Her Last Letter

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sophia

Getting rid of old habits wasn't easy. But sometimes, in situations like mine, they're helpful.

I was sitting on my bed, watching Evelyn attack my closet like an animal hunting for food. She was taking every piece of clothing out, shaking her head and tossing it all in a giant pile on the ground.

"My mom's going to scream when she walks in here," I warned.

My mother was quite of a neat freak when it comes to organizing. She has to have everything in place, with absolutely no dirty areas. The floors in our house were polished and shiny, not a single fleck of dust on them. In the bedrooms, every bed must be perfectly made, not a single stray item in sight, and clothes folded symmetrically with no wrinkles. I could still recall one time when Ian accidentally left creases in his freshly ironed polo shirt. My mother yelled at him for one hour before ordering him to hand wash our entire family's clothes for a month. It's needless to say that he's never creased anything ever since.

Many would say that my mom had a disorder of some sort, but this is quite expected of her. She's used to spotless hospital rooms. According to her words, it's good to live in a clean environment which will enhance your skills as a doctor. No mistakes, nothing misplaced, everything perfect. She's right of course, so Ian and I listen, although reluctantly at times.

For me, I have all my school assignments and papers rearranged nicely and Ian has his college work well placed. I however, like my reading books scattered. Not neatly in stacks. To me, it brings a little extra to the rest of my completely symmetrical room. To my mother, it means disorganized.

We've argued at least fifteen times until she agreed with this setup though as long as the rest of my bedroom was in her standards. I promised. Only now Evelyn was pretty much breaking my promise.

Evelyn's been my best friend for countless years, yet it's amazing how she still can't keep up with my family's rule of cleanness. Some old habits never change.

"I'll clean up later," Evelyn said dismissively, waving away my warning. 

I really didn't think she would. Oh well.

She returned to her search, with even more energy than before. She chucked a T-shirt over her shoulder, landing a foot away from me. I picked it up, grumbling. The sight of my favorite shirt being tossed randomly didn't sit well in my mind. 

I flattened my palm, holding the middle of the T-shirt in my hand and studying it. There was a picture of the Olympic rings at the center and the past Olympic runners were written in small print around. 

I loved the Olympics. Technically, I didn't love all the Olympic events, only the running. Ever since I was four I've imagined myself out there, with the outrageously loud fans shouting encouragement as I represented my country. And the unrestrained cheering when I crossed the finish line, first. If only I could choose my future. If only I could run to my dreams. If only. 

Stop daydreaming, I chided. You're not fourteen. You have responsibilities now. I'm no longer two years younger, nor am I in the track team, doing what I loved. No more of those long days with nothing but hours of vigorous training with my coach. 

I had so many hopes and goals. They all came crashing down because of one decision.

Refolding my Olympic T-shirt, I carefully placed it on my pillow. In a way, all my dreams rested on that one piece of clothing. How I longed to meet my idols. How I desired to have my own name under that list. 

It's needless to say that I love running as much as I love Kyle. Maybe more. 

Kyle. My thoughts returned to him, again. A picture of his face surfaced from the back of my mind. It's like I had no control of my brain. I could relate everything to Kyle somehow.