New England Skies
September 11, 2001. I was in fourth grade. Pretty normal day at elementary at school, it was nice out, though our principal came over the intercom telling us to stay inside. Me and my friend's looked at each other like, it was really nice out what the hell? Yea, we had a pretty colorful vocabulary in Nathan Clifford Elementary School in Maine of course. Swearing is almost like our specialty. My name to tell you the truth is Danielle. That's all you need to know. After school got out at 3:30 I took my bus that was numbered 50. I always think of myself dying at that age, like it was destined. The bus driver was more lively back then, heh, now he's an old grumpy man, still driving that same bus with the same stupid number. He must have sold his soul or something to that bus. Anyway, back to September 11. I got home, my great grandmother wasn't at the screen door like she always was waiting for me. Walking in the door, she was kind of hard of hearing, I asked her what she was doing standing inches away from the TV. She pointed to something that seemed to explode. I glanced past her and stepped up to the TV. A plane crashed into a tower, then another, I didn't know what was so important about those buildings back then. Of course I was just turned 10 the day before. My great grandmother was Italian, pure Italian, she was an immigrant. She started to mumble things under her breath. "Alright gram, I'll see you later." She nodded and seemed to be transfixed on that damned TV. What the hell was so special about a plane crashing into a tower to a 10 year old? None, unless you were a guy of course. My parents lived upstairs of our condo. It was a pretty old house, I grew up in it though. My sister came rushing past me down the stairs hallway. She was 3 years older than me. "Where are you going?" I asked her, she just shook her head and ran out the door. I was confused, but went up the stairs anyway and just sat in my room doing my homework of course. How boring you might say, yea I know, I was a typical fourth grader.
A few months or it even seemed like weeks, I heard our president who I most truly hate, announce something that we were going to war. I was at my dad's house, my mother and father are divorced... They never told me why though, not even today. My dad was furious, he disappeared out of sight, we were living in his girlfriends house, it was very large and sat at the edge of a lake. His girlfriend hated me with a passion. I was sitting on the furniture eating cereal, she came in, with her nasty cut blond hair, I hated her as much as she hated me, taking my dad away from me. Anyway, she yelled at me and pointed a finger. "What did I tell you about eating in here?! Go downstairs in your room or sit at the counter!" Her son came in, he was gross as hell, he was... Oh god I don't remember like 15 maybe? Same disgusting blond hair. He wrestled with me constantly, and not to mention, he tended to grab certain areas. I didn't want to be around either of them, so I went to my bedroom which was in the basement. Waiting for dinner to be called, I put my super nintendo remote down and ran up the stairs as soon as it was being served. I hated that basement, it was dark cold, and I was afraid someone or something was going to come from the lake and kill me. I remember having Thanksgiving at my dad's there. Everyone was rich, I felt out of place along with my father, I knew deep inside he hated these people. One year, I think I was 12, end of fifth grade. I was in my 'step brother to be's room. He wrestled with me, I was calling out for my dad to help, I could feel and smell his nasty breath on me, finally my father came in he looked infuriated. He literally yanked him off me and smacked him, I remember that clearly, Brian deserved it. My father hated that b*****d child as much as I did. Winter came, I was on my way back from sliding and tubing with my mother. I walked into the door and my dad greeted me, he sat me down on the ledge of the stairs. "Did you have a good time?" He seemed hurt when he said it. I asked him what was wrong. "Well... Cindy was really sick and, she passed away." I couldn't help but shed a few tears for my father despite how much I hated that woman. A year later, fall came, I was 13. We were moving out of the house and going back to our old house that I grew up in as well. It was only a few blocks up the mountain. Well the 'mountain' is actually a hill, but I called it a mountain when I was younger. I was really happy, I helped my father build this house we were going back in. Old and crummy like we were. Maine, that's what you get.
// More to come! //
