Rubbed Off On You I had my ear against the doors, listening to my mother speak to that fake pastor. I couldn't stand him. Everything about him so insincere. From the way his pristine white smile would fail to reach his eyes, to the way he couldn’t maintain genuine eye contact if you attempted to carry a meaningful conversation with him. He was a plastic preacher in plastic church, blinding people’s sense of truth just because he could quote from the book of Ruth.
"You know, I was thinking, since my son Ashley and your daughter Kimmy are the same age, maybe she could be a good influence on him and eventually lead him to christ!" She said ecstatically. I hated my name! My mother justified her actions of bestowing …show more content…
“You know that boy of yours is incredibly bright,” he started. I could imagine him, setting his glass of ice water on top of his stupid coaster on his mahogany coffee table, flashing her with his bleached cavity free overbite. “Imagine what works and wonders he could do for the Lord if he were to get saved.” he finished. Sick of the verbal toilet water spewing from his trap, I got up from the door and looked to Kimmy, who was reading some Harry Potter book on her pink hello kitty bed. How ironic, so much for Christian. Isn't Harry Potter supposed to be witchcraft or whatever those Christians call it. Would I really want to be friends with her? Mom wouldn't let me play with my best friends, Dylan and Gerald, because they weren't saved. She claimed I needed peers that could spiritual strengthen me. But was I that desperate? I mean she still slept with a nightlight.
"You wanna go on the desktop or something?" I asked, approaching her. "I could show you that really cool article about osmosis I was talking about, instead of sitting here reading crap literature?" I finished. She looked up at me wide eyed, as if I had strung up a dead cat. "What?" I asked, shrugging. "You said a bad word." She said, putting down her book. I had to stifle a laugh. She looked so serious. "What bad word?" I asked, …show more content…
I try to ignore the fact that she just called me by my first name, which I will forever loath.
“Oh, just to Kimmy’s house.” I say, slamming the door behind me not caring to hear her response. Outside the cool San Francisco air hits me. I tug at the sleeves of my wool cardigan. It took me awhile to get used to the whole concept of San Francisco being summer less. After seven years of living here I kind of like it. I pull up the car to Kimmy’s house and honk the horn. Shortly after, she comes running out the house with her strawberry blonde ponytail flaring behind her like a streamer.
“I called him,” she says pulling out her smartphone from her beige peacoat. She bends over, picking up something from her purse. The small of her back is exposed as she searches through her bag, revealing the small tattoo of an orange pill bottle spilling its red and white capsules. I have a matching one behind my ear. We all have one somewhere on bodies, it is the way dealers can recognize one another. As one could say, this symbol is a family crest of some sort. “He said the deal is still on and we need to meet him on the end of the walking trail.” she finishes, buckling her seat
"You know, I was thinking, since my son Ashley and your daughter Kimmy are the same age, maybe she could be a good influence on him and eventually lead him to christ!" She said ecstatically. I hated my name! My mother justified her actions of bestowing …show more content…
“You know that boy of yours is incredibly bright,” he started. I could imagine him, setting his glass of ice water on top of his stupid coaster on his mahogany coffee table, flashing her with his bleached cavity free overbite. “Imagine what works and wonders he could do for the Lord if he were to get saved.” he finished. Sick of the verbal toilet water spewing from his trap, I got up from the door and looked to Kimmy, who was reading some Harry Potter book on her pink hello kitty bed. How ironic, so much for Christian. Isn't Harry Potter supposed to be witchcraft or whatever those Christians call it. Would I really want to be friends with her? Mom wouldn't let me play with my best friends, Dylan and Gerald, because they weren't saved. She claimed I needed peers that could spiritual strengthen me. But was I that desperate? I mean she still slept with a nightlight.
"You wanna go on the desktop or something?" I asked, approaching her. "I could show you that really cool article about osmosis I was talking about, instead of sitting here reading crap literature?" I finished. She looked up at me wide eyed, as if I had strung up a dead cat. "What?" I asked, shrugging. "You said a bad word." She said, putting down her book. I had to stifle a laugh. She looked so serious. "What bad word?" I asked, …show more content…
I try to ignore the fact that she just called me by my first name, which I will forever loath.
“Oh, just to Kimmy’s house.” I say, slamming the door behind me not caring to hear her response. Outside the cool San Francisco air hits me. I tug at the sleeves of my wool cardigan. It took me awhile to get used to the whole concept of San Francisco being summer less. After seven years of living here I kind of like it. I pull up the car to Kimmy’s house and honk the horn. Shortly after, she comes running out the house with her strawberry blonde ponytail flaring behind her like a streamer.
“I called him,” she says pulling out her smartphone from her beige peacoat. She bends over, picking up something from her purse. The small of her back is exposed as she searches through her bag, revealing the small tattoo of an orange pill bottle spilling its red and white capsules. I have a matching one behind my ear. We all have one somewhere on bodies, it is the way dealers can recognize one another. As one could say, this symbol is a family crest of some sort. “He said the deal is still on and we need to meet him on the end of the walking trail.” she finishes, buckling her seat