"I'm coming, just a minute!" I yell through the stuffy little house. I finish my makeup, then with one more glance in the mirror at the image staring back at me, I'm ready for whatever the day holds.
My family and I live in a cramped, insignificant dwelling with nondescript white siding and blue trim. The front porch has just enough room for my mom's favorite pastime, her rocking chair. It's one of the few moments of peace in her existence from the disease that cripples her body. She enjoys gazing at the small flowerbed with pink azaleas in the front yard. The yard has been neglected for weeks. Not to mention, it's in a really poor, unnerving part of town close to the railroad tracks. Just like my dad craves. The more we blend in with the natives, the less attention we attract. He's the reason we are here.
"Sure thing, Ella honey. Hurry up 'cause you're going to be late!" my mom hollers back from the kitchen.
This is my usual morning. Wake up, fix breakfast for everyone, and then hurry up and get dressed in enough time to leave for school, but not before making sure that my little brother is getting ready and on his way as well. I guess I should be thankful, and really, I am, but it's just that sometimes I wish I didn't have to take care of everything that goes on in our house.
You see, that's my life. I'm sixteen years old with all the responsibilities of most grown-ups. My parents, well, they aren't really what you'd call typical parents. Mom is sick and has been for a long while now. They'd called it terminal years ago, but by the grace of God, she's still with us. However, it's only a matter of time before her roll is called. I pray every night that God will let her stay with us just a little longer, and so far, He's answered my prayers. She just can't help out in the normal ways a mother should or could. But that’s alright, because one more day with her is worth all of it.
Then there's my dad. Well...he's a grifter of sorts, a con artist. That's what brought us to this little town here in Florida two years ago. He was once again running away from another con, another fella he wronged. Lately, he's started dabbling in drugs. He keeps telling me it's not true, but I know what makes him tick. He lives for the thrill of the chase and the almighty dollar. Like I said, I'm much too old for my age!
As I leave my bedroom, I spot my mom in our quaint, outdated kitchen, trying to pack our lunches and struggling as she does so. "Mom, I'll finish this up," I tell her, grabbing the bread to make my brother's special PBJ and banana sandwich. It's the only one he'll eat.
She flushes with obvious relief. "Thank you, baby girl." I immediately feel guilty that I didn't do this earlier. Mom tries so hard, but she’s just not strong enough anymore. Her disease is crippling her slowly, and it's painful to watch. Her body has become her prison. Just another reason I have to try harder for her.
Finishing up packing our sacks, I help mom back to her wrought-iron bed, fluffing the pillows as she reclines. I kiss her cheek, inhaling her unique scent. I know this is where she'll stay for the rest of the day, until we come home. I usher Evan out of the little house in a panic so we won't miss the bus.
I call over my shoulder, “I love you, mom!” It's just another day in the life of Ella Anderson.