Finding Tristan ✓

1: Irregular

"The future: time's excuse to frighten us; too vast a project, too large a morsel for the heart's mouth."

Kylie

I awoke to the sound of the rain pelting the cold surface of the street outside. The neighborhood was eerily quiet; all the lights were out at this time of night. I could hear my father snoring and sleeping soundly in the other room. My mother was out of town, taking a vacation like no other woman would. She was the average working mom who needed a break to get away from everything.

I stared up at the clear white ceiling above me, getting lost in my thoughts. The roar of thunder and wind knocked me back into reality. I rubbed my eyes and sat up to squint at the time. It was three in the morning. It was truly rare for me to even be able to be awake at this time.

I reached over to flip the switch on my lamp and sat in front of my workdesk. My journal laid there unopened as kept it last night. I reach for one of the pens in my pencil cup. I flipped through the pages of my journal, admiring the style of my handwriting. I soon arrive to a clean, white page.

I didn't hesitate to start writing. My neat scrawls smoothly gliding along the paper. The black ink never dared to smear upon my skin. In my head, I counted every heart beat in which that would take place before each time thunder struck. I was able to keep myself calm.

A newly tarred road, the rain is dappled and inked with black.

The clouds shed its tears as the wind cried along the train tracks.

Drop after drop, it all comes pouring down.

Roses and plants wither like any other.

Just like the human body.

We grow old in time and soon come to a dead end.

When do I step forward from my past? I anxiously wait day by day, in hopes of approaching you. You're with your friends half of the time. I have always wished to spare words with you. But I always keep telling myself that "now isn't the best time."

When can I step out of my shell and actually talk to you without any insecurities?

If not now, then when is the best time going to be?

My heart continued to race as I pictured his devilish smile, and the sweet dimples that came along with it. His eyes gleamed with happiness. I instantly knew that I was truly head over heels for this guy. Oh how I wish for him to embrace me and let me run my fingers through his soft brown hair. I can practically hear his laugh, which was undoubtedly music to my ears; his charm was to die for.

I closed my eyes and set the pen down. I carefully closed my journal and held it in my hands. There was a shadow that appeared to be a tree branch hitting against my bedroom window. I closed the blinds and kneeled down on the floor. I brushed my fingers along the smooth surface and found it.

I lifted up the loose floorboard and set the journal down in the slot. I sighed dejectedly and set the board back down in its place. I directed my attention back to the clock. It was half past three. Time had gone by really quick, and it seems like the storm had gone down a little bit.

I slid myself underneath the bedcovers and laid on my side. My head resting on the pillow, I hugged my old teddy bear. Yeah okay, a sixteen year old still hugging stuffed animals at this age. I usually don't like being judged or looked down upon people. It would make me feel really boggled down.

My father's snores were growing silent. His alarm rang for work. I could hear him shuffling out of bed and reaching over for his phone. His footsteps were tired and heavy. He walked out of his room and I could hear him turn the knob of my bedroom door.

I hadn't turned off the lamp on my desk, I realized. My father would usually check on me and my sister every morning before he got ready for work. It had always been his daily routing. The door slowly opened and I decided to shift my body so that I was laying on my back. He peeked his head in blindly and rubbed his eyes. His mannerism in the mornings were much like mine.

I wasn't much of a morning person either.

"You're still awake at this time, Kylie?" He asked quietly.

"The thunder outside woke me up half an hour ago," I sat up in bed. He shook his head at me and opened the door all the way. Some cool air was let into my room. I breathed in softly and smiled a little.

"You can make your little sister lunch then or grab something to eat. Don't forget to remind her about the house keys." I nodded in response and slid out of bed. I love how my dad let's me do what ever I wanted, no matter what time. I could literally eat at one in the morning or be texting my friends literally until past midnight.

Although, it would never be like that when my mother was around. She was born in Cambodia, her Asian homeland. She is a photographer with a great personality. She met my father during her trip to California. I'm technically only half Asian.

She loves to expand her horizons, but she does have her limits; especially in this household. My mother is the one person who gives me the best advice. It's kind of hard for my little sister and I because we don't see her around very often. And not only that, my dad works seven days a week. And he owns his own Italian food shop down in Chaska, which is about almost thirty minutes away from here.

I let out a small sigh once I was done completing my morning necessities. The last thing I did for myself was to tie up my hair in a high pony tail. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and decided to check on my little sister. Anna, the ten year old girl is probably one of the most fragile siblings I ever had. Anything that could be said by someone could be taken as an offense.

That or she was just really insecure about what people really think of her. She's sensitive and naive sometimes, but we have this really close sisterly bond. Anna and I are six years apart in age. One of the things I had trouble with before she came along was that I was lonely. And I usually kept to myself because no one was really around much. My mother and father would be switching their turns everyday, so that at least there was an adult watching over me. My mother would be working in the morning at her old manufacture job, and my father would be home for the time being before my mother came back.

I wasn't the type to show much of my emotions, even if I felt conflicted about something. I would tend to hide it myself and keep it all in. Which explains to why my parents can't understand me sometimes. They don't know what goes on my head because I don't speak up about it. It's just really how I am as a person, and I feel like I can make change and be more open to them; having to adjust to it at the same time.

I packed a ham and cheese sandwich for Anna (no crust of course), as well as a container filled with fruit salad. I put a small cooler box in her lunch bag and stuck it in the fridge. I wrote a small note of reminder about the keys for her. I didn't bother to write my signature at the bottom because she knew exactly what my handwriting was like. I conveniently placed the sticky note on the fridge's smooth surface.

I exited the wonderland of where all the foods are born. But the kitchen kept calling out to me as soon as I headed to the living room. I couldn't help but to go back and grab some chips, along with a V8 energy drink. I plopped myself down on the couch. I spent the rest of the time I had left before school snacking while watching TV.