1990

Girls just wanna have f-u-un !

OH! Girls just wanna have--

Ugh. I rolled my eyes as I closed the door to my room. Blocking out my Mom's off key singing.

I threw my old, tattered, and weather beaten binder on my fluffy , pink carpet. Which was really the only splash of color in this room. Yeah...I was the type of person my parents would call "uptight". And, yeah my parents where the type of people I would call, "hippies".

We love each other we really do, there's no hatred. Just...disagreements. Like, the one time my parents said that I needed some "color" in my room, because it's unhealthy to have such a bland room. That a girl my age needs to be creative. So of course from then on my sterile room where everything lined up perfectly. Everything was exactly in place...from then on, there was that bright pink rug. That cotton candy rug was always there as a reminder that I was a semi-normal 13 year old girl.

But in truth I wasn't. I had OCD. That's why my parents and I didn't completely understand each other. I have a feeling that they try...like really hard to understand my constant need to clean. My constant need to keep everything exactly as it should be. But at least they try. They don't understand...but they try.

I stared at my gray, binder surrounded by pink fluff, and immediately regretted throwing it on there. Who knows what disgusting microscopic germs, were in there. And currently they were climbing onto my binder covering it with their sickness, covering it with...ugh. I was overreacting, yes, there were germs on it...but would I get sick? No. I hope. No. I wouldn't. But, I can't help it. My brain overthinks, and I keep thinking, and I obsess over it.

Okay...off topic. Back to hippie parents. Making me add a splash of color to my room isn't the only disagreement we've had. In fact the biggest disagreement we've had has been the stupidest one. Get ready for it...

They had my future foretold...yep, they hired like a mystic, and they had her tell them. Then when I was old enough, they told me. But, the thing is I don't believe in all that stuff...like at all. My fortune was: In the year 1990, everyone I cared about would perish. But I would be alive...lonely forever. I guess I just don't want to believe it, because that would, mean...well I would have to live with that. But, no I don't believe in that stuff. That was our biggest...disagreement. Me screaming, at them that it wasn't going to happen. Them calmly talking about it. I can't believe their just fine with them dying. They just excepted it. But I don't.

"Summer! Food's ready!" my Mom said in her breazy carefree voice. As I stepped into our ~pretty~ clean kitchen (courtesy of me) the smell of my favorite food wafted through the air. Pizza, that was the one thing that was normal about me. Every teenager could enjoy a meal of soft dough, with tomato sauce, cheese, and any topping you want. But, then I saw something that tipped me off...there was Coke. I never got Coke, my parents were carefree, and pretty lax, but they were strict about the sugar. So something was going to happen at dinner.

I already washed my hands before I came in but, I could feel the germs crawling around on my skin. Making my hands itch for scalding water to wash them away. I washed my hands for one minute, before I was almost certainly positive I was safe.

I plunked down in my designated chair that NO ONE else sat at, or I would "majorly freak" as my parents say. Our house was so mismatched. I was sitting on a wooden chair with a smushed rainbow crocheted cushion. My Dad was sitting on a plastic green chair, and my Mom was sitting on an old rocking chair they picked up who knows where. But, at least we had character.

Halfway through our meal, Mom said in her lost ,ditzy voice.

"Summer....it's 1989," she shared a look with my Dad who gave a knowing nod. I looked at them puzzled. They didn't pick up on my confusion, and just sat there looking at me pitifully.

"Yeah..it is. So?" I said.

Obviously this was supposed to be a monumental year because at these words my parents mouths dropped open. Yeah, another thing about hippies they're very emotional and not afraid to show it.

My Mom put her hand on mine, and I tried not to flinch. AGH. I could feel the germs swarming on my hand. Laughing at me, saying that I was going to get sick, and die. I couldn't handle it. I had to go and wash my hands.

I sprung out of my seat.

"I'm sorry..I just need to wash my hands really quick," and without waiting for permission, or a reaction I just went to wash my hands.

I came back and nonchalantly asked, "So 1989?" my Mom clasped her hands together, and for a moment looked like a serious person.

She laughed like she couldn't believe me..which was also uncharacteristic. "Next year is 1990!" It dawned on me, she was talking about my "future" I rolled my eyes. I took a calming breath.

I laughed a fake airy laugh, "Mom, we have talked about this. It's a lie. Mystics, and prophecies, and all that stuff, is a lie."

My Mom flashed an offended look. Dad chuckled and said, "Summer, it's real. We are"t looking forward to..dying. But we all need to prepare." He said in his deep rolling voice. I huffed impatiently and crossed my arms against my chest.

"Well how are we going to prepare? You can't necessarily be prepared to be ripped from this world. And I've been preparing to be a lonely old soul for my whole life!" I snarled. Ugh. This prophecy always led to stupid arguments.

My Mom looked down at our scarred well loved table. And traced her finger across all the stains.

"Okay, Summer." she shrugged. Giving up.

****

It was New Year's Eve. And...okay I'm not saying that stupid prophecy was correct. But, my Dad was sick. Really sick. Bone cancer sick. But that, didn't mean, as soon as the clock struck midnight, that all my friends and family would drop dead.

Whatever right now I had a different problem. People. And germs. There were so many people here. Curse my mom and dad's socialness. They were all drunk, so they completely forgot I like my space. So today resulted in a lot of hand washing. They kept bumping into me. Hugging me. Laughing and talking, while I was in the corner, avoiding human contact.

Then something made me change my mind about this whole prophecy thing. My Mom came rushing in, saying that my Dad fell, and can't get up. We had to rush to the hospital.

***

Thankfully the prophecy wasn't real we all lived, my OCD got somewhat better, and my parents decided that maybe prophecies weren't always completely true.