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My over-active imagination. By Katie Szarkowicz






There I am, tumbling out of Sandy’s dance class, drenched in “Girl Sweat” as my dad calls it. I’m so exhausted and it’s nine o’ clock at night, so it’s dark. When, suddenly, I notice… my dad’s not here. Neither is my mom, or even my older brother. That’s strange. One of them is always here.
I race outside, only to discover they’re not outside. My heart is pounding and I close my light blue eyes, hoping that once I open them, my family would magically appear. I open them oh so carefully. But to my despair, they haven’t appeared.
By now there are only three girls waiting with me, their parents are usually late. So they know each other and are chatting nonchalantly. I look at them, hoping that one of them will notice me and invite me over to talk with them. Oh gosh…why is my family late? I’m freezing out here in my salmon colored noodle strap shirt and my black tight short shorts, the perfect clothes for dance. With my honey blonde hair up in a high pony tail, my back is like an ice cube.
I shudder as I imagine all the reasons why he could be late.
I watch him getting into a crash, as if I’m god looking down on him.
I see him, hunching over the steering wheel in his dark green sweatshirt, his fierce blue eyes sparkling with the concentration of navigating the slippery ice. Suddenly, there’s a jerk. He says an absurd word, and you can see the panic in his eyes. He’s turning the wheel, while slamming on the brakes. You hear a very loud honk, and he spins into a lamppost. Right on cue, the lamppost falls over. Right on him, there may as well been a huge, red target on the car. I grimace at the huge cut that’s spewing dark red blood right under his left eye. His breathing is ragged, and you hear the fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances speeding to the scene.
The whoosh of the door opening and closing jolts me out of my day-dream gone wrong. I look at the bright green, round clock and realize that 10 whole minutes have passed; I might as well have been asleep. I go back into another one of my fantasies.
I see my tall mom, brow wrinkled in frustration as she tries to cook dinner. Her cell phone rings, and she leaves the room for a second to go turn it off. While she’s gone, smoke rises from the pancakes,
She was making breakfast for dinner. A couple seconds after the smoke came up, WHOOOOSH. Dinner is on fire. She rushes back into the room; the first thing she gets is a face full of gray smoke. She screams at my dad to get the kids that the house is on fire. The smoke alarm goes off, and my older brother trailed by molly, with her ears back and whimpering race up from the basement. You hear my dad screaming my other brother’s names. Tommy and Matthew came flying down the stairs. Everyone races toward the garage and my mom slips while turning the corner. My dad stops dead in his tracks, runs over to my mom and helps her up. She links arms with him, and begins to limp towards the garage door. Just at that moment, the fire engine sirens start. They’re the kinds that are so loud; they make you want to clasp your hands over your ears and sink to the floor in agony. In fact, the sirens make my dad pause for a moment, the moment that would ultimately cost them their life’s, for just five seconds after that, right as they were turning the doorknob, the roof collapsed.
The sound of tap shoes wakes me up from my imagination this time. I see Claire walking down the hallway to sit on the bench to pull off her tap shoes.
The sound of a car engine drives me to the edge of insanity with yet another tear- inducing picture.
My brother was walking out to his car, twirling the keys in his hand. He was in a good mood, because he was whistling. Eddie never whistles. When, out of nowhere a fist slams him in the face. He crumples to the ground, bleeding and unconscious. Another set of hands take his feet and drag him into the redwood bushes along the side of our yard. The two men unclamp my poor brother’s hand to take the silver keys to the car. One of the men, the younger of the two, walks over to the car and jams the key into the door, unlocking it. The cruel men snicker; and the older one kicks him in the stomach. They climb into the black Toyota and take on last look at Eddie, who is lying on the ground with a black eye and blood gushing from his lip and drive off into the night.
Just then, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turn around ready to snarl at them, when I realize it’s my mom. Without a word I hug her tightly.
She breaks the silence by saying;
“Hey honey, how was dance? Sorry I’m late, there was traffic.” I replied back by saying;
“Great mom, thanks for asking. Have I told you I love you lately?”
And without another word, we climb into her gold Toyota van.