By Liz Dubelman

Honestly, I don’t know why I’m so angry all the time.  People ask – my mom, Ms. Powell (my teacher), Mr. Hernandez (my 9^th grade counselor).  I wish I could tell them, but when I open my mouth to say, I don’t know, it comes out as Fuck-off.  It’s like there’s a talking hungry bear inside of me that’s hungry and angry all the time.

They love asking questions.  What would make you happy?  Or what do you want to do with your life.  These questions could drive a cheerleader to suicide.  I don’t even think they’re trying (which is what they say about me all the time). Ms. Powell has like 30 other kids that actually care about school and shit, and Mr. Hernandez wouldn’t even know my name if I hadn’t been called to his office so many times.  His office – with his pictures of his perfect wife and his perfect kids.

And my Mom – she cares way more about the little brats in her pre-school class than me.  I remember she once told me that babies learn to smile just when you’re feed up with the.  It’s like nature. So you don’t throw them out the window.  Well Mom, what do I do now?  I’ve got nothing – no tricks.

Yester, I “found” a coin thingy at school.  I know it’s Shauna’s.  I heard her telling Ella that it was her mother’s and it was like special and all.  She said it was from Mardi Gras a long time ago, before Katrina. It has a picture of Marilyn Monroe on it but it doesn’t really look like her.

Now she was a hurricane.  I saw a film of her on YouTube singing Happy Birthday to the President.  She seemed all druggy and sexy. Like she didn’t care.  I want to be like that but I can’t tell them that.  I can just hear it now.  Ms. Powell asked me (for the millionth time) what I want to do with my life.  And I say, I want to be like Marilyn Monroe.  And she says, You want to be an actress? And I say, No I want to be rich and famous and have everyone loves me.  And I want to be totally stoned too so I don’t have to give a shit about anything.

That will just get me another trip to Mr. H’s office so I can stare at his perfect fucking family.

You know what else I want?  I want this coin to be a sign.  I want it to be a sign for me to take off and go to New Orleans.  I think New Orleans feels like me.  Like after the hurricane –all beat up and broken.  My Mom says I am a hurricane.  Hurricane Delilah.  But I don’t fee like that.

But it’s not a sign.  I couldn’t leave my mom all alone.   I have to stay here and make her miserable and I don’t even know why.  I do know I’m not giving the coin back.  It’s mine now.