No one came to pick me up from Grandma Emmie’s I had Essay

No one came to pick me up from Grandma Emmie’s. I had to walk home, which was a trial considering the approaching storm. The winds blew heavily, howling in my ears. The smell of dust and wet earth was everywhere, indicating the storm had already begun. I ran to my house, a good three blocks away from Grandma Emmie’s. In the time of three minutes, my clothes were soaked, my hair as well. I ran faster- I was not in the mood for a cold.

I rang the doorbell, wrapping my arms around myself to feel warmer. My mom opened the door, looking rather calm considering my appearance. She looked as glamourous as always. She wore a green silk dress, matching heels and had tied her luscious blonde hair into a bun. She reminded me of the retro ladies on the old DVD covers in Grandma Emmie’s house.

“Took you long enough,” She said calmly.

“Well, it wouldn’t have if you decided you would pick me up from Grandma’s,” I replied coldly.

“I kept calling her, told her I wouldn’t be able to pick you up. She said she’d tell you,” She said.

“Well, she didn’t.” I murmered.

I proceeded to walk inside but she held out her hand.

“Dry yourself off, I just had the carpet cleaned.” She complained.

“Yes, I’ll do that. Because it really doesn’t matter that I’m soaking wet,” I replied, angry.

“There now, don’t make a fuss of it. It’s just a little bit of rain water,” She handed me a towel

I dried myself up as best I could.

She gestured to come in, smiling. I scowled and marched inside.

“Stay downstairs, it’s almost time for lunch,” She said

“Already had lunch at Grandma’s,” I head upstairs.

Mom shrugged and dissapeared into the kitchen.

I unlocked my door and went inside. I rushed inside and checked in the dresser. I sighed with relief, the books were still there. I love to read, I have my own little library. The only problem is that my family disapproves of them. Very strongly. Infact, most people I know have forgotten about them. They say they don’t need them anymore, not with all the movies and trashy video-games about them to enjoy instead. The only people that did like books were Grandma Emmie and Gramps. I’d never met him, he left us before I could. I’m not going to get sentimental, it messes with my head. The only other person that likes to read is Fred. He used to own a bookshop across the mall, it was a good one while it lasted. Now, he’s broke. Lives in his mom’s apartment, selling collectibles for a living. On the rare occasion that my parents catch me reading in front of them, they always give me Fred’s example.

“If you really want to end up like him, continue. ” They taunt.

Whatever, I don’t care anyway. I’m not going to end up filthy rich like them anyway, I’d rather lie in a quaint little cottage by the sea surrounded my thousands of books. I scoffed- as if Viserlent’s ever going to have cottages. I reached into the dresser, pulling out a book at random. These random pickings were my version of an adventure, it really can be dangerous. Like, what if I picked ‘Orlando the Marmalade Cat’ again? That would be disasterous, I’ve read it twenty-six times already, not counting the times I took it out to look at the pictures. I held my breath, closing my eyes and pulling one out. I salvaged one, opening my eyes to look at it. A smile spread across my face, it was ‘The Secret Garden’. I opened up the first page, snuggling under the duvet on my bed. I grabbed a torch and shined it over the page. I began to read, immersed in Mary Lennox’s adventures. Right then, nothing else really mattered. I was reading, and I was happy.

The happiness vanished soon after, when mom’s party guests arrived. These ladies were rich and quite careless. All they cared about was showing each other their new Cartier necklaces, they didn’t even care about their children, the majority of whom were three to five-year-olds. These kids would later come banging at my door, screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, tiny fists came banging at my door.

“Open door! Open door!” One screamed. I recognised him as Jamie, Mrs. Oswalds three year old.

I got up, locked the door and continued reading. If only it was that simple. Screams accompanied by whining and sobs continued till the ladies downstairs called on them for snacks. It was still quite noisy, laughter, screams and everything in between. I decided that listening to a song would help, I slid my drawer open and got my MP3 player and headphones. It’d been years since I last used it, two or three at the least. I didn’t find songs entertaining, to be honest. Most songs were pretty old, Grandma Emmie loved them though. I remember, before she got ill, she used to dance along to the songs in the kitchen. She looked so happy, like she was truly having a good time. As soon as I switched the MP3 player on, a title popped up. Ayra, you were listening to ‘ Never Gonna Give You Up’. Do you want to continue where you left off? I smiled. That was Grandma Emmie’s favourite song, she’d sing it to me every night as she tucked me in. I could hear it, her wonderful, joyful face smiling down on me as she sang to me. I played the song and, honestly, it felt good to hear it again.

I think I played it on loop about seven or eight times. I didn’t count, I didn’t really care either. However, must’ve been an hour and a half since the guests arrived. I took off the headphones, put down on MP3 player and got up to check if they’d left.

I tip-toed down the stairs and leaned forwards to check. Of course, they were there. They looked like they were having quite the conversation, gesturing and smiling and throwing their hands back carefully enough to display their gleaming rings. The children were devouring the snacks, jam smeared across their mischevious smiles. Mrs. Oswald spotted me. Great.

“Ayra, darling! Come here!” She said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Seconds later, six pairs of eyes turned my way. I awkwardly made my way downstairs.

“We were just talking about you, Ayra. Why didn’t you come down earlier?” Mrs. Oswalds asked innocently.

“Er.. I was busy,” I muttered.

“Well, that’s alright I suppose. Sit down here,” Mrs Oswalds patted the space on the sofa beside her.

“Er… actually, it’s alright, I think I’ll just continue doing-“

“Stay here, Ayra.” Mom appeared outside the kitchen. She was glaring at me, but still managing to keep smiling. It looked horrifying, to say the least.

“Mom, I-”

“She wants to talk to you, Ayra.” Mom glared.

I gave in, uneasily walking to the sofa. I sat down and Mrs Oslwalds smiled at me.

“Now, Ayra, it looks like to me like you spend most of your time alone. Is that quite right?” She smiled.

“No, no, it’s not like that at all, Maria. It’s just today, it was raining.” Mom answered for me. I was OK with that, Mom did that most of the time anyway.

“Hmmm, must be so, though I don’t see her outside much.” Mrs Oswald said. “Lily, if you don’t mind me saying, her figure’s out of shape as well, hmm? I mean, look at her. Not quite the young lady.”

I was getting tired of it. It was horribly unfair, she didn’t possess the right to humiliate me as well. Tears stinged my eyes, I hung my head low. I badly wanted someone to silence her, that was easier said than done. Mom would surlely play along. However, I was wrong.

“Maria, your, er, advice probably means to help. However, I will not let you humiliate my daughter like this.” She said, quite firmly “I think It’d be best to switch topics, hmm? Ayra, you can go back upstairs.”

I stared at her unbelivably, then made my way upstairs. I didn’t know where this newfound courage was coming from. Surely, this would be the talk of the month. Lily Woods just talked back to the Maria Oswalds, advisor and elder of Fairfield block. This was not going to go unnoticed. Nonetheless, I was glad she did it.