The sink in our kitchen was being slow building it's water pressure. It gained and got louder just like the pains in my head trying to cope. My parents argued in the living room about organizing and I had a section of our kitchen counter cutting tomatoes for soup. Rinsing then and chopping chopping chopping. It was terribly routine having to have my head beating about the sink getting louder until it finally stopped. The conversation in the living room adjacent continued. My parents, Andy and zae, still carried on about decorations and other bullshit to do with the upcoming holiday.
My mother loved things. Anything she could get or save or make or afford-she bought or took or bartered or scrounged. And my father was simply messy. Which made a combination of absolute horder chaos. I've never had friends over to my house. Never got to bring my boyfriend home for dinner or movies cuddled on the couch. And especially no room for my instrument. The piano. The flowing of the keys and the delicacy of nimble fingers gracing their white and black tips absolutely brought about a flame in me which refused be extinguished (even though I could barely play).
But, where are my manners. I could never write my own story in my head without first telling the nonexistent participant my name!
My name is Alexandrea Zoe newboe (pronounced new-boy basically even though my parents preferred an accent between the o and e which cannot be explained in this brain-born monologue). But everyone, including my parents calls me Zoe. Why, you may ask-because when I was born my parents wanted to name me after their A and Z first names. They said they held every name between them in their protected stream of letters but could never be so simple as to pick one of their prey, they had to use their own letters. This romantic crap was back when I guess they actually loved each other still. So they named me a and z. The only issue with that is when my dad said I was 8 months he already knew I was dumber than a box of rocks so he called me Zoe so my name went from z-a instead of correctly a-z. Though my mom try's to cover it up saying he just wanted her letter first in my name. Either way I don't really care.
So with my autobiography I drowned out my parents in the other room and hummed bohemian rhapsody in my heat. Shuffling in my dark purple slippers from sink to cutting board still attempting to prep said soup which I had never even made before.
Several minutes later I dumbed in the tomatoes to boiling water while my dad appeared suddenly after I'd been boiling the water for 20 minutes and he walked by about 10 times-continued to tell me why I was so wrong and that dinner was ruined. And for the millionth time restated his favorite phrase "and this is why I called you Zoe" ya know, for the idiocy factor.
