After reading my previous story about divorce, my therapist gave me yet another challenge. She asked me to reverse the roles. The dad was the bad one, the girl the oldest. She also asked me to write solely from the point of view of the oldest daughter, whose life I based around my own, including her friends and teacher and a majority of her life. Except my brother is older than me and my parents are already divorced.
Introduction
Hi. My name is Claire Williams. I am eleven-years-old and in the fifth grade. I have a small group of really good friends, an awesome, fun teacher, and a decent report card. My life is pretty O.K. Well, except one thing. My parents are separating.
Chapter One
I hear them bickering, back and forth. Back and forth. The shouting fills the hallway, or what I can see of it through my wide-open door. There’s a faint light coming from the living room, where they are.
“You’re just a lazy fat *beep*!” Mommy shouts. I imagine the scene in my head. My mom standing in front of Daddy, who is on the couch playing on his phone. Her brown hair is in a loose bun. Daddy glances up from his phone.
“Yeah, okay,” he says half-heartedly.
I hear stomping, and a door slamming. Mommy’s gone. I slink out of bed and quietly walk to the living room. Daddy has set his phone down, and is staring at the door. I head back to my room before he sees me. I turn on the nightlight beside my bed, and the small lamp on my desk across the room. I check the closet before closing its door, then close the door to the hall. I pull out my tablet and click on a movie. I have trouble sleeping a lot of times, and my television is too loud.
Mommy still isn’t home in the morning. Daddy is snoring on the couch. I walk into the room next to mine to help my baby brother, Aiden, get ready. Usually Mommy would do this, but on the days she leaves, it becomes my job. I help him pull on his red-striped shirt and his shorts. I sit him down at our brown, wooden dining table and set a cold piece of leftover pizza from last night in front of him. Mommy doesn’t usually let us have pizza, but it was Aiden’s birthday, and that’s what he wanted.
I shower and change into a t-shirt that says “Be YOU Tiful” on it and a pair of jeans. I shake awake Daddy, who is only in his boxers. He slips on a pair of shorts and a white shirt with some show from the 80s on it. I loop my arms through the straps of my blue backpack, which is decently light. It’s got a few books and my binder in it. I take Aiden’s hand and Daddy leads us outside. He has a bright green Jeep as a car. The doors are off. I always think I’m so cool, arriving at school in a doorless vehicle. I want a Jeep just like his when I’m older. I get in the Jeep. I always sit behind the driver’s seat, which is super pushed back, so he can fit his round belly behind the wheel. The drive to school is silent. Aiden practices writing the ABC’s in one of my old notebooks. He’s just learning them, being six and all. Daddy stops in front of the school. I unbuckle Aiden for him, and usher him out the door. As soon as we enter the school, Aiden waddles off down the Kindergarten hallway. I go to the Fifth Grade hall. Kids are seated on either side, reading or writing or studying notes. I sit next to my friend, Abby, and pull out a medium-sized book. Her book is bigger than mine, and she’s nearly done with it.
My reading level is far above most of my classmate’s. And I read pretty fast. But Abby reads faster. She read an eight hundred page book in a day! It takes me at least three days to read a book that big.
She gives me that I will make you question everything look. Black-framed glasses sit atop her broad nose. She has dark eyes and straight black hair. She is of Korean origin, and often sends me sticky-notes with Korean on them that I have no clue what they say. So I reply in French, which she cannot understand. I only know a bit, so I just say random things like; J’ai eu une pomme de terre pour le dîner.
That means “I had a potato for dinner”. I also know a bit of sign language. I watch this show where there’s a deaf person that does sign language, so I pick up a few words. I give her the “potato” sign before turning back to my book. Soon, our teacher, Miss Perick, calls us into her classroom. I am seated next to my close friend, Liana. She always wears her frizzy brown hair in a braid, and is of Philippine origin. She has tan skin, and a scar on the side of her nose. She says a dog bit her.
“Hey,” I say casually.
“‘Sup,” she says. I set my book at the edge of the table and get my binder from my bookbag. It lands under our shared table with a loud thump. Liana laughs.
“That was a lot louder than I thought it would be,” I say.
“Yup,” Liana says. I greet my other friend, Ainsly, with a “hey”. Her honey-colored hair is pulled back with a pink headband, her blue eyes innocent and energetic.
A few other students file in. I unstack a chair and scoot it up to the desk I share with Liana. I do my morning work, which consists of five math problems. One of my other close friends, Paola, taps me on the shoulder.
“Have you seen my squiddle drawing?” she asks. I shake my head. A squiddle is basically a squid with anime eyes. Abby and Paola like drawing them. Paola’s dark, chin-length hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She smiles, flashing her perfect teeth. Her skin is creamered-coffee colored. She is of Hispanic origin. Kaya, another one of my friends, enters the classroom, ever-late. She has fair skin, and her light brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, as usual.
“Hey, Kaya, have you seen my squiddle drawing?” Paola asks her.
