Out of Confusion, interesting conversations can happen, just listen.
I rolled over and after a few moments decided to get up and face the music. Otherwise my mother or my sister will be barging in. I have my own place, but my mother insisted on having a key to my place, in case I can’t answer the door or reach the phone. It was a sound, rational reason. Reasonings my mother has used to achieve her accomplishments. Practical, realistic talents to look at places, things and people, and use her intelligent assessments to get things done(especially when she knows the way it should be done). She was the Matriarch of the family,even though she wasn’t the oldest. Her mother said and every one knew who held the true power in the family. I hoped I wasn’t in too much trouble, running off from setting up the party! What possess me? Why would I decide to go off and look for Olympia, IN THE FOREST? The party was going on in just a couple of hours. She would have wandered back. Members of her soccer team were coming to the party, she had to meet them.
I drew in a deep breath, everyone was going to be furious. I had been irresponsible, undependable, unreliable, lazy. Why had I taken off ? I still had to take the centerpieces to the tables and find something to weigh the napkins down. I shook my head. ow! OW! that hurt! A hangover? I don’t remember drinking anything. What was going on? Hell, I don’t remember going into Olympia’s house. I must be in her guest room . We don’t have a room like this in Mom’s house or mine. I blinked and focused my eyes, the pain had dulled.
There were long, lacy shears at the window. The sky was paler than earlier. I haven’t watched the noon weather. Was there a storm coming in!? Oh brother, where were we going to put everyone!? There was a painting on the wall of a meadow and sunflowers along a wooden fence, it could have been anywhere in the South. I looked around expecting to see pictures of Magnolias and cotton fields, but there weren’t any pictures. The walls were covered in a pale pink wallpaper with tiny rosebuds painted on the crossings of a printed lace lattice. The room reminded me of my grandmother’s formal room. My grandmothers loved antiques, and going “junking”. They loved their junk and would plainly state to any of us in the family who would roll our eyes at their purchases. I was cold. I had heard of people who made their house frigid with the air conditioning, but still come on. I heard sounds but I couldn’t make it out. I pulled on my shoes, which were still damp. I drew in a breath and said a little prayer .