Drama Class

Chapter 1 // Late on My First Day

I stared at myself in the mirror running my hands through my hair. The bathroom was smaller than the one at my old apartment. The dark circles under my eyes were too noticeable for my liking. I turned on the cold water and splashed some on my face, hoping that would wake me up even just a little bit. I turned off the water and dried my face sighing as I stepped out of the bathroom. I looked around the hallway, everything so familiar from my childhood. I made my way back to my old childhood bedroom. I pulled out my black skinny jeans and plain black t shirt, quickly dressing myself.

My first class started in just an hour and I knew I would be late if I didn't hurry. Suddenly loud coughs started from the other room. Deep, desperate coughs. I quickly ran out of my room and down the hall to where my mother sat in bed. Her eyes squeezed shut and her tiny fragile hands grasped the dovet desperately. I quickly stepped to her side and put my hands on her shoulders to steady her shaking body. Under my fingers, through the fabric of her night shirt I could feel her tender bones. That's all that was there, skin and bone.

It had been a few months since my mother became ill. No one being around to look after her since my father passed away. That's when I had decided to leave this place in search of a new life, new memories other than the ones that haunted me in this house. But here I am, 18 years old and living with my mother. I had even transferred schools, to be here, to look after the woman who looked after me so long ago.

"I'll get you some water." I spoke softly. Stepping away from her I quickly rushed into the kitchen filling a glass of water and returning to her bed side. I forced the glass into her shaky hands as she quickly gulped down the drink. When she finished I took the glass from her hands and stood there.

"Thank you Harry." She said between deep shaky breaths.

"Your welcome." I muttered back, shifting my weight on my feet. It had been so long since I've seen my mother, leaving when I was 16 to live with my sister. I hadn't even spoken to her, since the night I left. Since everything around me fell apart, but here I am, looking after the woman who birth me, raised me, helped me with my homework, tucked me in, tied my shoes, but also blamed me for my fathers suicide.

"I should start breakfast." She spoke softly, not daring to meet my eyes as she slowly threw her feet over the side of the bed. The lifted herself off the mattress but only to find herself falling to the floor. My arms instinctively reached out to catch her before she hit the ground. I lifted her into my arms and laid her back onto the bed.

"I'll make you something." I said turning on my heel to return to the kitchen. It's strange to see her like this. The woman who would chase me and Gemma in the yard, or who would stand in the kitchen cooking out favorite meals. She couldn't even hold up her own body weight, which wasn't more to even be 100 pounds. I let out a stressed sigh before popping some oatmeal into the microwave for her. I never in my life imagined being back in this house, in this town for that matter. Pulling my cellphone out of my pocket I notice the time 8:57. My first class starting at 9:30 I was sure to be late, to my first class, on my first day. I mentally curse myself on waiting till the last minute to come here.

"Wonderful." I muttered to myself as the timer to the microwave began going off. Pulling out the hot oatmeal, I pour a glass of juice and take them back to my mothers room. I sit them on her bedside and stand next to her.

"Thank you Harry, it really means so much you would go through all this trouble for me." I scratch the back of my neck.

"Yeah." Is all I can think of to say to her. What can I say to her. I've had nothing to say to her since I left 2 years ago and I still have nothing to say.

"I've got to get going, I'm going to be late." Well that's a start I guess. I think as I make my way to the door.

"I'll, uh, come check on you around lunchtime." I mutter before walking out, not bothering waiting for a response.