The Optimist

thirty four

It's a shortie with a few mistakes, so ignore them. Sorry. Honestly.

Dedicated to you. Yes, you. -Mo(cha)

Nadia

. . .

Home.

Four letters. One syllable. One place.

The place I've adored since I was three years old. I was always anticipated to come here and read my books after horrible days at school. Mom and Dad moved here to escape the low employment rate in Chicago fourteen years ago. But, the home isn't complete, even with Chresanto, Jacob, and Lucy here.

Because Dad's not here.

The home lingered a cold, eerie feling, almost as if he died. I don't like to think that way, knowing it's a possibilty. Even if Jacob told me not to, I still can't help but to have the feeling deep down that he might not make it. Yes, pity me for not having hope in my own father to not survive, but that hope is falling to shreds. 

I don't know how Mom and Nathan are taking it, but they're doing a pretty good--no great--job of hidsing their hopelessness, if they have it, unlike me who sit in my room and read and mope and read amnd mope, then school shower dinner, bed and start over again.

Reading had become my life.

I felt that reading was my savior, dragging me temporarily from this horrible nightmare I call life. But, soon enough, three weeks has passed and I spent them failing tests, getting "it's okay" lectures from Jacob (he's worried about me oso much, it's cute and pitiful at the same time.) and reading. That's it.

By the time the three week mark hit, it made it the fifteenth (no kidding) time Mom visted Dad at the hospital. She got to see for herself his condition and would tell me, though only the bad stayed in my ears and lingered in my head.

More bleeding and it's becoming uncontrollable. Paler face. Can't hold down anything in his stomach. Possible case of cancer.

When Mom told me this, I threw my book across the room, tears coming in rivers down my face, and I ended up bumping into Jacob at the bottom of the steps, later realizing he came to visit me. All night, I cried and confessed to Jacob.

I'm still not better.

Staring at my deflected reflection in the mirror, I notice the deep dark bags under my eyes. My face grew frown lines, my eyes are red and burning, and they feel heavy. I feel heavy. My body feels as if someone dragged me out of bed, ruffled up my hair, and threw soapy water in my eyes.

"Why are you putting yourself down rihgt now? You should be thinking and hopeing the best for your father. After all, he is fine."

Jacob.

I hear Lucy in Nathan room playing Just Dance 5 and smiled a little, but it disappears just as quickly as it came. Lucy finally got adopted to our family, but too this day were still can't find her father and her mothr is in a coma.

"Because-"

"There is no because, Nadia. Everyone's still at least trying to having fun even despite-"

"My Dad's condition. I know." I interrupt him. "I.." I begin, feeling the lumpy feeling in my throat. "I just don't want to talk about him," I choke out. My eyes release a fresh round of tears that don't escape, but with a side of a burning sensation.

"You've got to get better, baby. I don't like seing you like this. You look.." 

"Horrible?" I finish with a laugh. "I know." I drag my feet along the plain, book-scattered carpter and plop on my bed. 

"Not exactly. Beautiful. But seriously, do you think you're going to get valedictiran looking limke that?"

"You said I was beautiful?" I smile. He nods and walks next to me.

"You do, but I mean this." He guestures his hands towards my mess of a room. Even the mirror had a crack in it from the book-anger incident. It leans. "I never thoght I'd have to do it, especially on you, and it's rare that I do it."

What-"

"Reality talk." He interrpurts.

"You need to know the truth, and I'm going to tell you."