SHARDS (Not Edited Yet)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Gasping, I sit up straight in bed; the sunlight streaming through the windows. Getting up, I climb downstairs. There I find mom cooking in the kitchen, the smell of toast and eggs fill the air. "Good morning sunshine," mom calls. Groggy eyed I walk into the kitchen, a napkin, fork, and knife lie neatly arranged along the side of an enormous plater. My eyes widen at the sight, five large fried eggs, two pieces of toast, and a pile of identically cut triangle strawberries on the side. Tearing my eyes away, I look up into the beaming face of my mom "Surprise!".

"What's the occasion," I ask, mom, frowns, "Does there have to be an occasion to have a big breakfast"? "No," I blurt, having mom in this great of a mood is a rarity so I'm going to keep it lasting as long as possible.

I slide into the chair, marveling at the breakfast. Mom says, "Since you didn't have dinner, I thought you'd be hungry". I freeze, the dream comes rushing back to me making me gasp. 

Mom looks at me, "Are you alright?" she asks. Quickly recovering, I nod, giving her a reassuring smile. At least I hope it is.

I eat in silence, enjoying the breakfast as mom babbles on about something, and me, pretending to listen. Doing my best to forget about the dream. But, unfortunately, a big breakfast can't rid you of thinking about it. Why have that kind of dream, how come it affects me much more than others, what's going on? I ask myself over and over until all that is left on the plate is the crumbles from the toast, grease from the eggs, and the red juices from the strawberries.

Getting up from the table, I thank mom for the breakfast and inform her that I am taking a shower, and clamber up the stairs. Turning on the water, I wait for it to warm up. The steam from the water fills the bathroom, letting me know that it is ready. I spend a good ten minutes scrubbing off the filth from yesterday. Cleaned with fresh clothes and all, I wave mom goodbye.

...

Turning towards the road, I head down the hill. Trotting back to Westchester Highschool. Looking around, the birds seem to look at me with sympathy. As if they can see into my little mind finding the puzzle, and the answer. Pitying me, cause they know I won't ever be able to understand.

Climbing up the stairs, I blend in with the rest of the students getting off the buses. Slowly I make my way to the classroom, taking a quick stop at my locker to drop stuff off.

Walking into the classroom, Ms. Paterson acknowledges my presence by stomping up to me. My papers I dropped yesterday were held tightly in her hands and an ugly scowl ironed onto her face. Before she can say anything, "thanks,". Her face transforms, her eyebrows raise, and her mouth opens slightly. I have never seen this expression on her face before. My best guess is that she is shocked or surprised at my response. I slip past her, sliding into my seat.

I don't think I have ever, in the whole six years that I've known her, I have ever said thank you. While I am a Senior in high school I still knew her for a while before I went to the upper grades. Why I knew her before, I don't know.  Anyway, it's not like I was thanking her because I wanted to. I just don't feel like dealing with Ms. Paterson today. I sit quietly listening to the lesson, trying not to think about anything.

Ms. Paterson calls on me, "Hu. What was the question?" Ms. Paterson, not answering, "well?". All eyes were on me, waiting impatiently for any certain sign that I did not know the answer, just like every other time she has called on me. 

Quickly, I think about what she was talking about in the last five minutes. "Slaves", I say, "the doors are famous because those are the doors the African American slaves went through to board the ship that will soon take them across the ocean".