The Premises of an Ideal Life and Additional Poetry

Chapter 6

TWO MONTHS LATER...

Saint Paul’s Hospital, October 2, 2011,
Cherry to my sour cake,
I got it! I nailed it! I am completely fulfilled!
I must confess, I got pretty nervous about what the headmasters, with their pens tapping the bear clipboards (yes, there were no sheets of paper, maybe it’s only a move to make contestants jumpy) would imply regarding me, if they would be skeptical about my clothes, the sound of my voice rushing violently with nervousness and lowering down right after I noticed its speed, like a wood barrow rolling up and down a summit- causing a screeching voice. But most important of all, what would they think of my situation as a hospitalized, immature young woman, with no life prospects?
The desperation wasn’t ill-based, that’s for sure.
Despite my wavering voice, I managed to answer all the questions as transparently as possible, which won me the job according to my employer’s email- his name is David. I’m already looking forward to the day I will open my arms to introduce the kiddos to their teacher and learn every one of their smiles and miniature faces of future engineers, doctors, dancers, painter; I will embrace and console them as much as possible when they're hurt and… kay, okay, I do sound overprotective of them now, just like my mother. With all these expectations that will only be satisfied in six months, I can’t stand another day at the hospital, otherwise, I’ll die of boredom. I’ve been brought out of the emergency zone and still have 1 month to go before my final blood and brain tests that will determine my leaving the hospital, or not. I haven’t talked to Laura since the day I freaked out told the truth about my mother-and-daughter situation. I just can’t bring myself to look at the face of disappointment from the nurse I so admired and put on display my own facial lines of regret.
I probably won’t see Stevan and Olivia again, nor their whole family for that matter, since they stayed behind with their debilitated mother. I feel beyond sorry for them, I can’t imagine how it must feel like to let drops of salty tears soak the deathbed of a precious relative such as a funny and supporting parent like Sylvia. Even if my dad Rodrigo left me and my mother alone at our house to the vaulting winter winds when I was four, I never came to cry over his departure until I turned fifteen, when the whole pathetic story of the party and me getting drunk took place. I felt like hell that day and couldn’t stop shedding tears of resentment over this man who never bothered to look back, to bring me along. The husband who could not put up with his own wife’s strict rules and her always vigilant hawk eyes over her daughter.
I will stop reviving these irrelevant memories one day, I promise.
Frankly, even with Stevan’s jokes and insufferable attitude, I will miss him dearly, our games, and bonded looks of mutual understanding. He’s such a sweet guy, a toddler compared to my nineteen-year-old wrinkles, amazing a caring person regardless of his childish jokes. Who am I kidding? I’m just like him. Olivia… Oh, my beautiful Olivia… I’m counting down the days to leave this bed and see how she’s doing as well as making sure she’s progressing with her ”extremely complicated studies”, according to her. Learning the alphabet is indeed something I would like to be tangled with.
Excuse me, because I’ll open up some nutty and addictive peanut butter cups now and let myself be taken by the sugary sensation that absolves all my issues and floods my thoughts with good ones. Sweets are certainly a pallet of colors that reconstruct the painting of our lives, covering the dark spots and old parts in it. Without them, where would humankind be now? How would we enchant our days with no treats and pastries?
I must be hallucinating by now with all this chocolate I’m consuming. Anyways, I’ll be back soon.
⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁⤁
Saint Paul’s Hospital, October 17, 2011,
My sweet potato pie,
I will not say I am angry with my mom. I am OUTRAGED with her. How could she? How could she block Quinn, my best friend, like a piece of rotting meat? Maybe it is time to talk to this woman because I won’t take any more of this toxic juice she’s feeding me. As much as Quinn can be a brat and a disloyal friend sometimes- okay, most times- I am the one who decides upon blocking someone or not. Besides, six years of our relationship can’t be dissolved with the mere click of a button. She can’t delete people from my life in such a decrepit way. I can puzzle her thoughts of relief almost entirely, the opportunity to wreck my social life in tatters. Although I might have made a ton of mistakes throughout these last 4 years, I deserve some good explanation for this sick maneuver of bringing a curtain down on my friends, like a pathetic play for her to play with. I have to solve this now. Freaking bastard.