Niel Allen 7

Mom wanted me to take the bag; she pushed me to take it, against my will. It was filled with books and some of my knitting utensils. I think ended up bringing a total of five books with me, which weighed heavy upon my shoulder on my trek over to Niel Allen's cabin. I thought once or twice(maybe even thrice) about abandoning the bag on the crooked trail, winding through the woods. I was just going to let it slide off my shoulder, dropping to the ground, leaving it there for me to retrieve when I left his place. But I simply could not make myself do it. I kept hearing my mom's voice in my head. "C'mon, Jocelyn. You're going to get bored, especially with an attitude like that. Besides, you love to read and since you're not going to be in school anymore....", her voice trailed off. I was so angry that I wouldn't be in school anymore; and she knew that. I resented her decision to make me stay with Niel Allen. Those conversations(more arguments really) were so intense. One in particular stands out among the rest. "Mom, I need to get some paper and some new pencils for school," I mentioned, already thinking about school even though it was mid-August. I just had to be prepared. "Honey," my mom replied, "you're not going to be going back to school this year; your dad and I decided that it would be best for all of us if you went to help Niel Allen, like I have been doing." I could already feel the hotness in my face from my anger. "But, Mommmm....I have to go back to school. You know how much I love it. And I don't want to stay with Mr Allen anyways. He's old. I want to be with my friends. And, I mean, when exactly were you thinking of telling me this?" My voice rose with frustration. "Your father and I were going to tell you this evening, when he was through with work. Jocelyn, honey, just realize it's for the best." "The best for whom?" I piped up. "For you....for Mr Allen....who?" I interrogated, getting increasingly disrespectful. "For ALL of us. You know I am getting much too old to walk to Mr Allen's everyday; and I'm sure Mr Allen would love to have a youthful spirit stay with him...and I believe it would be good for you, too." "School is good for me right now, Mom. I need to learn all I can right now, or I'll end up like--" I cut myself short. "Like me?" my mother replied quietly, hanging her head in shame. "No. That's not what I meant," I defensively said. It was what I had meant though. I did not want to end up like my mother. I wanted to make a name for myself. I wanted to be somebody and not just be subjected to stay in a cramped cabin, hidden in the woods. My mother never understood this though. I was considered a "rebel" for having such desires. I was scolded often for being a bad example to my younger siblings. I was deemed selfish. My parents didn't know a thing though. My mom finally looked up and began, "Jocelyn, I think it would be good for you too. Mr Allen can teach you so much; and you have so much to learn." "That I can learn in school, not at some old man's house," I snapped back. "No; the lessons that Mr Allen would teach you, you cannot learn in school. They are priceless lessons. It would do you darn good, Jocelyn." I said nothing. "We'll continue this later, young lady. Go up to your room, please," she spoke firmly. I stormed up to my room. No one understood me but my friends; and now, I was being cut off from them. Maybe that's what my parents intended to do. They wanted to punish me for being "free-willed". I sat on the window sill, staring blankly up at the sky, sulking. Needless to say, dinner was filled with awkward silence, no one saying a word as we all just poked at our food. No one ate much. Needless to say, the talk after dinner with my dad and mom did not go well. It ended with much shouting and my bedroom door slamming. It was like this for the rest of the week. I was angry and frustrated; my parents were standing their ground. They were not going to give in to my tantrum. I finally realized that I had to accept the situation. I would have to go to Niel Allen's cabin instead of going to school. And I was sure determined to make it the worst experience ever, so that possibly, my parents would see that school would be the best place for me, not the old man's cabin. The first day of school, the younger kids got ready and my mom showed them off. Then she turned to me. "Jocelyn, I know that you're not happy about this; but please, have a good attitude while you're there. Mr Allen is a good man." "That's not what they say about him at school," I pointed out. "Oh? Is that right? Have the other kids met Niel Allen?" "No." "Well, okay then. It's not their place to talk about him then, is it?" she questioned. I knew the answer. "I packed you a bag with some books and your knitting utensils in it. Sometimes Mr Allen doesn't feel like talking, so you kind of have "free time". I think you would get pretty bored." "I don't need a bag, mom," I said, ignoring her best intentions. "Just take it, okay? You'll be glad you did." "Fine," I said, not wanting to argue anymore. "Thank you, dear," she replied in her soft voice. I hated when she did that. Sometimes I would be so angry with her and she would act all nice to me, which made it hard to be mad. Maybe that was her intention of acting nice. Her hand was now out-stretched towards me, holding the bag. I grabbed it, quite violently, realizing it was heavier than I had first thought. My arm dipped down. "Be careful, it's heavy, honey," my mother warned, just a little bit late. "I got it," I insisted, not needing her help or advice. I swung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the door. "A kiss?" my mother asked. It was her custom to always get a kiss from up before we left to go anywhere. I walked out the door, not even looking back. I didn't need to look back. I could imagine the sorrow in her eyes. I could feel her sad eyes beating into the back of my head as I walked down the pathway. I know she was watching me, most likely waving, until she could see me no more; at which point she would open the door and step outside until we had rounded the bend. Then she always yelled, "I love you!" I never turned back. And sure enough, just as I was rounding the bend, I heard her voice, full of love, aching for her rebellious daughter. I still declined to turn back. As soon as I turned that corner, tears came streaming down my face, my throat choked up. I regretted that I didn't kiss her good bye. I regretted that I didn't take her advice. I knew how much she was hurting. I knew how much I hurt her. I turned around to see if she was possibly still there, still waving. It was too late. She had gone inside.