The Novelty of Existence

16

𝚂𝙰 ⋆ 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 ⋆ 𝙿𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚖𝚊

I'd never belonged anywhere. I'd only belonged with those guys. Now, that was changing too. Things between Danny and I were still strained, even though I was trying to look past it. I expected Wes and Aiden to keep things from me, but not Danny. Danny and I were different. Or so I thought.

And to make things worse, Wes and I were weird as well. I couldn't even bring myself to fight with him. When he would make jokes at my expense in the van, I would stay quiet. I knew he didn't remember the kiss, but I did.

When he poked me in the ribs as we stopped for gas, my cheeks flushed, and I felt hot all over. I wanted to kick myself. I just walked away without saying anything. I could tell that Aiden was watching me. Aiden was always watching.

Wes, clueless as he was, even seemed to notice. I could tell that he thought I was hung up on Danny. Wes always thought I had a thing for Danny. But, I loved him like my own flesh and blood. His family became my family. Danny knew things about me that no one else knew. It was hard to let that person walk out of your life.

I didn't know what to focus on. My brain was getting fuzzy, overloaded with information. Isla was being nice, and I wondered if I should tell her. I couldn't tell anyone else. But then, should I tell anyone? I couldn't figure it out. If he could forget it, I felt that I should as well. That's what I had determined to do as I poured cream soda slush into my Slurpee cup at the gas station. Forget it.

"Pour me one, Sasquatch," Wes said, uncomfortably close. He was trying to scare me by sneaking up behind me and whispering in my ear. Instead, it sent shivers up and down my spine. I closed my eyes tight and begged my voice to come out normally.

"Do it yourself." I retorted.

His deep blue eyes lit up. He was happy that I was snapping back again. "But you always do the best flavour combinations." He whined with a smirk.

I looked away quickly, hoping the brownness of my skin would hide my blush. I wanted so badly to take myself back in time. I wanted to rewrite this story that I had found myself thrust into. Out of all the guys... Not that I had wanted to be with any of them, but Wes was the least compatible. I wished I could go back to our cove and sit together with my friends. I wished I could forget everything I had found out. I wished I could belong again.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Paloma was only two when her family moved from Colombia to Canada. They were poor in Colombia, and still poor in Canada. But, there was a promise for more, a way to move up for the next generation that Paloma's parents strived for.

Her sisters, Blanca, Dulce, and Raquel, were old enough to remember the old country. Blanca, the oldest, was already 14 when they moved. She longed for home so much, that she moved back when she turned 21. Dulce, the second oldest, talked of Colombia with stars in her eyes. She could describe the smells and sounds so vividly, Paloma felt that she could almost remember it too.

It made Paloma wonder why they had moved. Her sisters, and even her parents, talked romantically about Colombia. They called it home. She felt left out like someone stuck in the middle. When they visited Colombia for the first and only time in Paloma's life, it was for Blanca's wedding.

She was 12, her sisters were much older. They were much closer, as Paloma was the child that wasn't meant planned. She didn't fit in with them. The three older sisters fussed with each other. Paloma took in all the sights and smells that she had been told so much about. She struggled to keep up with the fast Spanish. The heat and humidity sprung her waves into smooth ringlets.

The extended family pinched her cheeks and cupped her face, treating her as the toddler that had left a decade earlier. They loved her, and she didn't know them. She saw how the rest of her family interacted, and once again, she didn't belong.

Back in Canada, her parents would work long shifts, come home to eat dinner, and go to sleep. When she asked her parents why they wanted to stay in Canada, they said: "This is the dream." She couldn't understand. They were so much happier in Colombia, she was sure.

"But you work so hard," She said, sitting on the edge of their double bed.

Her father grabbed her hand, hand rough and dry from years of manual labour. "Not a dream for us, mija, a dream for you."

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

I worked part-time through high school. I put it all in savings for college. I wanted to show my parents that they hadn't dreamt in vain. I did this even though I didn't know what I wanted to do or even if I wanted to go to college.

Would I belong there? What was belonging anyway if it could be undone with such little effort?

These are the thoughts that plagued me through the plains of Saskatchewan. The endless horizon ahead of me.