The Past Unknown

Falling Down

Eighteen is a weird age. You are technically considered an adult. You have all of these cool adult responsibilities like voting. Or you can choose to throw your life away, like by joining the army. You can rent an apartment, get a credit card, buy a pack of cigarettes, all for the price of an 18th birthday ticket. You all of a sudden overnight gain all of these responsibilities, like sign your own permission slips, or for the hell of it, take yourself out of school. All of these legal rights, just there, except if you are like the 90 some percent of us, you are still with your parents who dictate your life. And what they don't tell you, you need them. You aren't ready overnight when you turn eighteen to run into the world. You still will want and need the guidance of those who you've known your whole life, whether or not you like it. They are who you turn to when you pick one options when you turn eighteen.

I had pulled myself out of sixth hour and spend the time sitting on the toilet looking though my phone. This was one of the "you turn eighteen, but you live with your mom who still has the say moments". As the bell rang, I pulled my pants up and left with the rest of the crowd. I grabbed my old green bike our neighbor had given to me and began pedaling off home. It was rusted and the chain fell off once a day, but I took it as a challenge of building endurance as I biked the hills of Seattle alone; rain or shine. I would take the bus, but it wasn't always accurate in this part of town. With the rise of wealthy tech people, came the defunding of public services to neighborhoods like mine. No teslas lined our streets. Not even a prius. And with my intention of being able to someday leave this area, getting to school on time was always a must. You'd probably be wondering why I even then skipped a class.

Mom had been persistent on the idea that I was to finish high school with the rest of my grade. She had told me these were the years I wouldn't want to miss out on. My teachers always told us college would be the years we would live for, but my mom wouldn't know that. She was a high school drop out. It wasn't that I was also going to drop out, but I didn't see the point on taking one class after the other to fill up the last semester when I had already met my graduation requirements. Needless to say, it was a daily fight, in which my mom was winning. But today, I had won, a perk of turning eighteen as of last week.

"Home mom!" I yelled throwing my boots off into the pile of 4 inch heals and worn down leather boots. "Mom!"

"I'm in here," I heard her raspy voice call, followed by a cough.

"I thought you said you were going to quit," I scolded her, sitting down across from her on a musty green couch.

I raised my eyebrows and rested my elbows on my knees. She quickly patted the cigarette out.

"I thought you'd get home later," Mom replied.

"I still would've been able to smell it," I rolled my eyes.

"You know how it is," Mom argued. "Work is stressful. Living in this city is stressful. This helps me relax."

She gestured to her ashtray.

"Okay, well it's effecting my body inhaling it around the house," I replied standing up, "And I didn't consent to that."

"You're getting smart," Mom chuckled, "And cheeky. Maybe too smart for your own good."

"Well I get it from you," I replied as I walked into the kitchen. "Or do I get it from the mysterious father you never talk about?"

"You know we don't talk about him," She yelled, coughing again.

I opened the fridge and peered in grabbing a leftover boll of tomato soup. I stuck my finger in the bowl and tasted it. I frowned spitting it out.

"Well you said when I was eighteen you would let me know," I yelled back. "Also this soup tastes like its been in here for eighteen years."