The Story of Us

Chapter 2

I walked in the door of my families too-big house, and sigh. Quiet. That's all my house ever is, silent. My parents are
obsessed with my little brother Jayson's baseball career. They have all this hope and faith that he could get a full ride to college. My brother, the one that always makes me look bad. My own peers are friends with him, they seem to maybe even prefer him over me. You mention our family and my brother is the first topic to come up. You may think that being his big sister could help me in my social life, but you are so wrong. He soaks up the attention and basks in all the light of his social glory.

I try to erase the thought as I walk up the steps to my bedroom, it's those thoughts that will send me spiraling down, with almost no warning. Instead I focus on him. On Ryan and those eyes, the saying "The eyes are the window to the soul" isn't too much of a stretch when we are talking about him. His eyes were mysterious and fickle I suspect that maybe, just maybe he may be like that as well.

I walk to the window and prop in open enough so the fat tom cat that leers around the neighbor hood can slip in as he pleases. I call him Aladin, since he's, I guess, a street rat (no pun intended). I sit down on the too fancy four poster bed and observe my room for only the billionth time in my life. I glance at my bed stand and the contents on it, the box of tissues, the lamp, one of my many journals, various knikeknakes- a pen, pony-tails, gum- stuff like that. I then glance at my bed, white, four poster, too elaborate for someone as plain as me. My dresser is neat, all the clothes folded (thanks Mom!) my jewelry box neatly displayed, yet never touched, my trophy for the young authors competition I won, and the picture of me and my only friend, who passed, Ariana. My eyes follow the rest of my room, painted white with accent walls of burgundy, neat for the most part, filled with books, then my eyes glance back to the picture of Ariana and I, and I sit on my bed remembering the day in 8th grade.

The day that my best friend (only friend) had told me she had cancer. After 6 months of intense treatment my best friend gave her life up and that might've been when you could say it all began. My mom got the call around 2:40 early that morning, and told me when I had woken up. Those words crushed me. Those 5 words took my breath away and it felt like I was drowning. Then those words turned to anger, I was mad at the doctors, and my mom, at myself, and I was even mad at Ariana. I was mad at her for leaving me all alone. That's what I was after my mom told me those few 5 words: "Ariana passed away last night." I couldn't tell you what she said before or what she said after, all I remember are those five words. It's funny how a string of symbols mixed with a few vocal vibrations can send you crashing.

The thought fills me with a new sense of pain, but soon it flutters away from me just as fast as it was upon me. Aladin slips into my room and curls up on the sunny spot on mg beige carpet, not bothering to tell me hello. When I was a bit younger I worried about him getting enough food, or finding a dry place in the storms, but he looks rather good right now. He's plump and his fur is almost shiny like it has been washed, but I know that it's merely an illusion. I plug in my phone and music fills the room. I pick up my notebook- a pulling of strings in my mind gives me this sensation to get my thoughts out onto paper- and begin scrawling away on the sheet of thin-lined notebook paper.

"The tears drip down her face
She couldn't deal, she'd lost the race

The task ahead was hardest of all
Trying to convince herself not to fall

She listened to the solid thump of her heart
And the seed was planted, maybe she was art

Her thoughts transformed, demonic and dark
They became things of light, a hope to hark

She refused to sink, the weight began to lift
She might fail, and she tried to refuse the drift

She could feel it's pull
Tugging relentlessly at her soul