“No,” Kaya replies in her not-so-subtle African accent. She transferred in November. She’s a great artist, and spends her recesses drawing things she calls “furries”, which are animals she makes up. Abby and I spend our recesses reading, while Liana and Paola play soccer with the boys and, sometimes, Miss Perick, who played soccer in college.
“Oh,” Paola says sadly, and shuffles back to her seat. I hear her “oh” again, but more excited this time. She holds up a drawing of a rainbow squiddle with big eyes. I give her a teasing smile and open my book.
The day goes by in a blur. In science we learn about ecosystems. Social Studies, Globalization. Writing, quotation marks. Math, multiplying decimals. Reading, TDA (Text Dependant Analysis). At recess, Abby and I get into one of our “screaming matches”. We basically scream at each other for no apparent reason while our friends watch and, occasionally, join in. It’s really fun.
Mommy picks Aiden and me up through the carline. She gives us a tired smile as we get in her grey Toyota.
“Hey, guys,” she says. “Sorry I walked out on you last night. Your father can be… difficult sometimes. Did you have a good day?”
I let Aiden answer first.
“Yeah!” he says excitedly. “I counted to a hundred today!”
“Really?” Mommy says in her voice she uses when talking to him. “That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you!”
I open my mouth to tell her about the Screaming Match today, but she’s already turned on the radio and is humming to herself.
I let out a barely audible sigh and pull out my book once more.
Chapter Two
What is court? That’s something I’ve wondered about for quite some time. All I know about it is what I see in movies. A person standing in a wooden box with a lot of people on wooden benches watching them. A judge slamming down a gavel and saying, “Court now in session.”
Mommy said yesterday that we would be going to court. So she and Daddy can get seperated. I don’t want them to get divorced, but I want the shouting to stop. The echoes of their screams keep me awake long after they’ve gone to sleep.
There’s a knock on my door, and I look up from my book. Some of the other characters are about to try to poison the main character.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“It’s Daddy,” a deep voice replies.
“Come in!” I call back. The door creaks open, giving me a good view of all the stickers I’ve stuck on it. There’s barely any room left, and I still have a lot of stickers to put up from Valentine’s Day and Easter. Everyone knows I like stickers, so that’s what I often get. At least from people that don’t know me very well.
“Are you ready?” Daddy asks. I get up off my bed and straighten the black dress I’m wearing.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Don’t wrinkle your *beep* dress,” he scolds, and shoves me out of my room. I manage to snag my phone before leaving.
Daddy scares me when he’s been drinking. He hits me. That’s why Mommy filed the divorce. And why she plans to take Aiden and me away from him.
I don’t think I’m supposed to know that. But I overheard her conversation on the phone once. I had a stomach virus, and she had stayed home with me. She must’ve thought I was asleep.
Mommy is waiting in the car with Aiden when I walk out of the house. She gestures for me to get into the front seat beside her, and points at Daddy’s Jeep. He scowls at her and gets into his own car.
“Mommy, should Daddy be driving when he’s been drinking?” I ask her, staring as my dad backs out of the driveway and nearly runs over a mailbox.
“I don’t give a *beep* if he gets in a wreck. He deserves it,” she growls, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white. I’ve never seen her like this.
She pulls out of the driveway and turns the opposite way that Daddy went.
“Daddy went the other way,” I say.
“I know,” Mommy replies, keeping her gaze on the road ahead.
A few minutes of silence pass, and I move around in my seat uncomfortably. I don’t want to pull out my phone, there’s nothing on there that I think will entertain me.
“Mommy?” I ask slowly.
“Yes, honey?” Mommy says, offering me a strained smile.
“Why are you so mad?” I say.
“Claire, honey…” Mommy meets my gaze for a moment before looking back at the road. “I don’t think you could understand.”
“I can!” I exclaim defiantly. Mommy gives me a long look.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she orders quietly so Aiden can’t hear. He’s not the best at keeping secrets.
“I won’t,” I promise. She turns the wheel so we go around a corner. After a moment, she leans in.
“Your father filed against me. He wants me to go to jail. He’s saying I did all the things he did,” she tells me, her voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s insane!” I exclaim, not bothering to keep my voice down.
“Shh!” Mommy warns quietly. “I know. And that’s why I need your statement. I know it’s a lot to ask but-”
“I’ll do it,” I say bravely, cutting her off. Mommy’s expression softens.
“Are you sure?” she asks, furrowing her brown eyebrows. I have the same eyebrows and hair as her. But she has brown eyes, and mine are green.
“One-hundred-percent positive!” I say, forcing cheerfulness. I’m not entirely sure what I should say in my statement, but if it’ll help Mommy, I’ll do it. I never want to see Daddy again.
Mommy pulls up to a big grey building. Stone stairs lead up to fancy-looking wooden doors. Mommy takes my hand, then Aiden’s. We walk up the stairs together.
Chapter Three
I know what court is now. It’s full of old men speaking loudly, of gavels slamming down, of long speeches. All in all, it is full of boredom. Mommy tells me I can’t write or draw or play on my phone. So I sit and stare at the judge and make up imaginary worlds in my head.
