My mom returned home to our little house in the suburbs, but she called us every day. It wasn’t like she left me or anything. I mean, I knew she loved me and stuff. When I finally got to go home in the dying days of summer, I was thrilled. I even looked forward to going back to school. That’s fucked up, I know. I was just so tired of the sterile, hospital-like environments that I had spent my summer in. While normal kids where outside in the sun, playing in the pool, I was in a steaming car. Constantly on the road. Things went back to normal for a while after my dad and I returned. But I could still hear my mom’s muffled tears at nights, and my father’s not-so-muzzled rants of harassments aimed at my mother.
Another long lecture was finally over when Teach deactivated the projector, and its slumberous wheezing came to an abrupt end. I noticed quite a few backs straightening up like they’ve just heard a gun go off. So much for paying attention. I really didn’t mind Teach, or Ms.Bowham I should say, at all. She was understanding, well prepared and had written one of my all time favorite poems, “Depression and I”, but the whole idea of spending a summer learning how to write creatively was just excruciating for me. I had been looking forward so much to going backpacking with my friends, but that was out of the question once I decided to pop ritalin like they were skiddles. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was just having a wild night out with some friends and shit got out of hand. Of course, nobody wanted to hear my side of the story. I was put on something like a 24-hour watch and forced to see a shrink once a week. I wasn’t allowed out on weekends and I was more or less forced to apply for this course in creative writing. I can’t lie though; I was a little excited when I got the letter of acceptance. I’m not really sure whether it was because they liked my essay or because that it meant some freedom.
These last couple of months had been like serving time in prison, with my mom in the role of the most obnoxious prison warden ever. She even picked me up at school, every day. Shit like that isn’t exactly cool when you are 19-years old and have a license. I guess it was to be expected though. I wasn’t that far off from entering the oblivion that night.
©Alexander Berg Mattsson