(It Looked Like Glass) My Heart Raced, And The Inside Of My Gums Hurt

Running across the lawn, I could feel all the power of my senses operating as my feet left the ground.

Just as soon as I entered the house, I ran over to the sink, and washed the dishes.

Then I went downstairs into the basement, and headed over to my hi-fi.  I put on the album of Kiki Dee’s I’ve Got the Music in Me, and started dancing.  Jumping up and down and all around was a great form of exercise.  I started running in place throughout the duration of side A of the album.

Once it stopped, I flipped the record over, and began the process again.  By the end of it, I had worked up a good sweat.  My heart raced, and the inside of my gums began to throb.

After a ten minute rest, I began doing sit-ups, jumping jacks, yoga, calisthenics, and other forms of exercise.

Then I went back to running in place.

My father came running down the stairs.  “What you doing all this time?  You supposed to be cleaning the house,” he yelled while walking over to me, huffing and puffing.

Glaring at him, I replied sternly, “I’m exercising.  You should try it some time.”

“That’s all you know how to do is exercise.  Don’t you know how to do anything else except to exercise?”

“What do you don’t I know how to do anything else except to exercise?  What am I supposed to do, let myself get big and fat like you and that pathetic mother of mine?  Exercise is very good for me.  It takes away the stress of dealing with the both of you on a daily and nightly basis,” I grunted while getting up from the floor and beginning my jumping jacks routine again.

“You nothing but a waste,” he stammered as he headed back up the stairs.

“You’re the waste around here.  Not only that but you are less a man.  A real man has actually earns a living to support his family instead of depending on his teenage daughter to do so.  A real man doesn’t rely on his teenage daughter to support him.  He actually has a job, you pathetic loser,” I yelled from the foot of the stairs, and went back to my exercising.

My father came to the first landing, yelling down to me, “What you talk about.  What you meowing about?  Close you mouth right now, if you know what’s good for you.  Another way, no good.

“You’ll find out what happens to you.  The Lord will deal with you and that mother of mine in all good time.  Believe me when I say, you will pay dearly for what you’ve both done to me throughout the years.  The abuse you both inflicted on me will be paid for by you and my mother.  You just wait and see.  The Lord will punish you for inflicting pain, torture and suffering upon me.  You’ll find out what happens to you.  What goes around.  Remember that.  You just wait your turn,” I muttered more so to myself, even though my words were meant for my father to hear.  By then, he was already gone from the first landing of the steps.

After about a couple hours of listening to my records and exercising, I headed upstairs to my bedroom to work on my story for school.

I was taking a creative writing class during my freshman year of college.

I made a list of story ideas.  Then I made an outline.

“Hmm.  I could write about something from my imagination.  Then again, we are supposed to include our own experiences into the piece of writing.  I don’t know if I want to include my own experiences.  I hadn’t really experienced much of life.  Most of my formative years were spent either in school, working at my family’s carwash, or home.  I don’t have anything exciting to write about.  I do have lots of drama in my life, though.  There’s the stress of my job at McDonald’s, where the management is always getting after me to work faster when cleaning the lobby area, even though I’m the fastest and hardest worker there.  Everyone depends on me way too much.  But I don’t think working in a restaurant is an exciting place to start my story.  There’s the drama at home.  But I don’t want my instructor nor my classmates to know my business,” I muttered to myself while trying to work out details for writing my story.

I began writing my own version of Cinderella.  I typed a seventeen page story single spaced on my typewriter all in one setting.

When I arrived at Kalamazoo Valley Community College the next morning, I headed to the library to get some studying done.

The homework assignment from the night before for creative writing class was to read a David Mammet play.  I was in the process of reading it when a young lady who was my friend and classmate came over to my table to join me.  “I stayed up a good part of the night working on my story for class.  I wasn’t sure what really to write about.  So I brainstormed for hours until I finally came up with something.  How did you do on yours?”

“I went through almost the same process.  I composed a seventeen page typed single page story all in one setting.  I spent several hours brainstorming like you.  It called Modern Day Cinderella.  I would like to get some feedback on it, if you don’t mind looking it over for me.  If you see any typos, please circle them in pencil,” I said as I pulled out a pencil from my duffle bag and handed it to her.

Accepting the pencil and my story from me, she immersed herself in it, while I went over my notes for cellular biology.

“This is great, Kiki.  I love the sense of humor it.  It resonates with me.  I’m sure it will resonate with so many of our classmates as well.  It’s so realistic.  I like the way you capture the jitters of the character going to her first dance.  It’s lovely,” she said as she handed it back to me.

“Thank you so much,” I said, while accepting the story back from her.

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015


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