My silverware makes clinks as they scrape against the plate. My father’s voice interrupts the silence. He asks, What are you doing in school today? I answer, Nothing. He asks me this question every day, but I have nothing to share. He doesn’t understand that I don’t plan out my day. I go to each class, sit and listen for 45 minutes, and then come home. I don’t even know what I’m eating for lunch, and it scares me a little bit, that one day, when I’m older, I’ll have to figure out what I’m doing with my day, making an intricate plan.
“You can’t just say ‘nothing’ every day.” he says, breaking my thoughts.
“Yes I can.”
I take a sip of orange juice. He asks me what my favorite class is so far. I tell him it’s science, and I mean it. It’s a great class and I like what we’re learning. He never liked science, and I knew that. He was always a writer, and never wanted to do anything else. My mother, on the other hand, just didn’t enjoy academics; she was an athlete. Neither of them seem to care when I talk about science, but I don’t mind much.
I stuff some eggs in my mouth and stand up from my chair. The kitchen gets brighter as the sun rises. I grab my backpack, ready to rush out the door to catch the bus. He tells me to have a good day, and I make a half smile, although he can’t see my face. I open the door and breath the cold, crisp air.
“See ya.”
I close the door behind me.