Cracked Knuckles

            Quietly, sitting in the middle of class, I take my hand and make a loose fist. I then take my other hand and push pressure on it causing my knuckles interrupt the teacher’s lecture with a shattering crack.

“Emma!” the teacher exclaims in shock to the noise.

“Sorry,” is my automatic response and sunk into my chair embarrassed while seeing all the other classmates’ eyes fixed upon me.

            I always crack my knuckles. I rarely even notice when I’m doing it. I’ll be sitting down or walking and casually crack them without realizing I’m doing so. The only time I notice that I’m cracking my knuckles is when someone points it out or if my knuckles fail to make the snapping noise because I already cracked them not too recently.

            My mother always scorns me over this. Ever time she catches me doing this action, she’ll remark, “Stop that! You are going to ruin your hands!” Rumor has it, that if you crack your knuckles an excessive amount, you can get arthritis and thick knuckles. I keep hearing mixed comments about that theory. I hear that it is either true or false, but I don’t care enough to do research on it. I enjoy the feeling and sound of cracking my knuckles and it has now become part of my everyday life.

            A few weeks ago, this boy Chris in one of my classes decided to ask me on a date. We agreed that the date should be today. He picks me up from house and we go dine at Fridays. While we wait for our food to arrive after we ordered, he takes my hand and starts lacing his fingers through mine. He takes my small, delicate hand and is playing with my fingers looking at them. “You have musician hands. Do you play the piano?” He comments still examining my fingers. Chris is a musician himself. He plays various instruments including the banjo, so it took me by surprise when he mentioned that I have musician hands.

“No? Is that bad?” I respond.

 “Not really, your hands just seem overworked,” he says nonchalantly while sipping his ice tea.

            I take my hand back from him and stare at it. For the first time I see that my hands look rigid and most likely due to cracking my knuckles. My hands that I thought were thin and small now leave me self-conscious. I place my hands in my lap since I do not want him to stare at them anymore. I’m thirsty, but I don’t even want to grab for my drink.

Short Story

Right after I ended the call, I was more curious than concerned about what Brynn and Marissa had to tell me that was so urgent. Due to their reputation, I couldn’t help but assume that it had to do with their reckless partying habits. Scenarios raced through my mind. Was Brynn messed up on coke again? Did Marissa attempt to drive back drunk from her beach house? Or were police involved with their careless actions they tend to portray on a typical Saturday night.

I ran down the hallway towards my parents’ room. My mother was sleeping but my father was still awake since he tends not to go to bed till 3am and it was just about 1am at the moment.

“Hey Papa, um, Brynn and Marissa need me to meet them at Bell Tower. Can I go?”

“Why do they need you to meet them?”

“I’m not sure. They didn’t tell me. I’m assuming they’re incapable of driving at the moment.”

“They have parents. They can pick them up.”

“Dad, you know how they are and you know they’re not gonna call their parents.”

“Ok fine. Just be home by two so that Mom doesn’t start to worry if she wakes up.”

            I grabbed the keys to my pickup truck, deactivated the house alarm, and walked out. I then climbed into my truck and reluctantly pulled out of the driveway.  I was in no mood to go for a twenty-minute drive in the middle of the night to take care of my friends especially since my parents are going to give me shit for having such low life friends, but there are only so many people to choose from in this town. Plus, they are two of my best friends so I felt obligated to help them out.

            After driving through the empty streets while listening to Backstreet Boys to feel less lonely, I pulled into Bell Tower. Marissa was parked in the deserted parking lot waiting in her black Nissan Altima. Next to her car was and a police car where I saw Brynn being handcuffed with her face reddened from crying. There was another police officer talking to Marissa by her car. Right when I parked my truck, one of the police officers walked up to the window. They tapped on the window and I rolled it down to hear what he had to say.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Raven Blitz. The girl with the black hair called me to come meet her here but I’m not sure why.”

“Oh you were the person she called. She needs to be driven home. She’s too drunk to drive, but your blonde friend was drunk driving her car so we’re taking her in.”

Not quite sure what to say to all this, I only replied, “Thank you officer. Sorry about my friends.”

            I was unable to go up and comfort Brynn since the officers will just view me as an annoyance as ask me to leave. I refused to make eye contact with her. Not out of disappointment, but because there was nothing I could do for her so I did not want to bring her attention towards me. Marissa got in the passenger seat of my car and I started driving towards her house.

“What happened?” I asked so that I can get the full story of what happened.

“Ryan was having a party and the damn neighbors called cops so we had to leave before either of us were sober enough to drive.”

“So Brynn got a DUI?”

“Yeah and also arrested for possessing marijuana when they checked her, and I got a citation for underage drinking but luckily nothing more. Do you know what’s going to happen to Brynn?”

“I honestly have no idea and I am certainly not going to be the one to tell her parents.”

“My parents are going to be so pissed that I got a citation but whatever.”

            Once I dropped Marissa at her house she thanked me and was very appreciative that I drove her back instead of her being forced to call her parents. Marissa did not seem too concerned about Brynn. She was more focused on her parent’s reaction to getting in some trouble. I was worried for Brynn because she’s been in enough trouble as it is. She means well but just makes stupid decisions. I know when I get home and my dad will ask me what happened and I will obviously have to tell him. It’s guaranteed that my mom and dad are going to ridicule me for having a distasteful friend selection, but they can’t scorn me for helping a friend in need.  

The Blanket

Faded colors of green, pink, and yellow flowers

Are thrown upon the pillows of my bed.

With cotton exposed from the torn fabric,

Clean scent but a decaying appearance,

It maintains a soft and welcoming touch.

Woven into the decrepit cloth are my years

From the start of my life through my college days.

Resting in my bed I hold it tight to allow me to sleep,

The same way I use to when placed in my crib.

Though ragged and frayed, I shall never let go.