Under Northern Skies

16 - words for hearts

By the time February got further underway, I could tell that the winter of concentrating on classes was made weakened with the air of love. By the time Valentine's Day week arrived, I could see a renewed gossiping and giggling about; it had everyone in anticipation.

Granted, my parents sure were anticipating, too. After my outburst that while ago, I had the impression that they had a certain disliking and suspicion for me. It was ironic, with how tolerant and unifying they claimed the enacting of their beliefs would be, with how they treated me in spite of such notions. They didn't talk to me as much, and when they did, it was as if I was getting interrogated by someone trying to find material to make fun of me.

Innocent enough questions from them were now tinted with a color of judgement. What was I doing, besides classes? Who was I hanging out with? Have I gotten a girlfriend yet? These passive-aggressive questions, I figured, were best met with answers of the same tone: nothing much, nobody new, and not yet, respectively.

I started to doubt my own will, too, that Valentine's Day, and how wise I was to their intentions:

"Hm— What's this?" I asked. I knew exactly what it was, as I got the hold of it, and with the context of the holiday: a card, with a sampler-sized box of chocolates. I figured it was for me, though, so I chuckled fondly. "Ah, thanks," I bleated. Maybe things were looking up for them and I.

"Hey, that ain't for you," Mom chuckled. (Because of course it wasn't. Thanks, Mom and Dad. Love you so much.) I looked in the card, and saw, without too much further frill, that it was addressed from me... to "Bethany". I didn't say anything about it, still taking in the fact that they wanted me to have this card at the ready.

They sensed that I wasn't reacting, so Dad chose to clarify: "You can give that to whoever else you like, too, if you can manage to— er, scribble that out. But we had the real feeling you liked that fox, and we think she's a great fit for you, too."

"You do like Beth, right?" Mom asked in hopefulness.

I realized a way, right then, to make things much better for myself in a lot of ways, that made a lot of sense. Why shouldn't I take this box, give it to Beth, and ask her to be my girlfriend? She was a pretty, wonderfully smart fox, that much was certain; and even if we didn't last for the year, depending on what I would plan for after my graduation, I would probably still appreciate the romantic company. I also knew that it would lead to a better relationship with my parents. It was exactly what they wanted me to do, I could tell— I pieced together that they probably wanted me to date Beth because they knew she had parents who aligned with their views.

"I think you'll come to appreciate it," remarked Dad, confirming as much.

The best part, though, was that I knew Beth wasn't at all like that. I could date someone sensible in my own eyes, making my parents that much happier all the while. It was perfect.

"Sure," I smiled as I happily bleated, putting the things in my bag.

"Oh," my mother must have felt that rush of tenderness, as she realized I was about to ask a girl on a date.

"Proud of ya," Dad added, in his equally ambitious tone.

—

Waiting through that morning was one of the highest tests of my patience I could ever bear, and I could sure tell that everyone else was antsy to get to the lunch period, too. Classes were full of bouncing legs and stifled whispers, and any passive listening in the hallways harvested colorful rumors. It was with a rush to my head and horns that the lunch period came. The cafeteria was hurried to by most, and I was no exception. I made my way to the usual table, readying the card and chocolate that my parents had prepared for me.