Elliot

Five

I remember one summer night, three years ago, Mom and I were baking cookies in the kitchen while my Dad was fast asleep and Clara was out in the backyard. She wanted to teach me how to bake so that I have a skill that I could use when I grow up.

And surprise, I haven't baked again since that last time with my Mom, and I surely think that I'd never bake again.

The cookies that I made looked like shit. Like actual shit... I mean it.

I don't even know how it ended up like that. When I pulled it out from the oven, it just happened. Though it doesn't taste like shit, even though it looked like shit, but the taste isn't shit.

I got the ingredients right, but the procedure? Guess not.

Mom said it was okay. "Practice makes perfect," she said. But, I never tried to bake again after that disaster. Baking isn't my specialty and I think it would never be.

Hands down to her cookies though. She makes the best cookies in town, actually, I never tasted any other cookies except for the ones that my Mom made. Nonetheless, still the best cookies ever.

Dad was up early—scratch that. Dad left early because of his work. There's a note on the table saying that breakfast is already made and it's up to us whether we eat it or not.

I'll eat it, of course. Who says no to breakfast?

The food was pancakes and waffles. I've always loved those foods specially with the perfect syrup combined. There's coffee on the counter but I didn't get one. After eating breakfast, I took a shower and got ready and went to school.

Lucky me we don't have any exams or quizzes today, especially in our French subject. I can't have another low score anymore. That subject will be the reason if I don't pass this year's semester. It will be the death of me.

I have a seat mate in my French class, her name's Manta. She's a Black woman who spoke elegance and virtue and she's very unpredictable. Today she talks to you, tomorrow she doesn't. She helps me sometimes when I struggle in French but it's no help to me. I still can't understand anything and I'm never going to understand a thing in that language.

With homework—yeah, maybe her help could be useful, but in exams? Don't think so. Maybe it's useful, maybe it's not.

School tired the shit out of me again. Can't wait 'til I graduate but that's still years away from now. I have to repeat all of these for the next three years and finally have freedom. Or do I have freedom right after I graduate?

Dad said I need to find a job right away, but I don't think I would get a job that easily. With my unpredictable mood swings and uncontrollable anger issues and my lazy ass self, I don't think any company would hire a guy like me.

Maybe I'll stick to baking cookies and start a business? Nah, that's lame. I don't want to be some manager-kind-of-guy doing manager-kind-of-stuffs.

Offices? Nope. Suits aren't for me. It doesn't look good on me and they're super uncomfortable.

I'll figure it out once I graduate. For now, I need to pass all my subjects, especially French. Fucking French.

Clara was home when I arrived. Dad was nowhere to be found 'round the house so I'm assuming he's still in the shop. I tossed my bag to the floor and lay flat to the bed.

I want to sleep but I can't. Do I need to sleep? Maybe. The day was tiring and I surely needed rest. My body won't let me though, so I think I'll just get up and do something very tiring.

When I went downstairs, I found Clara sitting on the sofa and watching TV. She found me staring at her and she gave me a ridiculous shake of her head.

I responded with a shake of head and walked away. "I'm going out. You comin'?" I asked before I opened the door.