TIRED
Maria Griffin — Grade 8 — CWP Honorable Mention
The brakes of the bus hiss loudly as I rise out of my seat , my bag slung over my shoulder . As I step away from the bus , I notice a gray Sedan that doesn ’ t belong to either of my parents or any of their friends . I feel the blood rush out of my quickly whitening face . Oddly , though , I feel no fear or panic . Just tired , such as I didn ’ t know possible . My shoulders droop as I grab the bunch of envelopes from the scuffed up mailbox and slowly make my way down the driveway , attempting to delay as much as possible the inevitable . I am so tired of these surprise meetings . They always seem to come right after my worst days , right when I am finally beginning to let my guard down and relax . Oh well . Let ’ s just get this over with .
Whenever I meet with these women , it takes nearly all of my self control to not speak my mind . I have to tell myself over and over again that they are not the ones who make the process so long and painful . They aren ’ t trying to destroy my life . It ’ s only a job . But it is very hard to remember this when they are shooting almost accusatory questions at me , disguised with pitying eyes . I hate these people . I really hate them . But I also feel so bad for them . I picture what their lives must be like , asking passive aggressive children like me about the most personal things imaginable , working hours every day to make our lives safer , and all they get in return is icy reluctance towards their very existence . I have to constantly remind myself that they are just people asking a prearranged set of questions given to them by their bosses , and that they are only trying to help . Only they don ’ t help . They just make things harder and so unnecessarily complicated , when they could just leave me alone . I ’ ve never felt so powerless .
I am on my front steps now , my mother on the other side of the screen door , laughing at something one of the women said . She turns to me , and on her face is a helpless look , as if to apologize for the situation , and also as if to beg me not to make things worse . This look is unintentional , however , as she quickly covers it with her usual soft smile . « Who are these people ? » I ask , just to rule out any chance of my assumption being incorrect . « They ’ re from DCF , and they ’ re here to ask you a few questions . I ’ m really sorry , I didn ’ t know they were coming until this morning . Just answer them honestly , I ’ m really sorry , honey , » She replies . My mom is one of the nicest people I know , and all she ever does is try to help . There ’ s that word again . Anyway , I can ’ t take my anger out on her , even though it would ’ ve been better if she ’ d emailed me a heads up .
She pushes the door , holding it open for me to slip inside . The two women look at me patiently , and the one on the left offers a confident hello . What does she think this is ? I feel rage bubbling inside me at her cheeriness . I push it down , though , and grudgingly return the greeting . I walk past them without slowing down , straight to my bedroom . Those were the most polite words I could muster , and I feel bad for it , but I don ’ t have the energy to care . I ’ ll yell at myself later for it . For now , all I can do is drop my backpack onto my desk chair , kick off my shoes , and sit on my rocking chair .