Band X

Chapter 8: Depressed Scumbags

I'm still riding the high from last night's successful singing debut. I hum Water Under the Bridge as I do a little dance around my room. I spot something move out of the corner of my eye and let out a yelp when I see my mother standing there, silently watching my performance.

I glare at her. "You startled me! Why are you watching me?"

"Well, I was going to tell you to get ready to go the doctor, but I was suddenly mesmerized by your performance." She's trying to look serious, but I can see she's trying not to laugh.

I flop down on my bed. "Don't laugh at me!"

She sits down next to me. "I'm not laughing! OK, maybe a little, but I was laughing with you, not at you."

I glare at her. "But I wasn't laughing."

My mother sighs and hauls herself off the bed. "Well, I can't argue with that. C'mon, we have to go. Downstairs in 10."

She leaves the room in her own, uniquely purposeful way. My mother always looks like she's late for something. She never drifts from one room of the house to the other; no, her movements suggest she's on a mission of some sort. And she usually is. She solves our problems, or at least tries her very best to, is always working whether she is grading papers, helping a student with a difficult assignment, or trying to finish her own novel. I know she's like to chuck it all and just be a writer, but, as she says, she and our father are a team and they need the whole team's income to keep our house running.

Mom is also always starting a new project. Lately, she's been talking about adopting a senior dog or maybe even just fostering one. My dad tells her she's already too busy with everything else she has to do and wants to accomplish but I'm sure he knows that saying she can't do it will just make her want to do it all the more. I'm not sure how I feel about having an old, possibly dying dog in our house. It sounds depressing, only owning this animal for a short period of time. I'd rather have a puppy that would live with us for years, maybe until Michael and I are adults. But, mom will most likely get her way and sooner than later an ancient, smelly dog will waddle into the house to live out its senior years with us.

As if on cue, she yells from the bottom of the stairs. "I don't hear any water running! Get ready now! You only have five minutes left!"

I throw on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, grab a mismatched pair of socks, and trudge into the bathroom. Teeth brushed, hair thrown up in a messy ponytail, face washed, and I'm on my way down the stairs to meet my mother. Let's see what Dr. Lim has to say about my health and maybe my future.

In between school, homework, and my slightly impressive singing debut with the band, I had to go in for those medical tests. I had another MRI but this one wasn't as bad as the ones I had in the past. The machine was newer, they explained to me, so that meant it was also bigger. The last time I was in one of these metal echo chambers, they gave me a tranquilizer that didn't calm me down at all and my mom had to stay in the room where she sat, hunched over, holding my hand through the whole thing.

This time, I was able to talk myself into going back alone and it took a lot less time. I was ridiculously proud of being able to go through this by myself. My mother stared at me in surprise when I told her she could stay in the waiting room. Besides feeling like I might actually be nearing adulthood sometime soon, I liked shocking her. She acts like the knows everything, and actually says, "I know everything" or "I'm always right" from time to time. My dad usually just rolls his eyes at her and says, "Sure you do!" in an exaggerated, sarcastic tone of voice. The thing is, she usually does know most things, if not everything, and she's usually right. I'd never admit that to her, of course, but it's true. If she knew I felt that way she'd never let me live it down.