Fizzy Heather is a socially awkward introvert, the leader of the no-make-up cult (if there is one), a caring daughter and a tried college senior. Oh, and she's a great friend.
Zea Martin has been Fizzy's best friend for eight years. She's supportive...
"You're driving," I reminded Zea as we walked to the front door waving mom goodbye on the way.
"Bye Fizzy, bye Zea! Good luck with the shopping!" she called from the kitchen stirring her coffee. She calls it her 'elixir' and drinks it religiously every six hours. I don't even like coffee, God knows how mom consumes the bitter concoction!
I shut the door behind me as we both stepped out the front door. The weather was clear, the sky was a soup of blue with shades of purple and red hints peppered across it. Perfect.
"Fizzy, let's have a race!" Zea shouted as she, without any warning, ran towards her car. Obviously, she won. Hey! I didn't get a head-start, in my defence.
"You lost, girlfriend!" Zea laughed, her head tilting back, her weight supported by the car. Her shrieks filled the air as I joined in, ammused by her dry humor. It was beautiful. Well, until I realised she ran over my rose buds.
"You little-" I began when she put her hands up in the air and mouthed me a sorry, stepping in to her car.
I shook my head and uttered a small rip to my poor rose buds, now strangled to death, before crossing over and opening the door to her Ford.
"Sorry about that Fizzy," she said as we crossed the road.
"Nah, it's fine, they were testing my patience anyways," I laughed it off and stared out of the window, letting the cool breeze wash off my face.
We were halfway to our destination when I saw a little girl, around three or four, holding her mother's bony hand. She was tugging at the hem of her small dress from her idle hand. The mother seemed overworked and in desparate need of sleep.
This little scene made my heart turn soft and my mind reminisced the past as tears pooled my eyes. The pair reminded me of another mother and her three year old daughter.
You see; when I was two, my father met with a car accident. He survived but was not the same as before, all day long he would sit in the wheelchair, he begot thanks to the accident, and would look out of the window. He never talked to anyone, if lucky you could occasionally catch him smiling or humming quietly to himself.
The doctors said it was shock, maybe if he undergoes a surgery things would go back to their proper place, but we didn't even have enough money for a doctor's visit let alone a surgery, mom says. My father was our only source of income, but now with him like this, he lost his job, and we didn't even knew if there would be a second meal while eating the first one, which too, was acquired with great efforts and difficulties.
So, in order to support our family, my mom started working at other people's houses, washing their laundry, doing their chores and running their errands for them, all while taking care of a three year old and my father.
In the end though, it was worth it, she says, we got enough savings, along with mom's payments that my dad finally underwent his needed surgery. It was successful. The doctors said that in a month or two he'd be as good as new.
He died two weeks later from a heart attack.
Even though his life was short he was still the best father ever, mom says so, as I don't remember him much. To me, however, my mother is my hero.
She worked hard all day and all night before and after my father's demise, to feed me and support our small family. Some days, we had nothing, the others all we had was one meal.
It was hard, so hard and times were so uncertain but, still, my mom never made me feel any of our hardships. She made sure I had the best childhood ever and she succeeded in doing so.
Then, one day when I was five, mom came home and told me that she got a job, a real job, at a publishing press as an editor, she said her literature major finally came into use.
We went from riches to rags and back to riches and all through this my mom stuck around and loved me the same.
If someone told me in my childhood that I would go to a college or even walk past a school, I would've laughed as, on multiple occasions, we barely made it, but thanks to my mother, I made it. We made it.
My mom is my everything and I'm not embarrassed to admit it.
"Fizzy, you okay?" Zea lightly tapped my shoulder snapping me from my head and bringing me back to reality.
"Yeah," I smiled weakly as I wiped off a tear that had escaped my eyes.
"Is it the rose buds?" she theorized, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, really-" she began but I cut her off shaking my head and reassuring her that I'm fine.
She nooded and took a turn down the lane, screeching the car.
"Where?" I asked, considering that we were supposed to go up the lane, not down.
"Let's get your moody stomach something to eat," a smile etched upon her face as she stared straight ahead on the road, her fingers tapping the steering wheel, as my face reflected her expression.
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