On the Topic of Toppings

On the Topic of Toppings

Tony and Jim have been best friends

For five years. They are connected at the

Hip. Nothing has ever separated them.

A couple weeks ago, they became roommates

In an apartment to save money.

After a long night of “studying”,

The boys are hungry and craving pizza.

“Hey do you want to order some pizza?”

“Pizza sounds amazing. I am starving.”

“Aight, let me go ahead and order.”

“Hey, Tony, what do you want on the pizza?”

“Pepperoni,” Tony said dismissingly.

“Pepperoni?” Jim questioned.

“Pepperoni,” Tony replied, looking

Up at Jim, with a confused face.

“We always get pepperoni, Tony.”

“Yeah, because pepperoni is tasty.”

Tony replied, slightly irritated.

“Well, I like sausage more on my pizza.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

“We always get what you want, never what

I want,” Jim replied with an upset face.

“Okay and? It is just pizza, Jim, chill.”

“It’s not just the pizza, Tony. Everything.”

“That is not even true at all, don’t lie.”

“See, but it is true Jim. It’s been like this.

We always do what you want to do.

We always eat what you want to eat.

We always go where you want to go.

We never do what I want to do.

We never eat what I want to eat.

We never go where I want to go.”

Tony stands up and closes his laptop.

“Dude, what are you even saying, that’s crazy?

I always make sure we get an even

Chance at doing what we want to do.”

“Like what? Give me some examples, please.

I would love to hear some of these said times.”

“Well, you remember that time we went to

The waterpark with Stephanie and Lucy.”

“Yeah, that was what you wanted to do with them.

I wanted to go to Six Flags, but

‘nooo Hurricane Harbor is more fun,’ so

What do we do? We go to Hurricane Harbor”

Unfinished

Dialogue Argument

            “Honey, can you come down here and do a favor for me really quickly?” Melissa said as she slaved away at cleaning the dishes and cooking.

            “Yes, mom I’ll be down in a second,” Ryan screamed from in his room while he was playing video games intensely.

            Thirty-minutes pass by and Ryan still had not come down. Melissa, slightly irritated, hollered, “Ryan, get down here so you can pick up the dog poop.”

            “I said in a second mom. I’m doing something important for school right now,” Ryan said, not doing anything school related.

            “Okay, pumpkin. I understand that you have a lot of homework, so I’ll let you get to it.”

            Five minutes go by and Melissa heard Ryan scream, “Eat that you little turd!” So she went upstairs to see what all the hullabaloo is about. She walked into Ryan’s room, which is filled with his own desktop, a flat screen TV, two game consoles, and anything he’s ever asked for, to find him playing video games.

            “Ryan, I let you to stay up here because I thought you were doing homework,” Melissa said, crossing her arms.

            “Yeah, but this is important too.”

            “Not as important as doing your chores,” Melissa said, turning off the console.

            “Mom! What are you doing?”

            “This is the third time this week I’ve asked you to pick up poop, and you still haven’t done it. I think it’s time for some consequences.”

            “Well, you’re the mom, aren’t you supposed to be doing all of that stuff? Dad always says the woman is supposed to do things around the house while the man works and eats everything."

            “Wait, what? Marshall!” Melissa screams to the other room. Now, it was Marshall who was in trouble, not Ryan. Very clever, Ryan.

Pixie Dust (emotional situation final draft)

Emma’s never here anymore. When we wake up for school, she’s gone. When we are getting ready for bed, I hear the metal of our door scraping against the wooden steps bellow it. My sister and I could stay up hours on end because we can hear our father, Marshall, and her arguing. It’s usually always the same thing:

“Why are you never here? Do you care about the children? You know how much they miss you!”

            “Why do you always need to know where I am? Why are you always up my ass!? You’re acting like you own me!”

            I just pretend to be asleep and listen in, which is pretty difficult when I have to tune out my sister’s crying. I hate sharing a room with her, but I can tell she loves it. She always goes to Dad with questions about everything. Dad always just tries to sweep the issues under the rug by changing the subject. Then, she comes to me with all these questions:

            “Are Mommy and Daddy getting a divorce? Does Mommy love us still?”