My favorite world, the only one I’ve written about, is this world where everyone can be whatever they want to be. They can change their appearance and have whatever they want to have. Money doesn’t exist there, so no one is above anyone. There’s not discrimination or racism or sexism. Everyone is equal.
I guess, in a way, that would be a Communist world. I mean, other than the magical things. We were taught in school that Communists are evil and power-hungry. The idea of Communism is nice, but it never works out.
I’m snapped out of my dream world when Mommy taps my hand.
“Huh?” I whisper.
“Time to go,” she replies. I grab Aiden’s hand, and we leave. I don’t bother glancing at Daddy as we exit. He may be my father, but he does not deserve my love.
Today is Saturday. The weekend is usually bland for me. I either work on my story about the imaginary world, read, text my friends, or watch television. Often all of those things. Daddy is across the country, sent there by his employers. They often send him away.
The house is quiet, save for the snores of my brother. He always sleeps until noon on the weekends, but I don’t know how he does it. I can’t sleep past eight A.M.
I slowly open the door to my room, hoping to be quiet to not wake Mommy or Aiden. It lets out a long, low creak. I step out into the hallway and head left, towards the living room and the kitchen. I have my laptop tucked under my arm, and I set it on the couch as I pass. I open the freezer, next to the refrigerator, and pull out a tub of caramel ice cream. Mommy bought it for me, though she is unaware of the fact that I eat it every morning on the weekends. I’m always awake before everyone else.
I get a spoon from the utensil drawer and plop down on the green-brown couch that we’ve had as long as I can remember. I peel the lid of the ice cream container off and turn on a television show on my computer. I’ve seen every episode of Girl Meets World a million times, and I turn that on now.
Soon I hear the low creak of a door opening, and I scurry to put the ice cream away. Mommy comes into the living room, in a tank top and underwear.
“Morning,” she says sleepily.
“Good morning,” I reply, smiling and turning back to my tv show.
I hear her open a pantry, and then there is the soft clank a plate or bowl makes when they hit the counter. There is the sound of cereal and milk being poured. She sits on the armchair next to the couch and turns on the tv. I close my computer.
“Sleep well?” Mommy asks, lifting the spoon of cereal and milk to her lips.
I nod. It being Friday, I stayed up until one A.M., texting my friends that were also up and watching Girl Meets World. But I feel fully rested. One time I went to school on two hours of sleep. I stayed up all night reading the first Divergent book. Two days later I finished the series. It’s one of my favorites.
Suddenly, I hear the faint ringing of a phone. I hurry to my room, and find the screen of my tablet lit up. Liana’s name stretches across the screen. I click ACCEPT and Liana’s tan face appears.
“‘Sup,” she says.
“How’s Saturday?” I reply.
“If I gotta admit, I just woke up. My hair is insane,” Liana answers, lulling her head sleepily, giving me a clear view of her messy brown hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen her hair down, and I’ve known her for nearly a year.
“I can see that,” I say. I laugh as she frowns at me.
“One second.” The view of her falls, and I’m facing a grey bed sheet. About a minute later, Lianna reappears. Her hair is pulled back in a tight braid.
“Better?” She raises an eyebrow and turns away.
“Much,” I say. I hear the faint sound of clacking keyboard keys, and then I hear a teenage male voice.
“What’s up guys! Welcome to my channel! If it’s your first time seeing my face, be sure to subscribe! My name is TJ Millan!”
“Oooh! What video?” I ask. TJ Millan is my favorite videoer.
“He’s reacting to some girl that eats paint,” Liana answers. We’re quiet for a while as Liana watches her video and I search it up on my computer.
I can’t stop laughing at how he reacts to whatever the narrator says in the video about the girl that eats paint. They’re so exaggerated. That’s what makes him my favorite videoer. I’m a lover of humor.
Note:: TJ Millan is based off of PJ Luhmann, my favorite YouTuber. Go check his channel out, he’s hilarious!
Realistic Fiction
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I can see this is based on life. I thank you for keeping it real. I often times find in shows and books that authors overexaggerate situations they have not experienced. For example, they would have written the main character Clair as a devasted girl who because of her parents’ divorce started cutting herself, and doing all these awful things when in reality as a kid you don’t fully understand what’s going on. And that’s what I appreciated most about this piece. It stayed true. Clare is sad and aware of her parents’ divorce, but she doesn’t let it stop her from hanging out with friends. It’s awful that she had to take the place of her mother on certain days, but she is not moaning about it.
Clair is a normal girl despite her circumstance, and I thank you for sheding light on this issue for me.
Even though this is realistic fiction that is from one point of view I would have really liked to know if the mother won her case.
Thank you so much for your feedback! The main character, Claire, was mainly based on my life, with a few changes of course. She looks like me, acts like me, and even deals with things like I do.
I have not written the ending yet and am still deciding what it will be, but I hope you will be satisfied with it! Again, thanks so much for commenting, I love to hear what you think!