Reflections

Part I-Chapter VIII

~Victor Neal~

The next morning, I felt the sun's warm rays on my face. I yawned, then got up to take a peek at the sky from my window. There were no cotton-balls in sight, just the blazing star, houses, and birds flying from tree to tree. I stared outside for a few minutes until I realized my alarm was ringing about. I shut it off, then went downstairs to find my Father taking his suitcases to the garage. Helena was also up and about and Mother was preparing breakfast.

"Good morning." I told them.

They echoed back and I sat down with my sister. She gave me a tired smile and laid her head down.

"Did you sleep well, Lena?" I asked her.

She shook her head. Then, she asked the same question and I replied,

"I slept great! I haven't gotten a quality sleep like that for awhile." I chuckled. "I'm sad to hear you didn't."

She shrugged, and closed her eyes.

After breakfast, I quickly prepared my backpack for school, then went back down. Father finished loading his car, so it was time for him to depart. Father, why did it have to be this way?

He wore a grey and white striped t-shirt and loose jeans completed with the same stern expression.

First, he hugged my sister, softly kissed her forehead, and smiled. Then, he embraced Mother and held her hand while gazing in silence. The empty stern he carried seemed to fade like dust. I felt both affection and sorrow, just from seeing them say goodbye. I see this so often, yet why do I perceive it as something new?

Finally, Father turned to me. Normally, I'd feel my heart racing to the speed of sound, now I'm calm. There's not a drop of sweat. There's no vision in my head. Just him staring at me. He weakly grinned and gave me a soft hug, then whispered,

"Be strong, my Victory."

Victory? My heart stopped for a few seconds. Victory? Those words reuttered merely a thousand times. Victory?

Father hasn't called me that since I was young. How long ago was that? Five years? Six? Seven? Heavens do I know. All I can comprehend is that it comforts me to hear that name again.

I nodded and nearly shed a single tear.

My Mother had to take me to the bus stop because I was little late. Though, this would give her a chance to see Zia and introduce herself. I wasn't too apprehensive about the introduction, I know she'd like Zia. I mean, what's there to hate? She did pop a few questions though, most of which I did not have an extensive answer to.

"What does she like to do in her spare time?"

"What sort of friends does she spend time with?"

"Is she the energetic type or mediocre or complicated?"

Finally, we arrived, and there was Zia pacing back and forth. She wore a slightly baggy black and white polka-dotted shirt with tinted jeans compelled with high-heeled boots. Her hair was down and it was more wavy than usual. Even the way she walked had its elegance. Zia.

"Wow." Mother broke the silence. "Victor, I think you found the right match."

I shot a confused look.

"What?"

"Never mind that! Don't keep the lady waiting!" She laughed and unlocked the car.

She waved at me, then drove off.

Zia approached me and shivered. She was chattering her teeth and her arms were crossed. I couldn't help but snicker.

"What? Aren't you cold too? You're wearing shorts for crying-out-loud!" She was annoyed. Why is it so hilarious when she's annoyed?

"I don't get cold that easily." I said with a sly tone. "I can keep you warm if you want."

Those cheeks turned crimson and mumbled something.

"I'm sorry, did you say, 'Lord, gibens me string'?"

She put her palm of her face almost to say, "I'm surrounded by idiots." Then the frustration turned to laughter. Man, she does have the ability to quickly shift moods swiftly. Actually, she laughed so much to the point she was on the ground.

"Victor..." She finally caught her breath. "I said, 'Lord, give me strength!' You are impossible to stay ticked at!"

I chuckled. Lord, gibens me string. That was amusing. Honestly, the things I say easily makes her fall to the ground. Zia.

On the bus, I was rather silent. I kept thinking about Father. What he said. The way he hugged me. It all felt different. Typically, there was hesitance, but this very morning, there was none. It was such a surprise, especially given what happened yesterday.

Be strong, my Victory.

When did he tell me that? I desperately tried to recall, but couldn't locate the memory. I know I heard him say those exact words before, but when? Was it during my first race in my youth? Was it when I went to my first camp? Was it when I nervous about my state exams? I had no idea. All that rings a bell are those four heartwarming words said by Father.

Be strong, my Victory.