Losing Concentration

CREATIVE FEATURE, Coming-of-Age

Written by Ingrid Wagstrom, MN

Losing Concentration

Every day, when Aniela got on her morning bus, she would play “Concentration” with her friends. Clapping their hands together, they competed to see who could list off the most animals, foods, and kids in their grade while staying in rhythm. They sang together, blissfully ignorant of the boys in the back of the bus rolling their eyes and swearing under their breath. As the sun rose, gleaming in through those dirty bus windows, she was free. 

One day, the bus stopped as usual, but the family that regularly waited there did not show up. Unfazed, Aniela continued to list off dog breeds. Victorious giggles lept from her mouth unashamedly as she rocked back and forth on the edge of the bus seat. Only then did she see the driver’s rough, old eyes in that tiny rectangular mirror widen with concern. Standing in front of the closed bus door was a young girl, crying. She did not ride Aniela’s bus. 

At that moment, light seemed to peek around every leaf on every tree, trying to find them. It was too late though. Aniela stared at her with a natural judgment that girls her age tended to have. My mom didn’t let me wear dangly earrings like those till I was ten. The girl wore a white, terry cloth tee with a teddy bear in the corner. The beads on the ends of her hair made clicking sounds as her body shook. Aniela couldn’t seem to find the girl’s pants. She didn’t understand why anyone would go outside with no pants on. Where’s her mom?

The bus driver eventually opened the door for her, and motioned for her to sit on the steps. That’s when Aniela saw the blood. She didn’t understand that either. By the time the ambulance arrived, there was no more chanting, only whispers. A couple days passed before Aniela understood. She cried when her mom told her. Her mom cried too. 

Aniela doesn’t cartwheel by herself in the front yard anymore. The sidewalk in front of her house isn’t as protective as it used to look. Her spaghetti-strap tank tops carry a heavier weight than before too, dragging her down in that thick Arizona heat. She doesn’t play “Concentration” on the bus either. The boys in the back don’t like it. Instead she listens to her music while staring out the window, watching that sun rise. Something about its head slowly peeking over the city skyline, unsure if it should lend its rays or not, sets her soul on fire. If I were the sun, I would—

Concentrate—on your education, on your career, on your mother (she’s lost all of her friends except you and dad), on your future children (you’ve never had baby fever?), on your boyfriend (I noticed he was liking other girls' Instagram pictures, are you okay with that?), on the old man who’s been staring at your legs on the train for seven minutes (you’ve been counting), on your boyfriend (again) who you wish would stare at them a little more, on how you’ve been feeling sick the last couple of mornings, on—Fuck—             

(sorry)

    I miss my mom. 

IMG Credits: WFLA