Mr. O' Riley's Violin

Probably not going to write more, as I usually don't. But I hope you like it.

 I feel like punching the fat lump of a woman next to me. I think she should have bought two plane tickets, one for her body, the other for her butt. I know I'm being mean here, but why is it always me who is trapped with the annoying companion on trips like this? First it was Aunt Lola on my 13th birthday RV trip to the Grand Canyon, now this? I think back wistfully to the itchy bug bites and thunder storms, and thought just how much I prefer it over the situation I am currently in. 

"More peanuts?" The stewardess asks and I shake my head. What, is she blind? Obviously, a lack of peanuts would be the worst of my problems in this scenario. 

She carries on to the next passenger behind me like a robotic Barbie doll. When I was little, I owned the Airplane Barbie play set with the airplane with the cheap plastic microphone that you could talk into and pretend to be the captain. 

Sometimes I still have haunting thoughts on airplanes, like some huge five-year-old hand will reach down and grab me, like I am the Barbie doll. 

I try to adjust my butt on my seat so that less of the woman, who is asleep, is resting on me. But her head reluctantly falls in my lap, spilling drool on my new pair of jeans from Bloomingdales. I push it lightly so that it rests on the window and check my watch. It is 4:17 in Boston time, meaning I have two more hours until my plane lands in Malibu. 

The reason I am moving to Malibu, and yes I am moving to Malibu, is because my parents think I have a "gifted mind". I got a scholarship at some fancy art school, and I care so much that I don't even remember what the name of it is. No offense to Malibu-ians, but my ideal school year isn't exactly hanging with a bunch of ultra-tan blond-wads and sculpting at the same time. 

No, my best friend Alice is all the way back in Boston. And sure, my house isn't top notch, but it's home. The truth is, my family isn't all that rich. I have five siblings, and I'm the oldest. We all live with out parents in a four bedroom house, and the last two bedrooms are more like closets if you ask me. 

My parents never really cared about my art, which is mostly sketches and paintings that I do in school. So when I was asked to show a drawing at a fancy art night in the center of town, they couldn't care less. But when the chance arose for me to go to a school for FREE (Daddy's favorite word), I don't think Daddy or Mama could say no. 

So now I'm on a plane, already four hours away from all of my friends and siblings, and our simple house on Mulberry street, right above Wilmer Jackson's, who I plan to marry, apartment. And right below from Mrs. Colin and her cats, who she lets me pet on Sundays when I get home from church. I can only go to see Mrs. Colin and her cats after church because Mama says I'm too busy with schoolwork on normal days. 

And I live right next to Alice and her brothers and her Mama, and we walk to school together with her brothers. And on my other side is Thomas O' Riley, who teaches at my school and he teaches music. Sometimes Mr. O' Riley brings in his violin and lets us test it out. And right across from us is Mary and Jasper Michaels and all their kids, they have six too. 

I can only wonder, as I have this fat mess blubbering next to me, if I should have told Mama and Daddy no, that I wasn't leaving to go to this school and live with this host family that I've never met. I am no good at making friends, and I already have one and that's all I need. But it's too late now, so I look out the window at the setting sun and try to think of Boston and Wilmer Jackson and Mrs. Colin and her cats and Mr. O' Riley's violin. 

Author's Note

I am not sure