trouble teen
Amber M. Morgan
Claudia M. Matz
ENG 100-622
9/22/14
Troubles of a Teenage Boy
There’s a cigarette bud next to my right foot, also the essence of marijuana. James, my brother, a scrawny 16-year-old Caucasian male and a group of tall, buff African American guys come down the driveway. James tells one of the fellas to “roll up” another one; he decides to do it in my enclosed porch. Then Amy, my mother, comes outside and asks, “Is that what I think it is, because if so you can leave my property.” They chug along slowly, but James has to cause a scene: “I’m going to leave and never come back. . .I hate you. . .I can live all on my own!” He runs to catch up with his “family” and my mother just goes inside, because this isn’t the first time and it probably will not be the last either. As I continue to sit on my front steps I notice that the leaves are changing colors and gracefully falling as if they are dancing. My mother decides to join me and have a little chat, “I don’t know what to do about your brother, I feel like I should give up but I’d be a terrible mom then again I’ve done all that I can.” She starts to cry as I just hold her and tell her, “We will figure it out, Mom.” I continue to hear the trees rustle like they are trying to talk to each other, but this time it’s like they’re arguing. That breeze rustles the leaves and makes my skin shiver — glad I brought my big cozy sweater.
The next day I am curious and wonder what my brother has been up to, so I sneak into his room around 3 am because he isn’t there. He usually just comes and goes as he pleases since he thinks there are no rules. I open the closet door and lift up a blanket only to get a whiff of marijuana. I also find pill bottles full of non-prescribed, pre-distributed bags of marijuana and in the one I am shocked to find cocaine. — I can’t believe that out of all things, why cocaine? Is he selling all this? Has he done these drugs?
The following day when James finally comes
Claudia M. Matz
ENG 100-622
9/22/14
Troubles of a Teenage Boy
There’s a cigarette bud next to my right foot, also the essence of marijuana. James, my brother, a scrawny 16-year-old Caucasian male and a group of tall, buff African American guys come down the driveway. James tells one of the fellas to “roll up” another one; he decides to do it in my enclosed porch. Then Amy, my mother, comes outside and asks, “Is that what I think it is, because if so you can leave my property.” They chug along slowly, but James has to cause a scene: “I’m going to leave and never come back. . .I hate you. . .I can live all on my own!” He runs to catch up with his “family” and my mother just goes inside, because this isn’t the first time and it probably will not be the last either. As I continue to sit on my front steps I notice that the leaves are changing colors and gracefully falling as if they are dancing. My mother decides to join me and have a little chat, “I don’t know what to do about your brother, I feel like I should give up but I’d be a terrible mom then again I’ve done all that I can.” She starts to cry as I just hold her and tell her, “We will figure it out, Mom.” I continue to hear the trees rustle like they are trying to talk to each other, but this time it’s like they’re arguing. That breeze rustles the leaves and makes my skin shiver — glad I brought my big cozy sweater.
The next day I am curious and wonder what my brother has been up to, so I sneak into his room around 3 am because he isn’t there. He usually just comes and goes as he pleases since he thinks there are no rules. I open the closet door and lift up a blanket only to get a whiff of marijuana. I also find pill bottles full of non-prescribed, pre-distributed bags of marijuana and in the one I am shocked to find cocaine. — I can’t believe that out of all things, why cocaine? Is he selling all this? Has he done these drugs?
The following day when James finally comes