Eleven Favours I Owe Him (Kismet-on hold)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The screen starts to blur as I stare at it. Tears roll down my cheek, making room for the fresh ones. I watch the main characters in woe as they recite their eternal vows, knowing that she'd die from her illness soon, anyway.

"Why does she have to die?" I say out loud as I pull out another clean piece of Kleenex and blow my runny nose. I pass the box of tissue to the person next to me without looking, I know that she too is crying at this exact moment.

"I know honey, this really sucks," she replies, pulling out a piece of tissue out of the box. I don't exactly know whether she was crying because the movie or because she remembers my father and the situation we've just been in; I know I'm crying because of both.

Looking over to my left, I see my mom in act wiping her tears. Her big brown eyes shining in the dark, in front of the glowing TV screen. Her wavy chestnut brown hair sticking out everywhere which has been the product of the overwhelming feeling of our new life. I look back to the television, already engage by the crushing sadness and solitude of the girl's expected death.

If I can just change this story, just this bit, I'll make sure they end up happy. But I didn't write this story.

The sadness presses onto me but I manage to push it back to where its belongs; to the pile of unnecessary emotions in my brain. I stare back to the screen, seeing the credits roll down, then sigh in annoyance. Was I pondering that long and missed the good parts?

I get up, crossing the room and flicking the lights, bathing the small room with a soft glow. Mom is just beginning to cleaning up the tissue landfill we created during the whole expanse of the movie. I see her move very quickly in the small space, avoiding the cluttered boxes on the floor.

Mom and I both decided that watching a movie and Chinese food is a good idea after unboxing some of our things in attempt to make the small apartment space our own. It took us a few hours to unwrap the kitchenware and arrange the living room. 

"Honey, you have to go to bed. We'll have to go to register you to your new school tomorrow so you can start on Monday," mom calls over her shoulder as she was making her way to the kitchen.

"Oh, right" I begin, dread overflowing within me. "I can go by myself, just drop me off. I'm sure I'll manage to get home." I reply, hiding my anxious tone.

I have an incurable case of shyness around crowds, of course as in normal cases, with the exception of my mom and my few selected friends. My introvert-ness  has made it rather difficult for me to socialize. Difficult is an understatement; impossible is the closest term.

However, dad wishes for me to thrive, that's one of his few things he wanted me to do for him when he was lucid. He told me to "My Emily, live life, love, and cry. Take leaps and dive. I want you to take roots, and bloom; thrive in the best and worst situations. I know you are a strong soul, like your mother. " I remember him say it while his eyes were closed, and tenderly holding my hand.

A deep sigh escapes my lips. Looking down at my hands, I trace every bit of line. I hear his voice echo in my head again. Absentmindedly, I climb up the stairs, ignoring every rickety step I take.

Before I know it, I'm already in front of my door, twisting the ancient rusty knob, I open the door slightly, blindly searched for the light switch on the cold wall. I feel a lump on my hand and flick it open. The light floods the small room. I scanned the small room which has faded purple walls with cream white peeling laminated floor;it is now clattered with boxes, a small study table and chair to the right corner, and a single-size bed on the right corner.

Looking at the heaps of mess on the floor I sigh, I have yet to unpack mountain load of things and put them in their proper places. I decide to leave it for tomorrow. What I need right now is a good warm shower to take my mind off of things. But before that, I walk towards my bed and grab my phone to my friends.