1.9: Alex's View

  Painting. It's so simple, yet I love it. Painting lets me think. I can't believe that I'm almost fifteen. Fifteen! I'll be graduating middle school and going onto high school. High school. Every movie makes it seem like a place where you're either a nerd or a jock; the bully or the bullied. I hope that isn't true. I'm really nervous. Not that I should be. I have...friends...sorta. I have one. One real friends is better than a billion false ones, though. I hope that's true. It's another quote my English teacher has stick noted to the front of her desk. Whenever she starts babbling about boring things, like Shakespeare or Edgar Allen Poe, I can gaze around the desk, reading the inspirational, mass produced posters.

   "Alex?"

   "Mom."

   "We're going to the Spring festival. Want to come with us?"

   "Sure." I smiled. I cleaned my brush and set it in the cup I used to store brushes. I wiped my hands on my  PJs, smearing reds and brilliant oranges all over them. I changed into a tee and jeans mom bought me a month ago, and hurried downstairs. Mom had bought a car. It was an old, used, clunker, but it was a car. It defiantly wasn't the fastest thing or the prettiest, but it worked. That's what mattered in our house. Functionality, not looks. We parked the car in the park's parking lot and climbed out, into the hot summer sun. Tiff and Jamie instantly dashed away, looking for the pastel eggs.

