see. Your smile fades, he doesn't even look up from the TV screen. He doesn't say anything. YOu rip off your coat and dump your other purchases at the table and carry your shoes to your room. After finding two matching socks in record time, you return to the living room where mom has now joined dad. You put on your prized shoes and walk around. "Dad, look at my shoes." He permits them a glance before barking at you to clean up the table and be quiet. So you step into the kitchen without thinking. The second your spike touches the wooden floor, dad starts into a slur of swear words, growing louder with each word. Basically what he said is that you and your stupid shoes should shut up and stop trying to ruin his house.

Slowly, you pull off your blue shoes. You stack your bags on your arms as dad begins swearing some more about scratches on his floor. You bend down and carefully scan the floor around you for several minutes. No scratches or marks of any kind. All that you can see are the planks of wood that have always been there. Mom shoots you a look. You spin around and head for your room before they can see the tears. Slowly putting your things away as you turn your music louder, the blue track shoes are forgotten in a corner.

From the kitchen, you can hear dad's voice roaring over the sound of your sister's clarinet. As you register that the two can't be good when combined, you hear dad shouting for her and her ******* clarinet to go in the basement and shut up. Your heart feels sore for her, her clarinet is her most important talent, she's an aspiring musician with many good comments. It hurts you to know that this will cause her pain...

But like the floor, you feel the pain of the spike pressed upon you, but you have no proof of the pain that you have...

The author's comments:
true story, there is still no mark on the floor, and he still doesn't know that i have track shoes...

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.