I have six more hours to write the 300 or more so that I need to write to hit my goal for today. I’ve written 862 words today, but that was also in an attempt to make up for the words I needed to write for yesterday. What can I say? Life got murky, I still tried to focus and get things done, but things got a little hazy. At least I’m a tad bit more focused now. But just a tad. Here is my 10 minute write. Its part of my introduction to Act two, part one.
Silent munching on manicotti and bits of the salad that didn’t hit the floor was a sign of a truce. Their biggest fights seemed to happen over dinner, so the three of us siting together with neither parent trying to kill each other was both nice and odd. Plates of piping hot cheese filled noodles were passed around, covered in sauce, eaten and cleared without a single war like declaration of hatred. I could barely eat my food for the anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to be dropped.
“Okay,” I finally said once Daddy had taken my half eaten plate away without a word about wasted food, “What is going on here?”
They both looked at me, silent and eyes wide, as if to say, “I didn’t do it” and escape the blame.
“The last time we had dinner like this was when you told me you were getting a divorce. Now, unless you’re getting back together and are trying to break it to me, can you just clue me into what is going on?” My impatience was pushing the edge of tolerable indigence, so I sat back and tried to keep from crossing my arms over my chest like a child.
They sat silently,taking turns looking at each other then looking at me and then back to each other. Mom spoke first. “Your father and I have been talking about Dr. Oh’s diagnosis of your eyes. Along with all the issues that have been coming up for you at school,” I opened my mouth to interrupt, but she held up a hand to stop me. “We no longer think that Hell High is a good fit for you.” She sounded the way Mr. Kercher sounded when he fired me a month in to my first job at the Ice Cream Shoppe.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They can’t provide for you the type of services you’ll need to be successful,” Daddy added.
“You said I didn’t need services, just prayer,” I said.
Mom looked at Daddy, who kept his eyes on me. She shook her head and rubbed at the space between her nose and forehead the way she always did when she was annoyed with Daddy. Daddy swallowed hard before saying, “You do need prayer. We all need prayer.” He added the last part before Mom could object, “but you also need more help then your school is willing to provide.”