  "Look mum!" Tiffi cried out. She'd found a star covered festival egg. "Isn't it pretty?"
   "Yes, it is." Mom wandered over to the benches, sitting down. I noticed a love-o-meter. Was she upset because she didn't have anyone to test it with? No one to dance with, no one to hug? No one to celebrate Valentine's Day with. "Hey kiddos," she smiled, noticing a roller rink. "Who wants to skate?"
    "Yeah!" Tiffi cheered. She was excitable. I noticed at school, she was as quiet as a mouse, but at home she was a twenty-four hour blabber machine.
    "Moooom!" I screamed, I stepped onto the rink,  I tried skating around the rink, but ended up falling, crashing into the railing.
   "Honey! Are you okay?"
   "Fine." I said, gruffly.  She skated over to me and helped me stand up.
    "Are you sure? We could go home."
   "I'm fine."
   "Honey." She hugged me and slipped a five dollar bill into my pocket. "I trust you."
   "Thanks." I tried skating more, but ended up crashing into the Jamie and Tiff, who where spinning around the rink in a graceful way that made me jealous that I'd inherited the uncoordinated gene. I stepped off the rink, sighing. Everyone else could do spins and turns, except me. I sat on the bench, gazing into the crystal sky. That would be beautiful to paint. I wish I had a brush and canvas right now. I could paint the birds and the sky and the flowers. That's something I could do.
   "That was fun." Jamie laughed.
   "Who wants ice cream?" My mom asked.
   "Yay!" The twins cheered. She walked over to the stand with them, each ordering them a strawberry ice cream cone with double chocolate sprinkles and vanilla cream.
   "Jamie?" She called out.
   "Uh huh?" I stood up, wandering behind her.
   "What would you like?"
   "Nothing."
   "Are you sure? Ice cream? Fruit punch? A snack?"
   "I'm fine."
   "Okay." She looked concerned, then quickly turned to the concession stand lady and paid her. Jamie and Tiff each got their ice cream and sat down to lick it. Why was mom concerned? I was fine. Fine....oh. I never said anything. If someone asked a question, I brushed it off, saying I was fine. Fine. She must think I'm involved in a crazy, stupid teenager plan. I heard my stomach grumble and regretted not getting anything. I should have. I walked over to the concession stand as far from my family as I could get.
   "Hello, sonny."An elderly woman with gray hair and well defined wrinkles greeted me.
   "Uh, hey."
   "What would you like?"
   "Coffee?" I read the word off the miniscule menu, which bragged that they used Starbucks premium dark roast coffee pre-grounded beans. All the other kids drank coffee. Except for me and my friend...she says it stunts your growth and thinks it's some stupid peer pressure thing. I didn't want to upset her, so I never drank coffee. I guess that was a stupid peer pressure thing, too.
   "Alrighty, four ninety seven." I handed her my bill and she gave my three pennies, as I fumbled with my pockets, not wanting someone to think I was frugal enough to want three worthless pennies. Isn't it something you do, too? Nobody can admit they hate giving up change and count every nickel and dime. She gave me a steaming foam cup of dark brown liquid that looked like Starbucks had gone "What the heck?" and decided to let them label the cheap ninety-nine cent store coffee grinds as "premium" to bring in the coffee-holics.
   "Thanks." I walked away and took a sip. It was disgustingly bitter and tasted, and felt, like sludge. I spit it out and vowed never to drink coffee again. No wonder she was so against it. It was gross!
    "Alex! Alex!" My mom called again. She tends to think she...how do I nicely put it? Loses me, a lot. It isn't that she can't keep up with her children, it's that her children don't want to be kept up. Namely me. I love her, but I like freedom. Freedom....any parent reading my thoughts would roll their eyes and laugh. Classic teenager. They'd snort. Wanting freedom, thinking they know everything. Let them see the real world, then they'll come running back, wanting the sheltered protection you gave them. It wasn't like that for me. I just liked being alone, painting. I could take care of myself.
    "Mom." I taped her on her shoulder.
    "Alex!" She gasped, flying around to face me. "I though I lost you."
    "I was right there." I pointed.
    "Oh." She blushed. "Well, we're going to go to the library, then the grocery store to pick up cake ingredients. What kind did you want? Chocolate?"
    "Vanilla with chocolate icing." I mumbled.
    "Okay," she scribbled that down on a post it. "Next up, the library." We lumbered into the car, unwilling to argue with her. We  pulled into the parking lot, and climbed out. I immediately went to the history section. I browsed the titles, until I found something that interested me. Life of a Painter I sat down and read about the Mona Lisa, The Birth of Venus, Madonna and Child, The Gulf Stream, and The Scream. The colors were magnificent. I wish I could be like the artists one day.
   "Hey, Alex!" Tiff poked me.
   "Shhh! I'm reading."
   "Pllllleeeeasssse?"
   "What?"
   "I wrote a story."
   "Cool."
   "Wanna read it?"
   "Sure." I stood up, putting the book back, and followed Tiff.
   "Mr. Elephant's Pants." I read.
    "Mr. Georgie O'Brien," She read aloud to me. The jest of the story was a man was lonely. His IQ was the highest in the world, and everyone hated him for it. The man worked at NASA, for a government funded mission, building a space vehicle  to send Americans to Mars to explore the possibility of life on other planets. The man isn't aloud to tell any one about his government NASA job, so he has to work another place, the zoo, as a cover. He befriends the elephant, named Pants, and is dubbed Mr. Elephant, by the tourists. Hence the title, Mr. Elephant's Pants. The man is talking about his mission with Pants, when Mrs. Prudence Keith hears him. She thinks he's insane and fires him. Mr. Elephant is sad, and so is Pants. In the end, Mr. Elephant ends up buying the zoo with his raise from the NASA project and everyone is happily ever after. 
   "This is really good." I commented.
   "Thanks!" She hugged me. "My teacher liked it so much, she sent it to the Young Authors contest! Mom doesn't know, but I'm really hoping to win!"
   "I bet you will."
   "I hope so. The winner gets a publishing deal for the next ten years."
   "TEN?!"
   "Ten. If I wrote a good enough story, I'd be set for life!"
   "Wow..."
   "I know, right." You could paint, Jamie could be an athlete, and I could write!"
   "That sounds great," I smiled.
   "You think? Really?" Her eyes shined. "I haven't told anyone else."
   "I don't think. I know. I read that story and it's great."
   "Thanks, Alex."
   As I rode in the car, I felt my eyes droop. I was becoming drowsy. Tiff could write....I could paint.....Jamie sports.....that would be perfect.....make mom proud. Paint. Perfect. Sell. Artist. I fell asleep as I dreamed of becoming a famous artist. I could be an artist and paint and then marry....I didn't think anything else while I silently slept, my dreams halting.