Tuesday, April 25, 2006

journal article contin.

She had a safe, secure environment, she had food, she had a good education, but some days she would give anything to get away from her mother. "J, do your chores!" "J. don't talk back to me like that!" "J. hurry, you are going to be late again." Sometimes all she wanted was for her mother to hold her in her arms like she was three and tell her everything would be ok, that this pain wouldn't last forever.
Their displaced relationship had surpassed all normal levels of mother-daughter disputes. J. wanted to die some days just to get away. However, she realized even then her mother wasn't entirely to blame. Her mother was merely a catalyst to the depression.
Grace Montoro was J's primary tormenter. Today she felt like she was fifteen going on four. She had just gotten her learner's permit, but she wondered how someone who yearned for the safety of home could acquire the independence to drive. She felt like she was years away from the adult she was being forced to become in one day. Her tormentor sat two feet away. Grace Montoro. She had just moved into the soprano section in chorus. Grace's section. Grace had just announced loudly to the teacher that all of a sudden her section had gotten "far too crowded" and that "certain people should leave." The weeks and year of persecution broke the already fragile dam. J. trembled inside and couldn't stop it, which only made her feel foolish and ashamed of herself.J put her face in her arms and wept. The teacher noticed but pretended she didn't. She knew her teacher saw, but she wasn't one of the "popular" ones, so the teacher didn't care. A sudden craving for ridiculously childish things flashed through her like a heat wave; her mother, her favorite stuffed animal, the fairy tale book with jagged edges from overuse. She wanted to bake cookies for Halloween with her mother, laughing in pretend frustration as the cat's fragile tail always broke off after it came out of the oven.


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