Dissatisfied

Bang! The door slammed and Carly could feel the beige carpeted floor shake beneath her feet. She collapsed into the safety of her bed and let the red and white hearts of her bedspread fall short of piecing her own heart together.

* * * * *

A low murmur spread throughout the plain rows of desks in the classroom. Mr. Engler watched as a sheet of white paper passed from student to student. He pressed his lips together and glared at Carly, who sat hungrily seeking conversation from her peers and surveying the assignment paper.
“At the end of this unit,” Mr. Engler started in a loud voice.
“You will be expected to produce and hand in a short story. Included in this story, must be the elements we have discussed in class, such as…” He stopped and peered over his nose at Tom who had lost interest in the assignment. He had become a sniper, intently waiting for his target to come into full view. His fun was pointed directly at the Garfield poster, which decorated the lonely walls. Tom caught Mr. Engler’s eye at the front of the class and resumed a listening position nervously. Mr. Engler began again and just after his first words the bell rang. The students rose from their desks and too hurriedly exited the stale, dreary classroom.

The crisp blue of her townhouse deepened as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The cream garage door slowly ascended and devoured the red Volkswagen Jetta.
Without even a word to her brother BJ, Carly rushed through the door, hoping to reach her room before being acknowledged by her mother.
“Carly!” Her mother cried just before she had time to escape.
“We need to talk.” Carly followed her mom into the master bedroom and sat on the floral bedspread.
“Just because your dad and I are getting a divorce doesn’t mean either of us love you any less. OK?”
“Fine.” Carly snapped and walked back to her room. She cleared a space on her desk and set down a stack of clean lined paper. Beside it, she placed the assignment sheet from English class.
She posed her pen above her paper and began to think. The emotions she had acquired from the tragedy in her home served as some inspiration, but when the pen stroked the paper, instead of plot, setting, conflict, or climax, came verses and verses of poetry.
“Writer’s block,” she sighed bitterly.
“It figures. The week my family falls apart I lose the only ability I’ve ever really been able to depend on.”
Tears cascading down her rosy cheeks, Carly grabbed her jacket, shoes and key and stumbled angrily out the front door.

It was like stumbling into a house of mirrors. As far as she could see, replicas of her narrow house stood, multicoloured, a palette of city life. The sight of people, cars, dogs, and joy disgusted her and she looked up. Clouds trudged along in a dreary sky.
“When Mom and Dad said they were separating my life was hard enough. Why would you let this happen? He moved on temporarily. It was supposed to give them time to think about things. I prayed! You didn’t heal them. You took my dad our of my life!”
Carly paused for a moment to gather herself and then resumed walking. She sighed loudly.
“But…you know what is best. If you don’t want them to be together give me a sign. I’ll make it happen. Once they find out how I feel they will reconsider. It’s in your hands, God.”

Mr. Engler’s deep voice became fuzzy, muffled as Carly began again to think of something to write about. The simple walls, students, and white board disappear as she slipped into deep thought. Coming up with plot was her weakest skill in writing so she thought hard. Something that’s happened to me…she thought. Furiously she began writing about a holiday to Palm Springs. After a page of writing, she stopped abruptly. Silently cursing, she crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash. Conflict, she thought. There’s no conflict.

* * * * *

Awkwardly, Carly knocked on the teal door of her dad’s house. As soon as the screen peeled back, her attitude dropped. A long night of moping and sadness proceeded.
He’s eating this all up. He feels guilty. He will change his mind. I know he’s realized now the divorce is going to ruin my life. I’m never this depressed. I knew it would work. Carly kept thinking to herself when suddenly her dad spoke to her.
“You know Carly, just because I won’t be moving back into the house with you, doesn’t mean we can’t talk about stuff anymore, OK?”
“Sure Dad.” My tone dripped with mock enthusiasm and happiness.
I sat down on the couch, flicked on the TV and let a sit com relieve me of my failure.

Carly’s clean white desk was now cluttered with failed attempts and ideas for her short story assignment. Tears stained a sea of crumpled papers strewn across her floor. She began to write about her most embarrassing moment. One flimsy paragraph later, Carly again crumpled the sheet of paper and discarded it behind her. She stomped out of her room and down the stairs.
“Mom!” she screamed.
“If you and Dad get a divorce, I don’t want to live here anymore. I’ll leave.”
Her threat hung in the air but were dissolved by insecurity. Her mother looked her in the eye, tearing.
“It’s the only way things can be somewhat normal.” She choked out.
“I’m so sorry.”
Carly stormed back to her room. After she was sure her mother had left for worship practice, she crept out to the computer. MSN popped up on the screen. She logged onto her account and waited for someone to acknowledge her.
Hey Carly! A small box opened on the screen.
Hey Isaac, she typed.
You working on your short story? He asked.
Nope, she replied. Why would I bother? I tried getting my parents back together and I couldn’t do that, what would make you think I could write anything decent after an experience like that?
She thought for a moment, then pressed the delete key.
I have no plot, she typed instead.
Write about your ‘writer’s block’ as you call it. Really there is no such thing as writer’s block, it’s laziness and lack of discipline. But write about not being able to write your short story.
Pffff! She scoffed. Like that would make a good short story!
Geez, sorry! Just trying to help, he said and logged off.
Carly logged off, shut down the computer and walked back to her cluttered workspace. She tried to think of a good idea but only Isaac’s words lingered in her mind.
She looked at the clock. Nine fifty-nine…if she didn’t have something soon she would be done for.
The assignment is due tomorrow, she thought.
Her pen began to scribble words on the paper. More words, thoughts, events, pages and pages of writing.

Carly grabbed her backpack from the floor and ran down the stairs. Her short story sat on the coffee table in the living room. She picked if up and glimpsed at a folder of papers underneath. In the open folder were signed divorce papers.

* * * * *

Mr. Engler towered over Carly, sitting in her desk, eyeing the title page of her story. She glanced up at him with an icy smile. His intrigued expression changed to one of disappointment, even annoyance. He continued along the row of desks, his look stained in Carly’s tangled mind. Slowly, she stood and walked towards the pile of booklets on his desk. Each bright title page peeped out from underneath the other. Laughter, happiness, sunshine and butterflies came from the stories in the stack.
Carly’s papers fell heavily onto the pile, now sullen, silent. She turned, unsatisfied. Time stopped, you could hear a flower wilt. She walked out the door, a single tear tumbling down her face.