            Sometimes I wish I could just tell her the truth. Her mother is a drug addict, a crackhead to be exact. I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t know and he definitely thinks me and Liv are oblivious to the situation. About six months ago, I started to notice Emma gets a lot of nose bleeds. When I say she gets a lot of nose bleeds, I mean a lot of nose bleeds. She also started having a lot of mood swings until she “went to the bathroom” and everything was magically okay. If that was not enough evidence, she started neglecting a lot of her responsibilities. She quit her job a couple months ago, something my dad will find out when they’re doing taxes or something I guess, yet she still brings home enough money to help Dad support us. I can’t believe no one has noticed except for me. Who knows how far the addiction goes.

            Emma walks in two hours after dinner was supposed to start, which is actually earlier than usual, “Hey baby! Hi Liv and Hailie!” and screams as she barges in our house.

            “Mommy!” Liv squeals as she drops her toys on the ground so she can run up to give her a hug.

            “Hey, Emma,” I say bluntly.

            “When are we gonna get past this? You know you can start calling me ‘Mom’ whenever you want,” Emma replies in an irritated tone.

            “Why would I call you that? You’re not my real mom,” I say as I look her dead in the eye.

            “You know what? I don’t need this right now. I need to use the bathroom.” Emma rushes to be bathroom like she had just finished a movie and had drunken five extra-large sodas.

She was in there for about ten-minutes until my patiently waiting Dad knocks on the door, “Are you okay swe-sweetie?”

“I will be out, when I am done! Now leave me alone!” she wails through the bathroom door.

My Dad just backs up, shoulders low, and goes to set up the table for dinner. Liv goes to sit in front of the bathroom door waiting for her mom. After another twenty minutes, Liv asks, “Are you okay in there Mommy?” There is no response. Dad overhears and comes to the door and begins banging on it.

“Emma? Are you okay? What are you doing in there?”

There is no response. I wonder if she is just ignoring them. Maybe she jumped out of the window? I know it’s probably not that. I know what it probably is but I do not want to think it’s that. My dad goes into his room to find the little key to all the doors in the house and tells us to go to our room because he thinks she might have fallen and is passed out. I grab Liv and take her to our room. I hear the door creak followed by silence. Then, all at once, I hear an outpouring of sadness. I know what happened. I tell Liv to stay in the room and I go to see. She follows me, of course, and we peek around the corner. She’s on the floor with blood coming from her nose. White powder littered all over the sink with a straw in her had. Liv runs up to Emma.

“Mommy? Moooommy? Mommy, wake up!” she screams in a wavering tone as she begins to wail. There is no response.

I just stand there and watch. I have nothing to say. I don’t know what to say.

As the police are on their way, I start to think about how sudden it must have been to them. They still don’t know that Emma was doing this for over six months. I don’t know if I should tell them how long it has actually been. I decide to keep my mouth shut.

Ex-convict

I could never live the way Uncle Richie Jr. does. It’s so empty in his one-bedroom apartment. Every morning, he wakes up ad makes his bed perfectly. Then, he walks from his lifeless room, which looks as if he just moved in, to his bathroom. He has to duck under his doorway because of the pull-up bar he hung there. There is only one towel, a razor, a bar of soap, and a toothbrush. He takes not even a full seven minutes to shower, brush his teeth, and shave. He changes into the clothes he will wear for the day that are all folded into individual outfits and stacked neatly into each drawer of his dresser. Next to his dresser is a cheap little gym he made himself. Unfinished.

Cut Out Poem

Summer vacation
For an eight year old, this was one of the best things in the world
Just sit back, relax, and eat snacks
Vast fields of empty calories and pure sugar awaiting me
Chips, Twix, and Sour Punch Straws
The holy grail.

Emotional Pain Caused by a Place

Emotion Pain Caused by a Place

The memories were swept under the rug, the laughter of my family was muffled by the laughter of a new one, and the pictures of us were painted over in a renovation. The crooked paint peeling garage door was replaced by a fancy high tech one. The raggedy simple metal fence surrounded the backyard, which was cluttered with random rusted things he found throughout his life, replaced with a beautiful oak fence. The ripped mesh screen door replaced with a glass one accented with a gold painted door knob and trim. The stained carpet was replaced with shiny hard wood floors. The scratched and dented dining table we always ate at during the holidays was replaced with a new one. It was their house now. The house was barely recognizable anymore. The people in it were people I had ever seen before. The house was brought into a completely different style. I can still see through all of their renovating. I still see the house my grandma grew up in. I still see the place the whole family went to for Christmas. I still see the laughter throughout the halls. I still see his house. I still see him.

halo