isolation seed

My key is on a chain I keep around my neck. When I get off the bus, I walk up the driveway very slowly. I am supposed to stay inside once I am in the house. I watch the neighbor kids get off the bus and make their way to their front door. I see Matthew's head bob along the length of one of the many cars in the driveway. Matthew is lean and tall with perpetually tan skin and hair that is dust brown at the base and bright blonde at the tips. He almost died last summer when he siphoned gas out of the van to ride his three wheeler and accidentally drank some. He makes me feel funny when I look at him, like something building up inside that will burst out. I can't look at him for very long or I feel ashamed in front of God. If you are outside, you are not alone so I linger before opening the door. The phone starts to ring as I drop my book bag and run to get the avacado green rotary phone on the little built in desk by the window in the kitchen. It's my mother and I know this before I pick up. We have the same conversation we always have every day at 3:15. She tells me to stay inside and not to open the door to strangers. She will see me in a little while. I can hear the sounds of her factory in the background. I hang up. Then I do things I shouldn't. I look in my parent's drawers sometimes or eat ice cream. I wipe off the spoon with a paper towel and put it back in the drawer. I talk to myself. I look at all of my mother's make up in her drawer in the bathroom. I turn on the television, but decide to leave it off so I may hear if a demon or ghoul decides to appear in the house to kill me. Sometmes I play in the canisters that hold the flour and sugar and coffee. I make a big mess on the counter and my mother says, "What is this all over the counter? I don't know where this is coming from." Our house is very old and I am sure people have died here. Then I sit at my favorite spot between the coffee table and floral printed couch and open the drawer of the coffee table. All of my crayons and coloring books and sketch pads are kept here. I remember my book bag for a minute and then decide to pretend to forget to do my math after dinner. If I wait, I can stay up later than everybody else, because it takes me forever to do my homework. Sometimes my dad comes out to check on me. I ask him to sharpen my pencil and he takes out his knife and whittles the end of my pencil to a perfect sharp tip. Then he says, "It's gettin' late, Kath. You almost done?" My friend Justine says my dad looks just like the guy on Fish. I practice drawing all of my best things, like cartoon dogs, cats and monkeys. I practice my handwriting by re-doing assignments from school. It seems like forever until I hear my dad's green truck in the drive and then mom and dad come in and mom says, "Katherine, you left your bag right in the door!" and my dad looks around incredulously and asks,"Where's dinner?" and I am not sure if he is serious, even though he asks me every night.